When I was about five I marvelled at how big and perfectly round a particular sore was on my knee. When the time finally came for my scab to flake off, I happened to be on the carpet scribbling- which means I was granted the good luck of holding it up and examining it.

Though it couldn’t have been much larger than a lentil, I was impressed and fascinated by it; it no longer looked like tree bark, but more like a massive skin flake.

I couldn’t bear to blow away a small biological sensation, so I decided to stash my scab in the first thing I reached for: my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles wallet. I figured I’d show my brother later in the day, but typically forgot all about my dazzling midmorning find.

I don’t know whether it was a few days, weeks or months later, but the next time I picked up my wallet, I’d forgotten what it held inside. It’s not like as a five year old I ever had any money, so I’d only ever carry the ugly velcro-sealed thing about when I thought it might be fun (so maybe twice…ever).

And as you do when you don’t have money, but have a wallet, I opened it and counted just how many slits and pockets I couldn’t make use of. Until of course, I found that the transparent bit for photos already held something.

“Oh, yes. It’s my scab” I said.

We must’ve been out shopping at the Blue Route (or somewhere equally glamorous) and I recall sitting at a small table opposite my mother, refuelling before we carried on buying shit we didn’t need.

“What?” she said, looking up. This was clearly the last thing she expected her little girl to say over ice cream.

“My scab. When it came off I couldn’t show you, so I kept it. See how big it is?” I held out my finger with an old crisp flake balancing on its end.

“See? It’s humongous” I said, waiting for her awe. Hoping for it, since I myself thought that the thing must’ve shrunk since it first fell off my knee.

“Candice…oh, sick get rid of it!” So I did.

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