The Corpuscle

I had a roommate once, a compatriot from college who moved to New York along with a number of us other Theater Hopefuls. He and I were friendly enough with each other. We liked each other, we were pleasant with each other, but we didn't share much of ourselves.

Time passed, and at some point my roommate developed an unfortunate cyst right on top of his head. He went to the doctor who put him in the hospital. The knives came out and after a suitably (for the HMO) short recovery time, he came back home to the apartment.

A certain amount of home treatment of the wound was required and he needed someone to do it for him, this being a consequence of the wound being right on top of his head and out of his view and reach, so he recruited a very reluctant me. It's not that I'm particularly squeamish; it's just that this thing in particular really grossed me out.

But. I did it anyway. I guess I thought it was the right thing to do.

So that's what it's like when you like but don't love the one to whom's cyst you are attending. For an alternative view, this time argued from love, I refer you to a piece in the current New Yorker, "Old Faithful", by David Sedaris. It's funny. It's sweet. It's a little bit gross.