Skin.

I man in his early twenties born with Congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis (C.I.P.A), also called hereditary sensory and autonomic neuropathy, tries to deal with everyday life.

  SKIN

Scars, they cover most of me. They’re on my back, front, I even have a few on my face. Some people are repulsed by them, and some girls think they’re quote -kind of interesting’. They add character. Most of the bruises, burns, and contusions in my body are self-inflicted.

I know how that sounds but bear with me. I’m not one of those psychos you read about on your morning paper who gets off on hurting himself. At least I don’t think I am. The reason I burn, nick and or impale myself is because I yearn to feel something, anything. Some small glimmer of a sensation, a vague unpleasantness of sorts. I have and always have had an immunity to well… everything. My nervous system is flawed, defective, faulty, damaged, ill-equipped to communicate any feeling or sentiment to the brain. Needless to say that living this way is pure agony, I wouldn't go as far as to say its hell but it is hellish "hell adjacent. A little vacation with Hitler.

Two months ago my grandfather died. Heart attack or cancer, you know? old people diseases. At the funeral everyone was in shambles, a sob fest of tears. It was the first time I saw my dad crying, he tried to contain himself throughout the service but came the part of the ritual when the bishop went ashes to ashes and dust to dust my father broke down. He opened up completely to the point where I began thinking that it wasn't merely the parting of the paternal figure but he had some other issues that have been eating their way inside and just waiting for that very moment to let loose and surface. Envious, I took a closer look at him, crying louder that any of my aunts, making the noises of a distant walrus at sea. It was beautiful.

As for me, I just stood there with a blank emotionless stair on my not yet scared face. The glossy black casket lowered as the volume of my relatives went the other direction. I thought of faking, or maybe if I thought of all those times me and my grandfather went fishing and bought snow cons on the way back from the lake I could start missing him and somehow master up one tear. There was no use. I’d have better luck converting sand to drinkable water. I had an adequate understanding of what was going on, I wasn't going to see Grandpa Joseph again. I had no one left to take me on fishing trips. And tell me they accept me just the way I am, and that God doesn'tmake any mistakes so there had to be a reason why I was this way. Or else it was plain cruelty.
One at a time the people left after the service came to an end. There were four of us left. Myself, my father, Aunt Vive and of cause the honored guest, lying horizontally six feet below our feet. Aunt Vive eventually left too, ‘stay strong Christopher’ she said to my dad patting him about the shoulder. As the sun began to settle a fierce breeze rolled through that made my father sink deeper in his coat, my envy was provoked and I wondered what it was like to feel that breeze on my skin. Starring at Grandpa Joseph’s grave still fresh, I see the violet stripe running in a spiral around my tie I started to think. Everyone else’s tie was either an ominous black, grey or blend color, however me at the other hand not being aware of clothing having an adverse effect on the mood of a place such as a funeral, was standing out in my violet f*****g tie witch could be seen from space.

‘Are you okay son?’ asked my dad, seeing me fidgeting with the tie epileptically.

‘You think this tie was appropriate for a funeral?’ I responded, holding the tie at the tip toward him so he got more of an appealing view of it.

‘What?’


‘It’s just this stripe here’ I pointed ‘I think it might have been too flashy, what do you think…’
He paused staring at me while shaking his head then said ‘You just get weirder by the f*****g minute don’t you!’ then he walked off. I only realized later on my way to Naomi’s place what it was that made my father so mad, it was a sad funeral and although he knew I couldn't quiet feel things all the way he must have assumed the passing of my own Grandfather would trigger an emotional response. And there I was worrying about the line on my tie, I’m surprised he didn't punch me like uncle Piet did when his wife died and I kept making cleverish remarks about how terrible her cooking was. What? I was trying to lighten up the mood, everyone was so tense. Anyway, I got to Naomi’s just before eight O’clock. She was sprawled on her couch watching a Kevin Cline photo shoot eating a salad with her hair tied and held back by a purple ribbon. I took off my coat, tossed it on a chair next to the door and sat next to her.
‘How was the funeral?’ she asked, her face showing concern or maybe the salad was just bitter.
‘It went well I said, you know? About as well as a funeral can go’

She smirked then placed the salad on the coffee table a few feet in front of us, then she sits directly on top of me and says ‘Ready for today’s therapy?’ I think about it, then whisper ‘Sure, why not.’ Naomi and I have been friends for as long as I could remember, I hear we even shared a crib at some point as infants, Mr Perkins Naomi’s father was the best men at my parents wedding. You get the point, were very close. She began noticing my… let’s call it my ‘situation’ in middle school and tried her best to help but like many others before her it was no use. There was this one time I thought I felt something when she gave me a fist full of Prozac but again another false alarm. It’s only at high school when she suggested that we try a questionable means of therapy to get me to feel something and to me that seemed highly possible at the time because you know I’m a guy.

I turn Naomi over and check myself if anything is going on downstairs yet, I’m erect but I can’t feel it throbbing or anything. Cardboard, that’s what things taste like to me. I lost practically all sense of taste when I was around twelve and now food doesn't matter what it is kiwifruit, pastrami, whole wheat bread, sweets, asparagus it all tastes like cardboard to me. So do Naomi’s lips, and probably that salad on her coffee table. I press up against Naomi and she punts with her jaw vibrating, breathing as if she just ran a mile. I mount and start with slow gentle strokes increasing in speed gradually. She’s frantic, on cloud nine, having the time of her life. I finish her off with violent plunges as if my c**k had gone mad and had a mind of its own and hear her climax. I rolled off and walked to the bathroom to wipe myself off with some toilet paper and she was clothed by the time I came back.

