Photo by Mburnat, via Wikimedia Commons
“They’re delicious,” I said with my eyes wide. The produce guy was happy I was happy.
“The darker ones are the sweetest. Don’t be afraid of the ugly ones, they are usually the best,”
he said, and grabbed a couple of figs from one basket, stuck them on top of another basket, then
handed me the pint with the extras.
I felt a kinship with the ugly figs. Inside they were sweet and nice, it was just their skin that put
people off. My skin repelled people too. I had been covered in eczema for as long as I could
remember. From scalp to feet – I itched. It wasn’t an itch you could ignore. Eczema itches like ten
thousand mosquito bites. It harasses you every moment of the day or night. I scratched in my sleep
and often woke up bloody, or in pain.
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THE CONE - ISSUE #7 - FALL 2015