[Fiction] 10 Scars

I

What would I know of scars and pain? I have none. I'm serious. Not a single blemish upon the whole of my body, and were it not transgressing the bounds of modesty, I'd have no trouble showing them to you. Ooo - maybe my scar is in having no scar, which has made me complacent, reckless, and indifferent to risk. I have indeed led a charmed life, but I know that such luck has to run out eventually, and I'm not fussed about if and/or when I get my first scar. Maybe there'll be a really cool story behind it, or maybe it'll be a boring one. And maybe it'll be one that disfigures me horribly, or one that makes me look incredibly dashing. Who knows? I don't. And I don't care. But these guys next to me, you should definitely hear what they have to say. I promise you won't regret it.


II

This? It's just a scratch. Your eyesight must be quite good, not many people see it. That its on the inside of my wrist keeps it normally well hidden, and those who need to know about it already do. If you must know, I was duelling. None of that glorified "pistols at dawn" rubbish, but at a proper tournament. With swords. Proper swords. Like the one on the mantlepiece behind you. It was a lucky strike by my opponent in the quarter finals. Or maybe it was the semi-finals? No, the one from the semis is somewhere else. As you can see, it didn't stop me - I won the tournament anyway. Didn't I show you the trophy? No? Come this way - it's here somewhere....

III

Oh, these. It's a funny story actually - this designer was releasing a new line of accessories for this small trendy clothes boutique and I somehow managed to get in. Of course, by the time I got in, nearly everything was gone, but I saw a handbag. And wow. People had left it because it didn't suit their styles, but it was suitably quirky for me, and would go well with pretty much all the clothes I had. I reached for it, and my hand landed on it at the same time as someone else's. So obviously we had to fight for it. I got the bag, but I also got these scratches. Dunno why she wanted it anyway - her face looked like a bag. Ugh. And the bag? Totally worth it. Here - look at it. 10 years old, and still stylish. Do you like it?

IV

Really? I have a scar? Where? Oh, that. Well, that's not technically a scar, just some discolouration. But there is an interesting story behind that one. In the heady days of my youth, me and some friends decided that it would be cool to play squash doubles in a singles court. Yes, we were that cool. Anyway during the course of the game someone hit the ball with such force that the momentum forced his hand and racquet to swing all the way round and hit the guy standing behind him. In the face. Which was me. I had a swollen lip, which subsided within a week, and a concussed tooth, which my dentist gently hammered back into place. Of course, I was there next week, playing squash again, but this time we decided, very wisely, to stick to singles. I still dunno how the discolouration happened - maybe friction burn? In any case, I'm not complaining. It could have been much worse.

V

You're sure you want to know about that scar? I have much more interesting stories about some other scars.... no? OK. As you know, I love to carve. Give me a knife and a piece of wood, and something will come from it. This is also my stress breaker - when I'm carving, my mind becomes kinda blank, as I focus only on the wood and the knife, and try and follow my intuitive feelings about where to make the next cut. I don't plan ahead more than that -just make the next cut, then the next, and so on. So anyway, I got involved into an argument with someone, and was really, really angry. So I go for my escape, which is the carving, pick up a block, and start cutting. Only this time, it's not working, and I'm still angry. And instead of being gentle, and making soft, smooth cuts, I'm being rough, and fast with the blade. And then it gets stuck without making a complete cut. And without thinking, I just keep on increasing the pressure, till the wood gives, but the follow through cuts across the fingers behind the block. One neat line. They're shallow cuts, but still enough of a wake up call. I calm down completely, and tend to them, and then come back and try and see if I can salvage something out of what's left. And I can. Now, this isn''t the most beautiful carving I have made, or the most technically difficult, but it is the one I love the most. And - I no longer get angry. At all. You really should have asked about the other scars - their stories are much better.

