My sister and I had a fight today. Something petty, not worth mentioning. We've gotten really good at fighting over the years. I can't help but think that one of these days she'll slam the door and never come back. And she's gotten really good at slamming doors, let me tell you.
After her dramatic exit, I'm still fuming, heart racing. I walk over to my bed and that's when I feel it. I wonder how bad it will be this time. The skin on my forearm starts to stretch until it splits - bursts like a seam. The pain hits me belatedly. I need to sit; I collapse onto my bed with a gasp and brace my arm by my elbow. Now comes the blood. I place a shaking hand to slow the bleeding while I find a towel. I get up and stagger just a bit and walk briskly towards the bath room. I grab my dark purple towel - hopefully that hides the stains - and press it down hard onto the gaping wound; I grit my teeth. Holy crap. This sucks.
I wonder if my sister is handling herself as gracefully as I am at this moment. You would think I was used to this by now.
I stare down at the bright red gash on my forearm. It is maybe only about 2 inches long; I wonder to myself if I need stitches. It isn't bleeding anymore, just... throbbing. It still fascinates me how quickly the wounds show up - mere minutes. I've always thought it brilliant that they are never worse than I'm feeling, rather perfectly synced to the emotion. "What you feel within, will be displayed throughout," they say. Strong emotion is never felt without wearing a scar to match.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. That sure was an ordeal. I walk over to the full length mirror and take inventory of all my battle scars. Some nicks I got when I was younger, faded and small. The tiny cut on my collarbone from when I broke up with my boyfriend of a week in the eigth grade. I thought it was the worst thing that could have happened to me. Then my dog died and I bruised my ribcage. My best friend moved away and I busted my lip. I fell in love in the summer and in the fall he fell in love as well, but not with me. I touch the scar he left on my chest just over my heart.
It's a wonder I am still in one piece. I should take some pointers from Sally and carry around some needle and thread.
I arch and twist and look for more little dings and scratches in the body work. The pain in my forearm has subsided. The scar closed and turning pink. I guess the speedy healing is something to be thankful for.
I hear my phone ringing from the bedroom. I see the screen blinking from my desk. It's my sister. Her scar must be all healed up as well.
"Yo," I answer.
"So... you okay?" She asks. She sounds tired. Hell, I'm exhausted.
"Yeah, it's all good now."
"Okay. Talk to you later."
That's as close to an apology as I'm going to get. I decide to let it go. No need to torture myself anymore today. I flop backwards onto my bed. I lift my forearm to look at my newest badge.
I have seen people with worse. I can't imagine what they must have felt to get their scars. How heartbroken do you have to be to go blind? How tormented are you to have burns seared around your neck like an invisible noose?
I hope I never find out.