I hate scars!
I have a scar, it’s never seen and it’s the only thing that remains of my 7 year old self having a major accident. When I say accident, think of a small child walking into the road only to be knocked down by a lorry. The neighbours told me, much later, that I had bounced down the road. Lucky I guess! Who knows what would have happened if the wheels had trampled over even the smallest part of me.
Mum wore a pink dressing gown with nothing underneath, that’s why she was standing by the door rather than beside us on the pavement. Apparently she ran down the road screaming with the gown flapping, everyone could see her naked body. People tell me she was beautiful.
The driver stepped down from his lorry and ran back to see a small thing, me, lying in the road. My navy blue uniform wrapped around my body, my knees grazed but my face covered in blood. He cried, my mother screamed at him. He had been speeding. She had been standing on the doorstep shouting instructions to us. She told us to cross. I was an obedient child so I crossed. She screamed for me to turn back to the pavement. It came too late I was in his pathway and I was frozen. When he saw me he tried to stop but it was too late.
My little brother started to follow me into the road, mum screamed and he jumped back to the pavement. He was standing on the pavement looking at the commotion. He was crying, fearful that he had done something wrong, nobody comforted him.
I am not sure where this story is going, as I said I hate scars but I have one and it’s never changed in size or shape and only once in a while do I notice or think of it. Perhaps I will look a little later and try to remember how I felt as a child going to school with a scar!