Alligator Skin

Grandma and Me

Last night I put some of Mark's lotion on my arms because I have alligator skin. Dry, flaky, rough skin caused by the extremely dry winter air in Chicago. I didn't have this problem last year. My skin stayed smooth, possibly because twenty seven years of Florida humidity had plumped it up long enough to withstand our first winter here. This winter is different. My skin has been sucked dry as sand paper and looks bad. Twenty years of living with Mark and I have picked up some things that only black people talk about, like ashy skin. That's why I had faith in the lotion that Mark slathers on his dry patches. I squirted a nice puddle of lotion in my hand and smeared it all up and down my arms. Oh my god, it was disgusting. It did a nice job of smoothing my skin out, but now I smelled just like my Grandmother. Not that there was anything wrong with how Grandma smelled, like a mix of body odors, old lady perfume, and Palmolive soap, but I didn't want to smell like that. I tried to wash it off, but that lotion soaked deeply into my skin. The odor was so strong that I had a hard time sleeping, and when I did fall asleep I dreamt that my face was not buried in my pillow, but snuggled between my grandma's breasts. Which is a real thing that she used to do when I was a very small boy. She would sit me on her lap and sing me a song in that German accent, while pressing my head against her chest.