Posted by: shellyweave | May 13, 2010

the fragile nature of flesh.

I was sitting around and thinking, what could I possibly write about today? So I just stared at the screen, re-reading Meghan’s last post over and over, and then it hit me. Well, it actually hit me like two years ago when Meghan injured me, leaving behind one of my favorite scars.

Now I know, favorite and scar aren’t two words that are usually paired, but as I’ve previously mentioned, I am a sentimental person. Even with the ugly marks on my body that I’ll probably always have.

The first is a thick red trench above my left knee right where the blue flowered dress I had planned meticulously for that night hit. It was the Mystery Dinner Theater at my church, a fundraiser we do every year that I’ve been involved in since I was fourteen. Usually we do it as a reader’s theater, standing stationary, but this year we had a set, wireless microphones, and a director that took the show from a simple little reading, to a full blown production. We were walking around chairs, tables, shelves, and I won’t even attempt to explain the chaos backstage. In the last act I felt my leg hurting, burning, but I couldn’t stop to check what was up. As soon as I got behind the set I lifted the skirt to my dress and there were scratches all running all over, and one big bleeding gash. I have no idea what I did, or how I did it, but it was nasty. And it will be engraved forever, even though it’s surrounding friend, Scratchy Magee, has long since disappeared. I didn’t bleed on that dress, just in case you’re wondering. Yeah, I’m awesome.

The next is my right knee, forever slightly discolored since first grade. I was living in Ohio with my aunt and uncle, and they had a long gravel driveway. My sister, also one of my best friends, had slept over at her friend Gabby’s and I guess I REALLY missed her because my giant, afro covered head (I had ridiculously curly hair as a child, and my parents thought cutting it short was just darling) got the notion to go streaking down the driveway as my mom pulled in with her in the car. Maybe my bare feet just didn’t handle well on the gravel, maybe it was that stupid giant head that brought me down, either way I ate it HARD. I slid all the way down to the van, both of my knees a bloody mess. I remember my uncle carrying me in to the big green plush chair, all the adults rushing around looking for bandages and peroxide. For the next three years my knees would bust open over and over again, and it really sucked. But now I can stare at that darker knee cap and remember that even little me loved my sister more than anything.

The last scar is the Meghan Scar. Not the most interesting mark, just a little one inch line, barely noteworthy now, on my left elbow. But I love it nonetheless. Once upon a time fifteen year olds Meghan and Shelly were getting ready for a day at the mall with a certain ex-boyfriend of Meghan’s. We were in her bathroom, one at each sink, talking and listening to KMLE Country 108, Meghan equipped with a curling iron and I with a straightener. We both have a bad habit of talking through gestures, and for some reason we were on the opposite sides of what we usually are. Meghan got excited about something, which caused me to get equally excited, and we both flung our arms out, and she landed the hot iron on my elbow, blazing a deep and bubbling burn into my skin. I didn’t think it was a big deal, but my mother flipped when she saw it, stuck some crazy blue goo over it and wrapped my arm with gauze.

It was seriously gross.

It is my favorite because that is our friendship in a nutshell. We’re both careless sometimes, but we always come out with a fun reminder of our endeavors. I think that’s what I love about scars. As human’s we break and bleed, but we also have this amazing healing capability. And yeah, sometimes we’re left with an ugly reminder of the past, but it’s a souvenir of the things that make us who we are. Scars are there so we don’t lose ourselves.

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