Changes

            Woke up this morning and started scratching, peeling off the skin like I do every morning. This time, it was you, though. I don’t know if you had hid the condition from me this whole time, or if I was contagious, but nevertheless, I sat on the bed and watched as you shed the outer layers of your arms.  It didn’t hurt, though. I know, because it never does. The purple skin underneath was ready for the new day.  I almost felt as though I was watching myself, but I was too caught off-guard to start scratching off yesterday’s skin, now red, from my own body. 

            You acted as though nothing had changed, so I was hesitant to ask.  Then, I remembered the incessant itching of the old skin, and had to peel that off with a vengeance.  While I was taking care of myself, you got ready to face the day from the bathroom.  It’s funny how one change can make an entire routine so surreal, almost like figuring out that you have a tail, and wondering how you were able to sit in chairs this whole time, like a normal person.

            I knew your skin wasn’t like mine yesterday, though.  You had taken a month to get used to the fact that I wasn’t the same, and now I guess the tables had turned.  I hope to accept the change with as much grace as you had, but it won’t mean as much on my end, as I’m familiar with the condition, already.  That doesn’t mean I won’t try…

            You were ready, and went off to do whatever it is that you go do during the day. I try not to bother you with this ceaseless curiosity, and I know it probably isn’t my business.  As if answering my questions, though, I gazed at the city from our little porch on the 23^rd floor, I saw a pig fall from the roof sporting odd little wings.  It fell, squealing and flapping.  It actually flew for a few feet, about two floors below me, then fell again.  The body splattered across the entire street. You’d be surprised how much guts can be stuffed in a pig, even with wings.