I ran so fast I left bits of skin and blood behind on a four lane freeway in Seattle. I bled into a bus in Jersey, but the bus driver had a Green Lantern bandaid in his metal lunch box, so it didn’t scar as much as it could have.
I was slapped by a dog. Thick claws against soft human skin. Drank out of a straw for three months and called it a win. We lived too far from the hospital to get stitches unless it was a dire necessity, but dried tobacco held my face in place even if it did cost me my dimples.
Stitches had been a dire necessity only a year before. Double-digit tallies of thread, sewn in by a doctor who looked like Mr. Magoo and smelled like mint peppermint patties.
A stapler, wielded poorly by an astronaut. A luggage buckle, dropped by a handsome bellman. A concession stand, on the outskirts of a volleyball game.
A plastic spoon at a funeral. A saran wrap machine in a gas station. A giant tub of cobbler in state prison, made worse by the fire we fought the next day.
Worrying too much. Thinking too hard. Working too long. It’s a wrinkle, not a scar, but good luck sinking the truth into my thick skin.
Piercings I changed my mind about. The chicken pox. A rubber-stubbed bow to the eye as I watch my brother marry a sister into my life. A pinch from a sliding door as I watched my sister’s first steps. Cat scratch. Bee sting. Splinter from a treehouse I loved, a treehouse I hated, a dog house that never housed a dog. Splinter from a chicken coop that housed a zillion chickens– and me, for a day.
A bathroom counter, once. Twice. Okay, three times.
That one? Just a birthmark, a mole, a beauty mark. They say it makes me royalty, magical, hallmarked by God. They say it makes me cursed, fate-kissed, pinpointed by a Universe on a path of destruction.
The time I was outside. The time I was inside. The time I was loved, and the time I was forgotten. It’s just a wrinkle, a mark, a fold, a cut, a line, a dot, a spot. It’s just the same story, over and over again.
I ran so fast that I left bits of myself behind, everywhere.
What happened there?
Aren’t I lucky?
What’s your favorite scar, birthmark, or wrinkle?