She’s been noticing my scars.
“Imma, what’s that?” she asks, as she gently traces the lines on my arms.
I don’t know what to say.
“Did you go to the doctor? Did he make it all better?”
So I tell her the truth.
“Yes sweetie, I did go to the doctor. I had a boo-boo and I needed someone to help me fix it.”
“What did he do? Did he give you medicine?”
“He gave me something to make it feel a bit better.”
“Oh…so what’s that? It didn’t go away?”
“The pain went away, but I still have a scar.”
“What’s a scar, Imma?”
“A scar is what’s left after the boo-boo goes away. But don’t worry, sweetie, it doesn’t hurt me anymore.”
“Okay, Imma. I gonna make you happy now.”
She kisses each mark and scampers off to play.
I’m left alone with my memories.
I look down at the stories carved into my skin and wonder if the ones carved into my heart are visible to her as well.
One thought on “Scars”
I think she’ll see what you let her see….
You have the power to hide the scars that were caused by people or situations that she shouldn’t know about, (not at this point at least) and to let her see the scars that enabled you to get where you are today.