Scars

The weather for my Spring Break has been heavenly, as though God himself knew that I needed a week of reading in the sun with Nehi in order to recover from the hellishness of the past few months.

As I have soaked up the rays of the healing sun, and seen my skin turn darker (all you skin cancer folks just go away) I couldn't help but notice the way that my scars are seen in sharp relief. This seems only right to me, in the same way that my tattoos fading into the background the darker I get seems right.

There's the deep, ropey, white scar on my right arm from where I put both my arms through a window during summer theatre at ECU. Amazingly, I walked out of that room with shards of glass sticking out of my arm like a horror movie freak, but this is the only scar I bear from that day.
On my left upper arm is a burn mark from baking cookies this past winter. A small, long line, that is darker than the rest of my skin.
On my lower right leg is my favorite scar- a heart shape if I'm being generous, a pizza slice if I'm not. I got this one from laying my leg against a motorcycle tailpipe (not on purpose) while getting off a friend's motorcycle several summers ago.

There are smaller ones that I look at and can't remember what their origins are, mostly on my hands. Most from repeated covnersations with a make board when I could find no outlet for my rage. While my hands always look like a small child's to me, they bear the scars of repeatedly being slammed into a two by four.

Scars, like tattoos, are with your forever. Some have great stories, some hold simply as reminders of youthful stupidity. They become a part of you and for me, become a way of marking time, and people and events. While none of them purposeful, they serve as reminders of where I've been and what I've done. As I look down on my darkening skin, it is a roadmap of my life. They say your life becomes written on your skin, although I doubt they were thinking of these two things when they said it.

To me, it's just me.