Topic: My Scars
"I've had that scar since I was 8."
Most people have never seen it because of where it is. It's my secret scar. Only my parents know about it. I don't even think that John has noticed it yet, and we've been dating for almost 3 years.
*Pulls up shirt an inch and pushes skirt down an inch, then points to scar on right hip*
That's my secret scar. About 2 inches long and a half inch wide. Horizontal with my undies.
I got that scar when I was 8 on the only day that I had ever fallen off my bike.
My family and I went for a walk that day. The day was gorgeous, so we decided that my brother and I could take our bikes. I wasn't a good rider yet, so it was okay for my parents to walk beside me until we got to the bridge.
The bridge was the farthest that we were ever allowed to go in our neighborhood. A 5 minute walk from our house, the bridge was a one-lane bridge with a creek (read: crick) running underneath. There was a field beside the bridge to explore and small walkways under the bridge for my little feet. The road was a country "backroad" with maybe 10 cars passing over the bridge a day and a big hill curving downhill right by the bridge.
My brother and I were riding around on our bikes that day while my parents were standing on the bridge looking for fish. We would walk our bikes up the hill and coast back down to the applause of our mom. I loved feeling the breeze through my hair as I would coast down the hill towards the bridge.
"STACEY! A TRUCK! WATCH OUT!"
A big old Ford truck was rumbling over the bridge and I was making my descent. I panicked (isn't that what you're supposed to do when an accident is supposed to happen?!). I knew that the truck and my bike were going to meet head on. So I leapt off my bike without a second thought.
I skidded to a stop on the gravel only to see my bike laying on the ground. Untouched. The truck had pulled off into a driveway right at the end of the bridge. My mom came running towards me. I was crying like the hounds of hell were attacking me. The only thing she noticed was my scraped left elbow where I had landed. We hurried back to the house after giving my dad instructions to bring my bike back to the house.
Standing in the bathroom a few minutes later, my mom was already putting "cleaning solution" (hydgrogen peroxide/ammonium/sodium chloride/whatever the hell it is in the brown bottle that stings like a mofo and bubbles whenever you put it on a new scar) and a large band-aid on my elbow. I gingerly touched my right hip and cried out in pain.
"Mommy, my hip hurts. My right one."
She lifted my shirt, only to find the skin scraped away. My shirt must have lifted up while I was skimming the gravel. 2 inches long by a half inch wide. Bleeding red with small pieces of gravel ground into the skin. More ouchie-stingy liquid was applied, then my mom took a pair of tweezers and proceeded to pluck out all of the bits of gravel. Another large band-aid and I was sent to my room to play.
I wiped my tears on the bloody, gravel-ripped shirt as I walked to my room. I ripped that shirt off and threw it in the trash can, hoping to never remember that crappy day. Unfortunately, the scar is still with me, reminding me that reacting on instinct only hurts you and everyone around you. My brother and I were never allowed to go to the bridge again.
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LJ_Idol: Week 9
Topic: My Scars
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