Learning To Love You More




Assignment #11
Photograph a scar and write about it.

Emy Mixon
Statesboro, Georgia USA



My little sister and I used to have wine nights, her first year of college and my last. We would sit on my front porch and talk, and listen to music, and sing, and remember things (When you are sisters, and you are close, you remember things best when you are together, because everything, every hurt, every happiness, everything, becomes a collective memory.) Wine nights sometimes lasted until very late at night. And we weren't always completely sober when they ended. On one wine night, my sister danced. I don't think she had danced in years- since the doctor advised her to quit because of bad hips and knees. I could see, sitting there on my couch, as she sashayed across the hardwood floors, how much joy and happiness she felt. She was so graceful, and so beautiful. And I suddenly realized that this was a hurt that I hadn't felt for her yet. I had never realized how sad it made her to have to stop being a dancer. I asked if she wished she could still pursue dancing, and she said more than anything, she wished she could be a dancer. I hurt so much for her then, because I couldn't fix it, I couldn't tell her that it would be ok. I couldn't make the truth about her body go away. I couldn't give her what she wanted most. I hugged her and told her how much I loved her, and how special she was to me.
This is when the story starts to get a little silly. At some point, after we shared this little moment, she said that she was hungry. I was so glad to be able to do something for her. I decided that I would make her a spectacular sandwich. An amazing sandwich! The best sandwich in the history of sandwiches. I got the bread ready, I made a mayo smiley face, I applied the meat, and the lettuce. And then I decided I would even cut the crust off of the sandwich for her. All of this, on wine night... Why, why, why I thought I should use a knife to cut the crust, I will never know. I missed the crust somehow, though, and stabbed my hand... It was stupid, true... But every time I look at that scar, I remember the last time my little sister danced.