i was walking between buildings one day when i was in high school. noone else was outside with me, and i was in a good mood. so my happy ass was literally skipping to
the science building. but before i got there, my shoes betrayed me, and slipped on the dry concrete. i wish it was on tape. america's funniest home videos coulda paid my way through school. my feet went up, my head came down, and when gravity was finished having its way with me, i found myself laying on my back, stunned. and blessed, because i was able to get up and keep it moving with no injuries, save one. my left middle finger hasn't been straight since that day. good thing it's barely noticeable, 'cause it's right next to the finger that may one day be flashed to loved ones who ask to see his gift to me.
i was about five or six, and was standing too close to the door as he was trying to open the lock
the key's path
with a key. i guess he fumbled a bit - the key slipped and found its way across my right cheek, just under my eye. i don't remember if it hurt, but my mom was beside herself, worried about her baby girl's face, and the bleeding, and what if it had been my eye?!?! but, thank God, it wasn't my eye. the key's path is still visible there, and if you look hard enough, you can see it. i don't even try to conceal it, 'cause people don't even notice it until i tell them it's there, and besides, i don't like foundation or concealer much anyway.
i had my fair share of tumbles and skinned knees. but for whatever reason, this particular scrape produced four distinct scabs, as if i'd been scraped by a fork
with thick tines. i don't remember what caused the scabs, but i do remember picking them... and picking them... and picking them... and i probably remember it so well because i am looking at my left knee cap right now, and yup - there they are. four little bright stripes, ranging from a quarter inch to a half inch long, tracking south southeast on my knee.
my mamanem should have gotten rid of that damn coffee table. or maybe i should have just listened to my mom and slowed my little butt down. either way, if i look hard enough for the evidence, my shins tell the story. i find it quite ironic that she finally ditched the whole coffee table thing once i'd acquired some decorum and grace. too late to save my legs, but right on time to rid her living room of the table's clutter that irked her so. to this day, i have no coffee table in my living room. humph. i don't drink coffee noway...
i never wear three pairs of earrings at once. on occasion, i may wear two at a time. but never three. but mom hooked me up as an infant, and then said okay twice after i
hit puberty. and i didn't have anything better to do than to allow some girl to create that warmwarmwarm feeling in my ear as my cartilage was assaulted with that little stud that you have to clean and turn... clean and turn... clean... turn... silly waste of time. at least i'll never have to wish for more.
i call them my beauty marks. why can't i? just 'cause they're not on my face - on a cheek perhaps, or just so, above my upper lip? whatever. there's one above my right hip that's only visible in a bikini or low-rise jeans. got another beauty mark on my right shoulder blade. and then a few others on my ah, chest, that ah... only doctors have seen. *dodging lightning bolt...*
and speaking of lightning bolts - i have some of those, too. traceable,
soap, water, lotion, cocoa butter, love.
it's all beautiful.