I press on the gelatinous bump. The harmless, fluid-filled cyst is evidence I’m not a little girl anymore. Too prudent to put a price on my vanity, I keep it, the target on my back. Is my body trying to take something in? Or push something out — like a grain of sand that doesn’t belong? Half-turned in the mirror, I push down again, hoping for pearls. But there’s only displaced pressure along my spine. Harder, I try again. There has to be something, some reason for… The numbness is unhurried, but it’s there as I reboot myself into another life.