Dopecentury XVIII --- Itch
This short fiction is part of Dopecentury, an experimental project where I attempt to channel the aural aesthetics of Dopesmoker into written text. (Dopesmoker is the legendary stoner-doom metal masterpiece by the band Sleep, of which it is said: "the monotony rarely becomes tedious.") My plan is to listen to the single hour-long track of Dopesmoker while writing each of these "Dopecentury" entries. And repeat that 100 times. See the Dopecentury project page for more details.
It began with a small welt on my leg. Not even a "welt" really. A small discoloration. A tiny raised bump. Maybe a bug bite? Maybe an allergic reaction? I don't know. But it was accompanied by a mild itch, as such things often are. At first, I just scratched it easy, barely consciously. I just rubbed the tips of my fingers against it through the fabric of my pants, the fabric giving my scratching finger just a mild veneer of coarseness, which an itch likes. The itch was soon relieved and I moved on with my day.
But most itches are like an appetite, given a little time, they return, as this particular itch did. It was not long before I was digging my nails into the itch, though still through the fabric of my pants. I had not yet reached the point of scratching the skin directly.
Now this itch was located just about half way down my lower leg, directly in the center of the side of my leg. Connoisseurs of itch will recognize this as being among the more ideal places to get an itch. It was easily reached from a sitting position requiring no contortions of the hand, leg, or body to achieve the ideal scratching angle. Sure, some itch experts argue that mid-arm is more accessible and has the benefit of not requiring one to bend over to scratch — which, indeed, can be quite embarrassing in a public situation. How many times have I been waiting in a line, bent over and digging into a set of raised bumps or a rough and stubborn scab just to look up and see the person behind me in line watching me with disgust! We who appreciate a good scratch certainly face some amount of ostracization by polite society! We have not yet reached the point where the finer points of scratching are shared and debated in the lifestyles section of the paper. Perhaps someday!
Regardless, I maintain the lower leg is a better place for an itch than the arm. While you give up the (somewhat questionable) benefits of public scratching, in the privacy of one's home — which until we reach a more enlightened era is probably the best place to engage in vigorous scratching — the lower leg allows you to fully pursue an itch from a relaxed, seated position. In this situation, you can dedicate your full attention to scratching. Too often the limitation on a good scratch is tiring of holding some awkward position — think of scratching the back side of the shoulder, for instance. With a lower leg, the only limit is the satisfaction of the itch itself.
Allow me to digress for a moment on the subject of "mindful" scratching. Some who have achieved the highest levels of satisfaction from scratching an itch argue that it is best to clear one's mind and focus on the scratching and the unadulterated pleasure of scratching an itch. There's another camp that argues the scratching of an itch should be unconscious. They suggest that scratching is something best left to the deeper functions of the body. Let the mind wander, they argue, think about anything but the scratching and the itch, let the body take care of itself. There's some merit to both camps, I feel. Very often, an itch comes to me while thinking about something else, and I will find I am scratching that itch without pausing in my pondering. This is particularly true if I am thinking about something that is very much in my head with little physical requirements. That is to say itches come less often while I am, say, walking, and more often if I am sitting and writing as I am right now. It is as if the body wants something to occupy itself while the mind is busy, and so conjures up an itch and the action of scratching it.
Often this almost-unconscious scratching will entirely take over, and I will be unable to do anything else except scratch until the itch is satisfied. This situation is beyond what even the second camp argues. This is like the unconscious scratching has taken over, I become essentially a zombie scratcher. I do not appreciate this. It makes me feel out of control. So in those situations I join the first camp and try to empty my mind of anything except the itch and the scratch — a way to regain control… maybe?
Anyway, the particular tiny welt of my lower leg did initially retreat at some mild and semi-conscious scratching. But it soon returned with reinforcements. It was not long before I had my pant leg pulled up and I was digging my nails into the side of my calf. Almost unconsciously at first! But I could feel the zombie scratch coming on, so I stopped what I was doing and focused my mind on the itch. It was then that I realized this particular itch had returned with an uncommon relentlessness.
Mild scratching with the fingernails was not doing the job. I decided to pursue the itch with an old trick of mine: more but gentler scratching. I got an old soft toothbrush and brushed away at that little welt. The idea is that a soft brush might fully satisfy the itch in a gentle manner. But this itch soon called for rougher and rougher brushing. I needed to go to the next level.
I got out my keys, and slid the metal points of a good toothy key up and down my leg, back and forth over the little welt. This did satisfy the itch… for a time. I'll admit that I was somewhat sad to see it go.
It was within the hour that the itch came back. This time with friends. More welts had appeared next to the original, and the original had grown in size and strength. "Back for more my little friend?" I asked, pressing the central welt with the tip of my finger. I wasn't going to waste time with toothbrushes now. I went straight to the sand paper. 120 grit seemed about right. I cut a piece the size of my hand, and placed a wood block behind it. I ground it back and forth against my leg and the dead skin sloughed off on either side. The itch relented almost immediately, and the satisfaction of it gave me chills.
The skin of my leg was left red and raw, but it remained quiet… for a short time.
Then it was back! More vicious than ever, red welts now rising all along my leg. I slapped the welts — I had some satisfaction with certain itches in the past from that maneuver. But this itch was immune to slaps. I needed more stopping power.
I got a wire brush, the bristles so stiff that the points of them were unpleasantly painful on healthy skin. But against that itch they felt wonderful. I dug in, leaving long hashes of red stripes across the muscle of my legs, upon which pinpricks of red blood rose.
The itch retreated, but regrouped and attacked again.
I found a box of 16d framing nails. I arrayed them between my fingers, and the dragged them up my leg. The itch resisted, and I pressed the points of the nails further into my skin, dragging them fiercely up my leg. And then back down again, faster and faster. The blood now oozed and ran down my leg.
The itch got stronger.
I selected my cold chisel. I dug it into my leg. The itch went deep, trying to hide. I dug harder. I could feel the chisel slicing through my muscle, grinding against my bone. That's right: my bone itched!
The itch fled, but didn't leave. I chased it up and down my leg with that chisel, gouging and slicing, ripping and tearing. Blood ran down my leg, and pooled around my feet. I picked up a hammer and smacked the end of the chisel. I nicked out pieces of bone. But every time I thought I nailed down that fucking itch it jumped to another spot. A cunning and wily little devil.
I finally got it. I had it directly under the point of my chisel. I slammed the hammer down, and my leg split in two. You would think this would hurt, but the itch was so vicious and the satisfaction of nailing it down so great, that I can tell you I felt nothing but pleasure. Pure shaking pleasure that wafted over my whole body as I split that itch in two.