So after checking all the sheets and all of the light fixtures, my sister and I would usually go to sleep.   Even after twenty years, I still have the two inch scar running down my right arm.  If my Uncle Johnny was right, I think the spider chose to bite me there, because I’d been forced to wear an arm brace to bed.  I didn’t actually have anything wrong with my arm at the time.  It’s just that I’d lied about having some sort of nerve pain in my right elbow to get out of having to play the cello.  I hated carrying the stupid thing around, and had learned over time that my parents weren’t ones to let me quit anything they’d already spent money on, unless I could come up with a medical excuse to justify it.  While my mother let me skip practice at first, eventually she insisted on taking me into an orthopedist for an expert opinion.  All I remember is agreeing with whatever the doctor said, something about nerve pain and numbness, which resulted in my constantly having to wear a thick plastic brace.  I nodded along, got prescribed the brace, but at least I never had to place the cello again. 

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