Well, ain’t that an itch?

In the past I’ve talked about how a kid up at my desk can be quite trying. You’d think a simple request for a pencil wouldn’t leave me so nerve-racked, but with the kid who came up yesterday I was left at just that.

This kid is always scratching himself, and I’m not talking about in the “gots dandruff” kind of way. So, when he asks me for something like a pencil, part of me fears that it’s not for writing but for relief. You just know that I’m marking that thing, so if it comes back to me it’s going into the trashcan by my layered in Kleenex hand.

I also worry when he asks for larger items because it scares me that his condition has escalated. If it’s a highlighter, then he’s having a flare-up. A stapler—it’s time to bring the nurse in. My keyboard—where’s the nearest biohazard suit?