Scar Story

On strange days, when people are wary and loopy together, my friends cock their heads and stare at my nose. Chatter halts and, despite best efforts, my face ignites.

“What are you looking at?”

Often the heads will cock the opposite direction—as if that will change the effect.

“You look worried.”

“I’m not.”

“Do you always look that way?”

“This is my face, thanks.”

“No, I mean worried.”

“Uh, I hope not.” I drop my eyes here, cheeks still blazing. “It was just an accident.”

“Oh, it’s a scar!” They congratulate themselves on the identification.


Yes, it’s a scar. Right across the bridge of my nose, like a bulging slip-stitch. I’m surprised it’s lasted this long; my worst have all disappeared.

.........

It was eleven at night. I sat at Mum’s feet, trying to undo a knot in the yarn without her seeing. Her brow was furrowed over the ears of a floppy white bunny; in a few minutes, she would need the yarn to stitch the face. My three-year-old fingers slipped and stumbled through the soft fibers, making the knot even bigger. I abandoned the bird’s nest and clambered up onto the couch.

“Whoa, hang on!” Mum said, hastily pulling the doll away. “Almost finished.”

“When?” I craned to look. “It doesn’t even have eyes yet!”

“Is it time for you to go to bed?”

I flumped down on my bottom. “Umm, no…” I smiled innocently as possible. “Dad’s not home yet.”

Mum sighed. “He won’t be home ‘til morning, Katie. I told you already.”

I grinned. “Uh huh.”

Rolling her eyes, Mum wound her thread and put it all back in her sewing bag. I hoped she wouldn’t see the yarn. I rubbed my itching eyes.

“Up we get,” she said, scooping me up onto the floor. I might have protested, but Mum warned me never to wake Calvin up. We ambled down the hallway toward mine and Calvin’s room. Mum shushed me as the door opened.

“Will you tuck me in?” I whispered.

“Sure.”

It was dark; I could barely make out Calvin’s monkey head through the bars of his crib. My bed stood under the window, veiled in mountain moon, inviting. I scampered into the room.

My foot slipped. I pitched, face-first, to the floor—with a resounding CLANG! I hit the bed’s iron frame. Pain erupted between my eyes. Calvin woke; his cries mingled with mine—my tears must have been big as Alice’s, how they spilled down my face!—

Mum snatched me off the carpet and sprinted to the bathroom. She wrenched on the water and I stood in the tub, surprised at the torrent of red swirling down the drain. My head was unraveling like Mum’s red thread, leaving nothing at all.

Calvin still cried, trapped in his crib. Mum sat on the toilet with the phone trailing through her fingers. Her telephone voice was still cheerful as ever.

“Yes, I need an ambulance. My address is—”

It just kept going. I stopped crying, feeling dizzy.

“No, I’m in Skykomish, not Issequah! Please don’t transfer—”

The water mixed with blood squished between my toes. It was so warm.

“Okay. No, my daughter split her head open—”

My knees were stiff. Split open—like a watermelon? But I wasn’t a fruit. I sat on the edge and my head quit spinning.

“Thank you so much!” Mum hung up. “Oh, Katie,” she sighed. “You poor thing!”

.......................

Three giant Band-Aids later, the blood was scraped off my face, I was bundled up, and we tromped out into the night. I didn’t care where we were headed. At the end of the gravel road waved red signals, like angry Christmas lights.

The ambulance was stuffy and smelled like rubber. Men swarmed around me—I tried to hide my face—my head throbbed as though a panting dog were trapped inside. One of the men shooed the rest out. He sat me on the cot. He had dark hair and smiling eyes; in his hand was a bright blue bear.

“Look,” he said, putting the teddy in my lap. There was a yellow Band-Aid across its nose. I giggled.

“See, it looks like you!”

I clutched it to my chest. The man helped me out onto the gravel. “See you tomorrow, ok?” he said.

The night was fitful. I slept in Mum’s bed while we waited for Dad; Calvin squirmed and squirmed. I showed him the bear. He fell asleep wrapped around it.
The next day, we arrived at a faraway hospital. The doctor’s office was too bright. I lay on the crinkly paper, wondering vaguely why anyone would put paper on a bed. Mum sat in a chair in the corner, bouncing Calvin on her knee.

“Am I getting better?” I asked her.

“Yep.”

“Are you leaving?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised. Calvin burbled contentedly. A nice nurse in pink came in and started talking to Mum.

...............

I jerked awake. Six people in white masks hunched over me. I screamed. It was exactly like that doctor show Mum and Dad always watched! Was I trapped in the TV?! I screamed and screamed—the nice nurse reappeared, trying to shush me, asking if it hurt—it didn’t, but I just couldn’t stop roaring—I wished they would all disappear—the nurse grabbed a needle and the masked people held me down—

When I came to, the masks had gone, replaced by tons of balloons. I sat up, amazed. Had it been a dream? Mum sat smiling in the corner. My head felt sore; I fingered my nose.

“Careful. Don’t undo the stitches.”

“Stitches?” I asked, confused. Like the unfinished rabbit’s face. Would I be turned into a doll too?

POW! Calvin had popped a balloon. He clapped happily, chasing after a second.

I shook my head. “Can we go home now?”

Mum laughed.

“We can’t fit all these in the car,” she said, gesturing at the balloons. She looked mischievously at me. “We could leave Calvin here,” she suggested.

The baby looked up at us and slobbered all over his green captive.

“No!” I slid off the cot. “I don’t like hospitals. He shouldn’t stay here.”

Mum laughed all the way out to the car, balancing Calvin and his balloon on her hip. I couldn’t figure out why.