"My back. It's been itching for days but I can't see anything.

" My best friend pulled my shirt up for

me, unasked, and scanned my freckled-and-whip-scarred flesh. "Oh! I see it. It's coming out but I
can't make out.........wait, it looks like, I don't know, writing?" "Shit. Does it look like English, or is it
some Chinese crap?" "I can't tell." She replied. She dropped my shirt back down, gently pulling it into
place and patting my shoulder. "Just wait. It's supposed to turn up on a major date, right? What's
coming up? I know it's not your birthday."
I turned back around. "I was up half the night wondering. Maybe it's for Labor Day?" I knew it was a
stupid comment, but that was the only major event I knew was coming in the next week. She smiled
at me, her smile that told me I was being an idiot. "Well, it's definitely coming through. Just keep an
eye on it and we'll check it again in a few days." With that, she left the apartment to go to work. I
began cleaning the apartment and pulled the vegetables and meat out of the fridge to begin a stew.
I had left my 5th foster home only 6 months previously. I slept in some unattended hallways for a few
nights, then landed in an abandoned and fire-scarred high rise with some kids I met when I was
sitting in a park. The kids were only interested in getting high, though, so I moved on quickly. It was
while I was sitting outside an outdoor caf that Amelia recognized me. I had been eyeing a pair of
women who were picking at their salads at their outdoor table. They were talking about something,
kids, husbands, husband's bosses, how much money they were allowed to spend each week,
whatever. I was more concerned with telepathically trying to convince them to drop their forks in their
less-than-half-finished plates and move on so I could quietly take their places at the table and finish
their meals. I hate to admit it, but I was starving. I'd had nothing but a few stale donuts I'd taken out
of a dumpster a few days before.
"Hey! You!" I looked up, shocked. My blood sugar was very low so it took me a moment to hear the
woman's voice. I was about to jump up apologetically and head out when she called me by name.
"Vince!! Is that you?"
Amelia. My favorite from one of the few grades I'd managed to complete. It was the fourth grade.
She was assigned the desk next to me because our last names both began with the letter 'C' and
that random alphabetical pairing began the purest friendship I'd ever known until that point.
We spent the next 2 and half hours in conversation, between her waiting tables, that is. She must
have seen the state I was in because she kept bringing me plates of 'chef's mistakes' and 'misorders'. When she invited me home I was having trouble breathing I was so full. I slept on the couch,
though. I didn't want to overstep my boundaries that first night.

I heard her keys and jumped up. The apartment was spotless, the stew cooking would have had
Gordon Ramsey himself whispering the benediction. Amelia came in, tired and smelling like fish. Oh,
that's right--it was Friday. The Catholics in the city still insisted on Meatless Fridays. I took her purse
off her shoulder, and turned her towards the bathroom. I gave a gentle shove and told her "Shower
first, when you come out, we'll eat."
I was looking for work, but there wasn't much call for an 8th grade dropout with no cell phone or work
experience, and a ridiculously sketchy past. So, while Amelia worked, I scrubbed and washed and
folded and swept and I pored over the library-borrowed cookbooks to make her hearty, healthy, and
satisfying meals.
She came out smelling of Ivory soap and she was warm and red and sweet and relaxed. I wrapped
her in her bathrobe, then pulled her towards the couch. Before her on the coffee table was a bowl of
stew and a bottle of wine and my very first attempt at French bread ever.
The next morning she checked my back again. "Wow--it looks like a paragraph!" I turned, twisting
myself to try to see what she saw. The mirror just made a vague ghostly outline look even vaguer
and ghostlier in mirror-image. I could see letters, and they looked like English. I agreed with Amelia
that it was coming along and I just had to be patient. She kissed me goodbye and headed off to
work. I started the lasagna and looked for an easy pie recipe.
"Are you Ms Conner's husband?" There was a cop at the door. Amelia was over 3 hours late but I
figured she'd just picked up a catering gig at the last minute. "No, I'm her best friend and roommate"
I answered. "I see. Do you happen to know if Ms. Conner has any family nearby?" "She's never
mentioned anyone, but I think she has a sister..........."
Oh my God. Did this police officer just ask me if Amelia had a next of kin?
I grabbed him by the shoulders and screamed in his face.
A robbery. The caf had closed at 10 after a slow night. Someone, an employee or customer or a
robber had propped a back door open with an old bent spoon. As the employees began their nightly
tearing down and cleaning, two or three men, reports varied, all wearing ski masks and carrying
guns rushed in. They think they had everyone controlled while they had the manager open the safe
with the night's receipts. The manager was a nervous man, though, and couldn't get the safe open
for a few minutes. After he did get it open, there wasn't much--it was a slow night, after all. There
was less than 300 dollars. The cops think the robbers got frustrated and took their rage out on the
employees. All 5 of them were shot in the back of the head, execution style.

I sat in the apartment in the dark. I had gone down to the police station and talked for hours with
several different people. I'd told them everything I knew about Amelia and her family, how she and I
came to be living together, the fourth grade, her compassion and my fucked-up history and her
beautiful nature and she was gone.
After several hours I stood up. I don't know why, probably because I usually took my showers late at
night after Amelia had eaten and I'd cleaned up and she was asleep. I walked in the bathroom and
pulled my clothes off. As I went to step into the shower I happened to glance in the mirror.
I could read it, it must have been written in my skin in mirror image. There was a list of names, three
of them. Underneath each name was an address.