I'm not exactly sure when it was that my mother recognized a pattern to the scaly pink patches appearing on her skin. When she first told my brother and me about it, we were eating dinner at China Sea with my father, and the waiter had just set down four bowls of perfectly scooped white rice. It's not a good thing, but it's going to be okay. I don't want either of you to worry. I held my breath.
Psoriasis takes a while to go away.
My brother, Aaron, almost three years older than me and sharper to the subtleties of adult language, stirred his coke with his straw and asked if the problem was a disease. Yes, psoriasis is a disease. I asked, not one bit relieved by calm explanations. After all, we were just emerging from a long winter of sweaters, slacks and thick wool stockings. At least a year had passed since we had shared one of our long, soapy bubble baths.