What was my part in this play? The Sidekick. I was Daisy’s Friend, or Ms. Holmes’s Daughter. I was somebody’s something.
I felt my stomach begin to work on the sandwich, and even over everybody’s talking, I could hear it digesting,
all the bacteria chewing the slime of peanut butter—the students inside of me eating at my internal cafeteria.
A shiver convulsed through me. “Didn’t you go to camp with him?” Daisy asked me.
“With who?” “Davis Pickett,” she said. “Yeah,” I said.
“Why?” “Aren’t you listening?” Daisy asked.
I am listening, I thought, to the cacophony of my digestive tract.
Of course I’d long known that I was playing host to a massive collection of parasitic organisms, but I didn’t much like being reminded of it.
By cell count, humans are approximately 50 percent microbial, meaning that about half of the cells that make you up are not yours at all.
There are something like a thousand times more microbes living in my particular biome than there are human beings on earth,
and it often seems like I can feel them living and breeding and dying in and on me.
I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and tried to control my breathing.
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