Miles From Fenway

Pieces of Me
July 23, 2007, 11:15 pm
Filed under: misc.

The two thin white lines on my ankle were courtesy of a cat whose name I can’t remember. A cat owner myself now, I realize that all she wanted was to play. She was lonely and I hadn’t stayed with her long enough on that particular trip to refill her food bowl. But as a youngster who had never lived with a pet before, I was terrified. I left so quickly after her teeth sunk into my skin that I didn’t even lock the door. I ran the three blocks to my house with tears streaming down my face and blood trickling into my sandals.

The raised skin on my knee came from the pavement of Robin Christy’s driveway. She and her family had recently moved into a new house just blocks from the previous one that had been two doors down from my own. I was anxious to be with my friend again. My bike was not as anxious as I, as if it was confused by its new surroundings.

The bubble-like mark on my left side is a reminder of my struggle with the chicken pox. And it was a struggle. As a fifth grader I developed a secondary infection and was only hours from being hospitalized when my fever finally broke.

The discolored circle on my left elbow I blame entirely on Ms. Hayes. She was the teacher in middle school that everyone was afraid of. When a particularly heated game of dodge ball found me gushing from an open wound she denied my need for a trip to the nurse. The doctor later said I should have received stitches.

On my left hand you’ll find what looks like the beginnings of a wart, but is instead what is left of an extra appendage. I was, technically, born with six fingers on my left hand. It didn’t have any bone or muscle tone, but it was there none-the-less. They tied it before I left the hospital and told my mother to expect it to fall off. It did, but the weirdest part is she never found it.

A little below each of my ears, right where the jaw bones connect, two small incision marks can be found, the only outward remnants of the jaw surgery I endured when I was seventeen. It is still amazing to me that there are six screws in there, holding together a jaw that was unhinged, broken, had pieces removed, and then completely realigned.

There is a faint line in my right eyebrow where hair still will not grow. While riding around the neighborhood on bikes with some of the girls who lived nearby, a few of the boys decided to start chasing us. One of them stuck his foot in front of my front tire, meaning, no doubt, to scare me. Instead, the front of my bike stopped short sending me headfirst into the pavement and my glasses frames straight into my eyebrow. The ensuing concussion was so bad I threw up into the phone that night while trying to tell a friend what getting stitches felt like.

In reality, the reason most of those scars are there is the psoriasis I was diagnosed with when I was young. My scar tissue builds up faster than most people’s. But in an age when scars are removable, wrinkles are hidden, and imperfections erased, I feel a certain warmth towards each and every one of these physical memories. I pass a walk-in Botox clinic on my way into the office every morning and think “Maybe it’s because I’m still so young, but why would you try to hide your age? That you’ve lived a life worth living, no matter how seemingly insignificant the memories attached to the wrinkles, scars, and marks are?”

Maybe one day I’ll get it, but I doubt it. Bring on the laugh lines.


4 Comments so far
Leave a comment

I have scars on my foot, my finger, my chin and my forehead and as much as they’re not pretty, they are definitely a part of me.

Welcome back and I had had fun at the party. And your friend asked me out…

Comment by Esther

I can tell you about 3 stab wounds, and a part of my head where I was attacked with a jagged rusty shovel, but why compare?
Wanna do like Dryfus and Robert Shaw.
Not the reason I comment. I really love the way you write, I wait for you to post, and somehow I feel I know you on some sort of intimate level. Somehow after only meeting you once by accident, I care.
You’re so nice to read.


Comment by The Nation within the Empire

Thanks, Brian, that was an incredibly sweet compliment.

Now I almost feel bad about the gay brothel post I just put up. Ha!

Comment by FINY

dont feel bad.. it was hillarious!
I love this shit.
Happy birthday by the way.

Comment by The Nation within the Empire

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