Learning To Love You More




Assignment #11
Photograph a scar and write about it.

Kelli Kavanaugh
Detroit, Michigan USA



my friend r. is actually a very good snowboarder. but she is terrible at getting off chair lifts. it's totally a mental block, like being afraid of all spiders, even the dinky harmless ones. lots of times she knocks me over when we get off the lift, which i actually find fun and amusing, not embarassing, because who really cares? we're human beings paying good money to freeze our asses off and slide down a hill - what could be more ridiculous already? this time, however, after she knocked me over, i felt like she had whacked me good in the shin. suddenly i realized a crowd of goggled faces were looking at me with a curious look of horror and pity mixed with, "i can't wait to tell the boys about this one!" i looked down and saw the snow under my left boot turning red with my blood. it was flowing quite quickly, it was pretty gross and cool, actually.
so, being at the top of the hill, i was quite near the ski patrol hut, which i'd always wanted to check out anyways (there's less to them than you might think - no mini fridge or old school portable tv). they lifted the leg of my ski pants up (luckily, i had forgot to pack my favorite pants, because the crappy ones i was wearing were sliced right through, as were the climbing pants i had substituted for long johns.) to reveal the bloody horror: a long gash that, because of the nature of shins in general, cut all the way down to the bone. i actually wasn't in much pain, i think because the cold numbed me. they wrapped me up good and tight, and then came the highlight: the sled ride down. which was not a cool as i thought it would be because they wrap you up in a blue plastic tarp so you don't get sprayed with snow so i looked dead. i actually could hear people we would cruise by whispering, "is there a body in there?" all shocked-like.
then r. took me to the hospital. i had her call my sister even though there was really no need for that because she felt so bad that it was making me feel bad, and i preferred to feel as jaunty as was humanly possible. so i got 17 stitches, and was left with a lovely smile (or frown, depending on your angle or mood) on my left leg. when i get really dressed up in a skirt or dress it reveals me as an unreformed tomboy, which is fine by me.
incidentally, i think r. & i are tied now because i had somewhat of a role in her ankle-break of '97.
finally, this is not my biggest scar, but it is my newest and therefore most distinct. it occured in december of 2002.