Kissing Scars

 By AJ Pearson-VanderBroek

 

 “Why do you insist on touching me there?”

“It’s only your scar.”

“Well, I don’t like it.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not like it still hurts. That’s impossible after five years.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then, what?”

“I don’t like it.”

“The touching or the scar?”

“The scar.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Not good enough.”

“Because… Nothing about it is good. I mean, even the word scar is the most unpleasant thing ever.”

“A rose by any other name…”

“Yeah, Miranda, and sixty staples by any other name still leaves me with this unsightly mark.”

“Hey, now, you worked hard for this, you know.”

“I know.”

“You tell everyone yourself that scars are tattoos with better stories.”

“So?”

“So, I’d think you’d have more pride and less shame about it.”

“Stop poking it!”

“Fine.”

“…Hey. Did you just kiss my scar?”

“Part of it. I’ll have to keep going all the way down your back if you want me to get the whole thing.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Astounding that the human body can do that.”

“What? Get cut open, pried apart, fused with metal and dead body bones, be stitched and stapled together and just leave a pencil trace to show for it?”

“See, you are proud of it!”

“Doesn’t mean I want you kissing it.”

“Why not? It’s a part of you, Wayne.”

“I do have other parts, you know.”

“But this is like an ultra-concentrated superfluous part of you.”

“In English, please?”

“I mean, look, it’s the most of you in one place out of all of you.”

“All right, Ms. Rhetorical. Extrapolate.”

“Your body had to work ten times harder to heal itself—to mend back into one after all that outside force ripped it apart. You had to come back together. You met you right here all along this line down your back and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever set eyes on.”

“Ah. And you’re kissing it again.”

“Do you really want me to stop?”

“Mm.”

“That’s not a very determinate answer.”

“Do you want to know what it feels like?”

“What?”

“Come here.”

“I don’t have any scars.”

“Face me.”

“Uh-huh. Kiss all you want, stretch marks aren’t technically scars.”

“Isn’t this how we got the baby to begin with?”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Mm.”

“I thought so.”

COMMENTS

AJ Pearson-VanderBroek is a freelance writer living in Nebraska. Ravenous for literature, she is scheduled to graduate in 2011 with a Bachelor’s in Language Arts. She enjoys learning about and experimenting with the genres of prose, prose-poetry and drama. Her work has won local writing awards and she is eager to explore further-reaching outlets.  

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