Saturday, August 8th, 2015


Mom & I were sitting on the floor of her study. She was doing something importantβ€” some writing of some sort. WaitingΒ for her to finish, I watched her hands.


She had shiny pink,Β neatly curved nails on deep nail beds. It must have been winter or early springβ€” certainly not summerβ€” asΒ none of the nails were broken off from gardening. As she thought, she picked the skin ofΒ her thumbnail bed with her forefinger. Now and again she bit off a small piece of skin with her teeth. It looked much more painful than biting the nails themselves. Biting nails did not hurt. I knew this. My nails were well-bitten. I bit themΒ down to the quick and deeper, and the quick of my nails receded every year. Biting the nail too deep hurt, but biting the nail itself did not hurt.


The skin on her hands was not smooth, pink, unwrinkled skin like mine. Her skinΒ was covered in diamonds. I wondered how they got thereβ€” those tiny, evenly spaced lines.Β I thought the linesΒ were elegant, like her fingernails. I wondered if her skin was always like that. I wanted my skin to have diamonds, too.


It does now. Diamond lines and veins.



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