I used to be embarrassed by them; the one on my forehead especially, not so much the one on my neck (where I had a benign cyst removed in first grade). Eventually I kind of forgot about them. They became parts of me, forever there.
After my accident, when I returned home with dreams of finally returning to school that’s when I noticed it. I mean I always knew it was there but I was finally able to see it more clearly and regularly; the dark red lines on the indent of my neck by my collarbones. Or the one that was hidden by my shirt, the big hole right above my belly button (it was my second belly button).
Bright Lights Matchbox 20
I got a hole in me now
I got a scar I can talk about
She keeps a picture of me in her apartment in the city
But some things in this world
Man, they don’t make sense
I thought they were horrific, I didn’t want to appear different from my peers (mind you, I was in high school; and at the time I obviously forgot that I’d be in a wheelchair when I went back so I’d already be very different from my peers.), I didn’t want to be seen as a
victim. Because I wasn’t; I’m still not, I’m a fighter, an athlete.
Mom knew I was embarrassed by the scars, she told me they were character but still rubbed lotion on me every day.
The scars on my skin eventually faded, and the giant hole above my naval shrunk into a slight gash. I have other scars too; I’m sure I have an internal scar on my noggin but I still have more. Memories, they’ve left scars I hope never go away. The good and the bad, laughter or hurt they’ve all taught me something.