With every scar comes a story. And I received the story etched next to my left eyebrow at four. It happened on a summer day. With boredom wearing on us, my cousins and I decided to do something forbidden. We jumped on my cousin Jason’s bed. Joy glowed in my eyes, hoping this moment would last. But, the events turned.
The elders decided continuing could end in trouble—or worse—injury. One by one, kids got down. Having never had this much fun, I refused to budge. But they weren’t going to wait anymore—Jason grabbed my legs to stop me. And I flew forward, landing headfirst into a dresser.
Embarrassed, I stood up and smiled. Suddenly, everyone was yelling at me.
“Go up stairs!”
“Go find your mom!”
I hadn’t realized what had happened, but, I obeyed this time and ran up the stairs. When I got to the top, they saw me. They rushed over, their faces screaming of worry. And that’s when I started to cry.
They scurried around looking for towels and grabbing ice. Someone went searching for my dad. Then my mom, dad and I rushed to the car. Mom sat with me, pressing towels and ice to my face. Dad sped to the hospital.
I don’t remember much. But I wished I had my doll, Dolly. My uncle ran through the door, my hero. In his hands, he held Dolly. After we left, he went searching for her and raced her to me. With Dolly in my arms, I calmed down.
But the calmness left when I went to see the doctor. The gash subsequent to my eyebrow required stitches. Needles flew towards my face—I had to scream. And I did. Loud and long. After I had been stitched up, we were all relieved. As we began to prepare to leave the room, a man walked in bearing a roll of stickers. He claimed that I was, “the loudest screamer he had ever heard.” And then awarded me with the stickers.
Calmer now, we left the hospital. I couldn’t wait to show off my stickers and stitches. Forever marked with a scar that would intrigue others—what’s her story?