Learning To Love You More




Assignment #11
Photograph a scar and write about it.

Jacque Lynn Schiller
New York, New York USA



I don't remember much about how everything went down; I was two and it happened fast. I do know we were visiting relatives and I was feeding their dogs a certain "dangerously cheesy" snack. Actually I had only given a handful to the larger of the two, as the other was busy digging something up in the corner of the yard. When tired of this activity, he came up to join in treat time. I made the mistake of trying to half the bounty. Dogs don't understand the concept of sharing. The bigger one quickly defended his portion by taking my head into his mouth. Like I said, I was two. And very small. His top teeth got my cheek and the bottom tore a gash in my throat. Mom said that they thought he'd hit my jugular vein and that everything ran in slow motion. I have a vivid mental picture of being placed under a giant sewing machine, but she insists otherwise. Apparently I was hand stitched back together.
It's interesting to note how long it takes most people to ask about my scars. I get a kind of perverse pleasure trying to imagine what they've imagined. Some of my friends literally didn't notice it for years. I don't really see it anymore either, at least when I look in the mirror. In photographs it's more visible, my accidental dimple.