Now that the memorial service was finished, he could catch his breath, take a moment to try and make sense of everything. It had all gotten so confusing lately. Under the fluorescent light, he looked tired. Drawn. It was to be expected, he supposed. Mourning his son, hadn’t been sleeping right. Color was off. He just hoped his bad complexion hadn’t been too obvious this morning. He dabbed at the black spots at the corners of his mouth. He scrubbed harder; they persisted. Bob double-checked the bathroom door to make sure it was locked, then leaned into the mirror and gave the biggest blemish on the right ride of his mouth, right where his lips came together, a wicked squeeze. It bulged, but wouldn’t pop. He tried again. No explosion, no wet splat. He tried on the other side. No matter the angle, he could not express the black circles. And they were getting bigger, no question. Squeezing them just made things worse; his fingernails tore the skin and increased the swelling in the immediate area.
