Sometimes, when he is concentrating on something, the scar that Beloved has just there seems more prominent and I want to run my finger across it, not to erase it because I rather like it, but to soothe it.
Beloved would tell you if it didn’t involve a great deal of needles, he’d have the scar removed, which would be a shame because then it would leave me with one less thing to day-dream about when he is a thousand miles a way. I used to wonder exactly how he got that scar, just there above the eyebrow like that. It took a lifetime before he’d even tell me what had happened so I used to dream up ways for it to have occurred.
He got it when he was under the age of ten. He and a group of friends climbed up to a roof of an old building and as the adage goes, what goes up must come down and so he did, falling all the way to the stone floor below. The fall resulted broken bones, open wounds and what a river of tears. It also meant ages in the hospital recovering and more than a few permanent reminders that he cannot fly.
Over the course of his life, Beloved has acquired additional memories in the form of scars and such. When he is in a good mood, he is more likely to tell the story behind those scars; some of the incidents are more incredible than I could ever come up with and others are far more mundane. He has a small, almost perfect circular scar on one of his feet and a huge jagged scar that reminds me of a lightening bolt on one of his upper arms. I’ve traced each one of them at some time or another as he told me how they came to be.
Perhaps it isn’t the scar so much as the memory it ties him to that makes him want to have it removed. Beloved doesn’t talk much about his childhood and I suspect he has decided it neatly into the “good” things and the “bad” things that happened as he was growing up. A sister once told me that after the accident there seemed to be more “bad” tBhangra “good” in the family household.
I know that even if he were to have the scar removed, the memory all the baggage that comes with it, would still be there. And that’s a pain that time cannot fully erase, just as my finger cannot fully soothe the scar.