Weekly Derivative: Cervical

The Itch

It was a little prickly there. That kind of spiders-on-the-skin, tangible uneasiness.

It came across me at noonish some weeks ago.

I had a navel orange for lunch. That in itself was odd, because citrus and I have been enemies for years.

My sneakers drew me along the sidewalk while I tossed piece after piece of sweet, vibrant peel over my shoulder.

Then the itch wiggled up under my pant leg and ferreted around a while before settling in on my shoulder.

Maybe it wanted a vantage point. Optimum access to my ear, for secret-spilling and gossip-having.

Yes, behold the All-Knowing Itch!

It was either that, or my shoulder had a decent view.

We’ve spent a little time together since. Sometimes it vanishes when I’m holding a door open, or in the middle of an episode of The Office, or during a math test.

Sometimes it isn’t there for days.

I’ve found that without it I’m nearly as off-edge as I am when it is there.

After all, what is the use of something bothersome? Well, to keep you on your toes.

Nothing that might deserve the title of vexatious?

Well then that, right there, is a lie.

We all have one of these

There’s a little monster in my chest.

(No, he’s not my heart; he’s underneath my rib cage. He might nibble on spleen, I wouldn’t know.)

Sometimes I don’t notice him.

On Sunday I got bad news, and I felt him jump.

One could draw parallels between his movements and the stomach butterflies that we all get, but his fists are no wispy wings.

I worry that if ever he were to ever dig a tunnel through my stomach lining, he’d come across one of those fluttering insects.

What do you call an introduction where one party munches on the other?

My little monster has no manners.

I’ve become suspicious that he’s cancerous.

(This is the type of thing that students learn in Biology these days)

He doesn’t grow much except to puff out his chest, but if the definition of malignant means he’s moving around my body through the circulatory system (yes, this is the definition), then he’s surely metastatic (oh, I know he is).

It’s true that when he moves it’s never down my legs or arms. He could be smart that way.

But then again, that wouldn’t exactly qualify as spreading, would it?

Perhaps he has a mind of his own. Just like me.