VI

This one comes courtesy of the train companies. It's a nothing scar, and I didn't want compensation, but their legal people insisted. I gave it all away to charity anyway - I don't think its right to demand compensation or punish people who made an innocent mistake. Anyway, I was on the train from one big city to a small one when the train lurched randomly a full 5 minutes before it was due to leave. I was making my way to my seat when this happened, and lost my balance. Then I fell and hit my head on something hard. I don't recall what exactly, cause I lost consciousness for a few minutes. I woke up a few minutes later and was given exemplary care by all staff and a few first-aid trained passengers. By exceptional I do mean exceptional. There was minimal swelling, and only a tiny cut. They took my details, and it was only later, when I had already put it out of my mind, that the legal people contacted me to discuss compensation. Morons. Sometimes management in their ivory towers don't know how good their workforce on the ground floor are.

VII

This was lucky. I was just coming out of a supermarket and heading towards my car when an accident happened right in front of me. Some guy had lost control of his car, and crashed into another one just a few feet from where I was standing. It probably would have been better for him to turn the engine off and let gravity and friction do their work, but when people panic, they don't think clearly. Or have the blessing of hindsight. Anyway, it was at a low enough speed for the driver to escape without any serious wounds, just some bruising. Thankfully the other car was empty, otherwise it might not have ended so well. But end well it did. Both owners were fully comprehensively insured, and because of that, they were like best friends. Both probably got nice new cars out of it. And me? In the crash, a stray piece of glass hit and grazed me. it wasn't a deep cut, but it sure felt like one. It got sorted later, and I'm just glad nobody was badly hurt.

VIII

Ok, I'll tell you, but only on the condition that you ask my wife for the story as well - it will show you how two people who see the same thing will sometimes remember different bits of it. Agreed? OK. Now, I had always imagined that my wedding would be small. Really really small. 15 people, max. And if there was a way me and my wife-to-be could somehow skip the ceremony, then that would be even better. All that changed when I was unequivocally told that our guest list would be over 100. The majority of which would be women. Sometimes, I think women dress up to show off in front of each other. Anyway, yours truly was given the task of putting the 100+ invitations in the envelopes, and sealing them. I'm not sure if the adhesives on the back of the envelopes are lethal if licked in large doses. I should hope not, anyway. But, as luck would have it, I got a paper cut on the very last invitation. Weird, huh? the scar should have gone by now, but every time it gets close to healing completely, some accident happens that opens it up again. Doesn't bug me, but totally freaks her out. Now go ask her, and see what she says, and then tell me which version you prefer.

IX

Oh - I love telling this story. Always makes those who think too highly of me see that I am just human. And also good for a laugh, and some introspective amateur philosophising after the telling. So I'm walking down the street and this stunningly beautiful woman walks by. She's like "wow". And you're allowed one gaze, right? So I keep on looking, and as she passes me, I twist my head, yet keep on walking. And as I'm walking, I kinda begin to daydream, and...thud! There is a reason why you should be looking where you are going. I pick myself off the floor with a cut, a swollen head, and a bruised ego. Cut wasn't bad, but the pricking of the ego was. Especially when the girl in question laughed. Followed shortly by everyone else. From then on - I kept my gaze strictly lowered, and no such accidents have repeated themselves. See? You're laughing too. Now, if you were to start some amateur philosophising on life inspired by this story, what would you start with?

X

Mine? Oh you wont see mine. It's inside here. [He taps his chest.] It's an emotional scar. From the battlefields of the relationships between the genders. Everyone knows that women are more easily hurt, and so it is that men have to risk more the chance of finding their feelings unreciprocated. Would you rather be hurt in a large number of small doses, or a few really large ones? Me too. Of course, that doesn't stop us getting hurt in big ways either. And mine? I carry the shame of sporting with a young girl's feelings. She does carry half the blame, but I was older, and should have known better. She was ok, eventually. Self-blame, and self-hate isn't easy to live with, but since then I've never given less than 100% to everyone I love and everything I do. It's not often one gets to turn what was ugly in the beginning into something useful later on, but I think I've done ok. I doubt I've redeemed myself - still a long way to go. The pain is there every day, and I know I'll be redeemed when it stops, if it ever does.