Teeth, Love, and Growing Up

I have so many mosquito bites on my legs that my skin looks like an astronomy chart of constellations. Or a connect-the-dots coloring page for kids. The mosquitoes here are black and white, like a zebra. The first time I killed one (and it took a while of swatting before I managed to land a hit), I stared at the bloody little smudge in the palm of my hand in fascination. Its tiny legs (and probably body, too, but I couldn’t tell) are black and white striped. They’re small but unbelievably sneaky and vicious; most of the time I only notice I’ve been bitten when my skin starts feeling irresistibly itchy. I can't help but scratch at the welts left behind. Once it’s dusk, it’s impossible to avoid them. While waiting for a cab to go play hockey, I try and keep moving, naively believing they can’t land on me while I’m rubbing my legs together like a cricket to minimize surface area – but by the time my driver arrives I’m sure I’ve lost a liter of blood to the mosquitoes at least. They ca...