“Hey, doc,’” Bruno began.

The specialist’s office made Bruno feel like cafeteria lunch meat: soggy, a little spoiled, flat…but the doctor himself seemed nice enough.

“I been feelin’ dark lately, doc’…” Bruno continued. “My mama taught me to be good, but I…sometimes I get these thoughts.” Bruno tried to imagine a cinnamon kiss from Jack to help retrieve his courage. “I’ll be showerin’ or somethin’, and I don’t wanna look down there. You know, down there. I just get sad.”

mother…father…child…Jack…genital…chocolate…mother…

Bruno’s thoughts flurried and buzzed. This was the most he had spoken in days.

“I keep thinkin’…you know…I wanna get right, get light, maybe go home for somebody,” Bruno paused to wipe some spit from the side of his lip.

“Somebody back home says I got potential.” He tasted the word, and found it to be like a gulp of sweet tea. Still, a lump rose in his throat.

“Doc…I don’t think I was born right. I think I’m all wrong inside and out.”