Capsaicin.

I made myself chicken noodle soup for lunch this afternoon, and I used some of the hot sauce treebyleaf bought me at Dixie's BBQ. You may have heard of this stuff -- it's called "The Man," and it's deservedly legendary around here. I have absolutely no idea what exactly is in this stuff, how it's made, or just how hot it is on the Scoville scale, but it's some of the most intense stuff I've ever put in my mouth. It's a dark, dark red, viscous substance, almost solid, like clotted blood. It has an oily sheen to it and it is shot through with chili pepper seeds -- the seeds, of course, being the part of the pepper that contains the most heat. This stuff looks dark and sinister and almost willful; you can tell by looking at it that it wants to hurt you.

I used maybe about a third of a teaspoon to flavor two large bowls of soup, and it was enough to leave me shaking, hurting, and blowing my nose every five seconds. And I was terribly happy.

It struck me that I might be a little hard-pressed to explain to an outside observer exactly why I do this to myself.

But I'll try.

Hot peppers contain an odorless, flavorless, colorless, oily substance, an irritant, an alkaline, a phenolic amide with a molecular weight of 305.42 called capsaicin (cap-SAY-a-sin), or 8-methyl-n-vanillyl-6-nonenamide if you're feeling technical. It binds to a receptor in the lining of the mouth, a protein called vanilloid receptor subtype 1, found in the membranes of certain nerve cells. When activated, VR1 lets positively charged ions, especially calcium ions, flow through the cell membrane. The presence of the calcium ions then opens more channels, which lets in more ions, and so on, in a positive feedback loop that's the basis of the nerve impulse. This is the very same receptor that registers pain from heat. Thus the feeling that your mouth is on fire. This pain causes the brain to release endorphins -- natural opiates -- inducing a mild euphoria. The brain sends out more with each new bite.

We seem to be the only animals that do this to ourselves willingly. Birds and reptiles don't seem to have the same receptors, and are unaffected by the heat; and most mammals avoid chili the way they would a poison. A 1979 study states that humans are the only mammals that "reverse their natural rejection" to "innately unpalatable substances" such as nicotine, coffee, alcohol, tobacco, and, well, chili peppers.

Of course, unlike nicotine and alcohol, there are benefits to the consumption of chilis beyond a simple state of drugged-out bliss. Hot peppers are high in vitamins A and C and bioflavinoids, and have a number of anti-oxidant properties; they're excellent scavengers of free radicals; they help strengthen blood vessel walls, increase peripheral circulation, lowers blood pressure, and temporarily boost the metabolic system. Capsaicin can inhibit glucose absorption through the stomach lining. It can reduce Triglycerides and low density cholesterol and increases the liver enzyme activity in fat metabolism.

But all the intellectual knowledge of their benefits in the world wouldn't get me to do this to myself if I didn't like it. There's something that feels like a higher purpose to the process, something ennobling, something pure. The burning sensation I get from chilis lifts me up out of my ordinary senses and thought processes; I feel like everything bad in my body, mind and spirit is being burned out of me. It's like a communion, like stepping forward and receiving fire from Prometheus. I feel more alive and vibrant; I feel prepared, now, tempered and forged, ready for practically anything.

Ready for more.

Just a boy.

This isn't the first time I've been excluded from someone's circle of confidants just for being the wrong gender. Hell, it's probably not even the fiftieth time.

So why does it keep surprising me? Why does it always hurt as if it were the first time?