Perfect Circles

There are perfect circles around my knee. Little greenish brown spots. They're very pretty. The circles make me feel like the teenagers with spiky black hair and rings in their ears. The green circles are my tatoo.

The ring of circles makes me rubbery knee cap the center of a flower. My kneecaps float when I pop them out. I like to gross people out that way. Not everyone can move their kneecaps. It relaxes me when I'm sitting in Mrs. Jones spelling class, bored out of my mind. I just reach down, pushing my red and green plaid skirt out of the way and push my knee around. I know that I'm going to have a bad night when my knees won't move when I try to push them.

But the circles are new. I don't know anything about them. I push on them to see if they give-in, like the little bubble on my elbow.

Nothing happens. My thumb leaves an imprint, but that fades before I can examine the mark.

Perfect green circles.

Maybe I'm marked by aliens.

I bet that's it. I have four freckles around my the top of my arm. Four freckles right in a row. All of them the same size.

Mommy says I'm meant for something important. She said that when I lost my first tooth six years ago, when I was only four. My friends were so jealous when I showed them the stickers and the bright quarters left under my pillow at kindergarten the next day. No one else had gotten anything from the toothfairy yet. But I had. Like Mommy says, I'm special.

These green circles are just another example of that.