Scars and Gravel, Gravel and Scars

I've been the victim of attempted murder on more than one occasion. Mostly by people who claim they love me. And/or are related to me...

He doesn't look like a killer. But, that's what they always say.

In this particular case, I was horribly disfigured. It's a miracle I even leave the house. Because, my brother.

One afternoon we were unsupervised. It was cloudy. I had my pink and white jacket on. I'm guessing it was spring, probably right before my fourth birthday.

Remember, I'm a small town girl...

Out in front of Tyke's store there is a flat spot next to the road. The fertilizer companies would bring big tanks and stage them there - now, to keep people from killing themselves or others with the chemicals, they were up high with a ladder hanging down. If you were a fertilizer man, you had a ladder that connected to this and you could get up there. If you were a kid, you saw a challenge.

The challenge: ride your bike under the ladders. And not die. Or, more importantly, don't kill your passenger. Your much younger passenger.

'Hey Stace, you want to go on a ride?'

'Yeah!' Big brother fun times!

'Okay, do you know what duck means?'

'Yeah.' Geez, I'm almost four, but I'm not an idiot.

And so, trusting him with my little tiny human life, I got on the back of his bike. Or, more likely, he put me up there.

We were moving so fast! So fun!

So stupid and trusting.

'Okay Stace, you ready? When I say duck, you duck.'

'Ready!'

'Okay, Duck!'

'WHERE?!' I looked to the sky, searching for the duck. Or better yet, ducks. Ducks are fun.

Now, there's a sound. A distinct sound. It's the sound of aluminum hitting your skull. Followed by the more dull sound of your tiny body slamming onto the gravel. And, you see Jesus for a second or two. Then, well, then, you taste blood. That has trickled all the way down from your forehead.

In his defense, he did freak out at the sight of me. My sister looked a little disappointed. From what I could see. Through the blood.

So we walked to get help. Can't go home with a face like that. We were stupid, but not that stupid.

I hope that everyone has an Aunt Nancy in their life. An Aunt Nancy will save your bacon - numerous times. Most of them will involve an injury and blood. Sometimes stitches too. With the added benefits of a cookie to make you feel better after. In the least, she'll clean you up and carry you up the road to your mothers house. Better to walk in blood free. Lest we get ourselves killed.

And now, I have a scar on my forehead and an almost paralyzing fear of being hit in the face. As I age and wrinkle, the scar gets deeper and deeper.

I'll get it fixed at some point. And send him the bill.

Somehow able to laugh with the hideous scar.