There’s a piece of pencil lead in my arm. It’s not really lead but graphite. If you glance
quickly, you’d assume it was another freckle. Been there forty years and I haven’t had cancer.
Maggie Freeman punched me by accident in the third grade, scooping up crayons, pencils, and
erasers to put in her Barbie tin. It was an accident, but my eyes filled with tears. I wiped them
before they rolled. We have our class reunion soon. I wanted to show Maggie as a joke, but she
died last year from cancer that spread before they found it.