‘That was just what the doctor ordered’ she said.
‘Glad to help’
‘And you? Still nothing…’
‘Not a damn thing love’
‘Too bad, we’ll try again in a couple of minutes’ she told me.
‘Nah I gadda go’ I said, seated on another chair opposite of her with my jeans already on and my hands stretching down to tie the laces of my boots.
‘Oh okay, same time next week then’
‘Sure thing’ I said standing up from the chair and buttoning up my shirt. There was this uneasiness in the room that I've never noticed before, like the air was somehow thicker. I walked toward the chair with my jacket on it and heard Naomi call my name out.
‘Harvey’
‘Yeah babe’ I turned, simultaneously putting on my jacket.
‘I love you, you know that right?’
‘Sure I do’
‘Do you love me?’
‘Why not?’ I said opening the door just about to walk out.
‘Harvey!’
‘Yes’ I said not turning around this time.
‘Um… nothing’ she said.

I shut the door, walked away from it and felt nothing.
Which brings us to today, Naomi’s friend Shannon is having a 21st birthday celebration at the grove. My invitation came in the form of a text and I head there by town car driven by a gentleman of middle Easton descent. The party is a living thing, already in full swing at my arrival with the sound of techno and Dub step blasting away at the speakers placed at all four corners of the hall. It’s packed to the rafters with people, some familiar but most alien. I see Naomi amongst the crowd and walked toward her, she seems happy to see me, greeting with a smile and a hug and an offer of drink she knows damn well will taste like liquid cardboard. I get into the rhythm of the party, forcing myself to smile, shake a few hands and even pull out a dance move or two. After a while I can’t bring myself to keep up the charade any longer, I disappear and fade into a background where I sit with a glass of bubbly thinking about other things mostly when this party would end so I could go home and be miserable there. Without saying anything I toast by lifting up the glass to Shannon who sees me and waves back, I can’t really hear what she’s saying over the loud music and I’m not much of a lip reader however her lipstick red lips mime ‘Harvey hey! I’m glad you made it.’

Tired of the champagne, I walk over to the punch bowl to pour myself a tall one and that’s when it happens. I see a girl almost bursting through her dress also pouring herself a drink, after introducing myself we decide to go outside where it’s less noisy for a good talk. The hours seem to just pass as we stood there leaned up against a wall listening to only the sound of the base coming from inside talking about nothing and everything all at once. Our glasses were still full because we’d been talking so much we forgot we were still holding anything. We’d lock eyes then look away again when the realization that we didn't quite know each other that well just yet reared its ugly face. I suddenly like everything about her and the more ‘flaws’ I see the more I like her, it’s strange. We exchange numbers and social network details when we see people walking out of the hall to get into their cars signalling the end of the party. I ask her if she’d be interested in meeting me for lunch at a local diner called Aviary’s tomorrow, she smiles and say ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

‘My name is Jazzmen by the way’ she said, walking to a parked yellow mini cooper, leaving me still leaning on the wall.
I feel sad, a sadness so intense I almost shout out in rage. She’s right there walking away and I actually miss her. I drop the glass of punch to the concrete where it shutters and run toward Jazzmen. She hears me coming and instinctively turns around, and before she finishes whatever it is she was trying to say I pull her toward me and kiss her. At first she pulls back a tad but then she revels in the kiss, grabbing my head at the back with that special subtlety only woman have.

‘Wow,’ she said ‘I wasn't expecting that at all. But I was secretly hoping you’d man up and kiss me already when we locked eyes back there.’ I smiled, genuinely for the first time in my life and we kiss again. Jazzmen got in her car and I watched her drive away into the night. I was going to make it through life long as I had her. I had a walking living breathing reason to wake up in the morning, and that gave me a sense of everything was going to be just fine. I walked down the street to the subway and realized I felt cold and my eyes were hurting, I lifted my hands to my face huff warm air into them, and felt warmth. It was everything I hoped it would be and more, I was like a child discovering things for the first time. There’s a piece of a broken bottle just ahead, I pick it up and slice along the wrist careful not to nick a vein. I watch the blood pulsing through and I focus on the pain, it felt strange, good and bad at the same time.

I make it home and bandage myself up and think. I’m alive, all this time I've been alive and didn't see it. I just kept complaining all the damn time, not realizing I was lucky to just be alive. I went to my room, open a window and lay on top of the cover of my bed. I listened to the sound of my heart beat until I fall asleep. I dream of stars and what lies beyond them, I dream of my grandfather fishing in the lake, I dream of Jazzmen, I dream of her skin.

                                                             The End.

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Author's Note

Would like to hear what more experienced writers think of it.

Reviews

[Persona]

The beginning draws me in because it's a unique topic. You lost me on he funeral bit because it started sounding immature and didn't make me feel or show the character's difficulties. The story went on a tangent. Just focus on your message about the skin condition and self harm. I love to read interesting things like that.

[Ilia Epifanov]

Very interesting and original story! Grammar and punctuation needs work, but otherwise it's awesome. I'd love to see it expanded to tell more about characters and the situations!
Very nice, keep it up!

[MoriartyMesa]

There is so much that made me rethink, so much that made me beg questions, this made me think on a new level. Please send more.

[tyson]

wow... what an awesome story. Very cold and bitter, but still very up front. I feel like there is more to this, I was hoping to scroll down and find another page or two. To find out what happens with our miserable protagonist, Harvey, and more about Jazzmen, does that feeling of solace last? What ends up happening with Naomi? etc. etc. All these questions are a good thing though, you've drawn me in to your own world given me a little taste and I want to see more through your eyes. In regards of your writing ability, I thought it was really clever, the characters, the descriptions, the lack of empathy, everything was very clear, or very well described. would love to see more of what you've got. Hopefully you've even expanded on this!