I snap my head sideways and start to bite my right bicep. I stop. A string of spit connects my mouth to my arm. I remember vomiting Sugar Smacks on the door of my homeroom in middle school. I blame the string of spit for connecting my brain to a bad memory. I blame my bicep for being so close. I immediately forgive them and wipe away the spit so I can wonder about the things my body doesn't understand.
by Jarrid Deaton of Hueysville