Ian S. Maloney* Her wrinkly hands touch my forehead. She places her glasses on her nose, hung from a chain around her neck. I pull my hair back as the doctor looks at the ghostly blue crease on my head. My mother waits in the seat next to the desk; she clutches her purse and taps her feet. My father waits in the car, smoking and listening to sports radio. “He came back from football camp with it…it just seems to get darker and more pronounced every day since. We thought it was a pinch from the helmet.” “I see.” I remain silent. I keep looking around as the doctor … Continue reading →