I lay down with my head on his chest, kick off my shoes and curl up my legs. He wraps an arm around me and rests his hand on my hip. “Why are your shoes untied half way? I thought the point to high tops was that they were taller, with them only tied half way isn’t it defeating the purpose some?” He asks.
I watch my shoes, as if they will tell me themselves why they are half undone. I cant remember, racking my brain for just the slightest hint of an answer for his question.
“Did you hear me?” the muscles tighten in his stomach and chest, I know he is looking at me, but all he sees is the back of my head.
“Yeah,” I answer slowly, still searching for the answer. Suddenly it hits me like a bolt of lightning, “I fell off my horse a over a year ago and scraped my ankle pretty bad, it hurt to have things touch so I untied them so it wouldn’t hurt so much. It never did heal fully, and I guess they are just more comfortable this way.”
“Oh, well that makes sense,” he chuckles softly, my head rises with his chest as he does. “Did it scar?”
I am quiet for a moment before saying quietly, “I have many battle scars,” I want to add that not all of them are visible to the world, but I restrain myself.
“Like what?” he asks.
I continue in the quiet, soft voice, “Find one and I will tell you the story.”
“Serious?” He asks almost excited.
Again I shrug the best I could, “sure, why not.”
He sits up and so do I, and he takes my hand in his, he slowly looks it over and finds the one next to my pinky finger on my right hand, “This one?”
“8 year old slashed me with a knife out in the woods, I hardily noticed it happened, but we went to the emergency room and stitched it up,” I look him in the eye, “I hate shots, the medicine injections were the most painful part of it all.”
“How long ago was this?”
“bout…3 years ago.”
“huh,” he says slowly running his fingers along the 3.5 cm scar. He turns my arm over and begins inspecting the inside of my arm finds a small hardily noticeable one on the side of my arm towards my wrist more then my elbow. He points to it and looks at me quizzically.
“rabbit scratch from about 3 years ago.”
He continues inspecting until he reaches my shoulder, stops and reaches for my other hand, immediately he sees 2 almost identical ones on my index finger.
“One I have no idea, its been there for as long as I can imagine, and the second one I was in 1st grade and wanted to know what would happen if I just cut through part of my finger, we were making black bats to decorate the room, so it wasn’t real surprising when someone got cut.”
“What did the teacher do?”
I laugh a little, “She got me a band-aid duh.”
He smiles up at me again as he bends his head down to continue his inspection, points to 2 small hardily noticeable cuts on my left ring finger he questions again.
“Don’t remember, another one of the has been there for as long as I can remember things.”
He again nods and continues his search. He slowly scans my knuckles, trailing a finger along until he reaches my index knuckle, “This one is odd,” he says smiling.
I glance at where he is pointing, its the L shaped one I have had forever, “Don’t remember, had it forever.”
“Its pretty cool.” His search continues up my arms, stopping for more rabbit scratch scars, “You are just accident prone,” he says smiling as he stops searching and just takes my hand in his and slowly traces my veins on the back of it, flipping it when he is done and tracing the palm lines and up my fingers.
I close my eyes, so happy to feel his touch, but craving so much more, “I just scar easily,” I sigh.
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