A Eulogy for Knees
I always have to explain my knees. There’s a keloid on my left, an irregular pink mound that started as an angry scar and just kept growing, the last evidence of my fall from a bike at age 13 (that, and the fact that I haven’t successfully ridden a bike in the six years since then). Skinny Asian female, about five feet three inches, has a birthmark on her smallest toe and a disfigured left knee.
“What’s that?” People will ask, eyes flickering nervously over the growth. No mention, of course, of my cute skirt.
“It’s a keloid,” I begin to explain, clapping one hand over the damn’d...
