scars scabs and gaps

a memoir of my childhood.

If I run my finger up the scar on my forearm it only goes so far before it disappears. It is only an inch or so now although it used to run far and deep about half way to my elbow. My memory mimics my skin in this way; it heals itself up until it is nothing but a smooth surface for my finger tips to trace.  But there is a bit of scare tissue here and there to remind me who I was. If I run my finger back as far as I can my first memory is of me in my father’s bed.  Its post funeral although I don’t know how much time is between the funeral preseason and the memory of my parents down comforter that still smelled of her. I don’t know how long I laid with him in the silence I just remember his back to me a tuft of brown hair against the stark white pillow.  i remember the sound of my Sippy cup against the silence of the ceiling fan and the soft sobbing of the man beside me as we both cried for different reasons, and the same woman.  I remember just a few moments of my first taste of real loneliness before my memory goes pale white and smooth once more.

                There is a bit of a gap between that fragment of scar tissue and the next. I am in the living room of the first house i can recall and  the last house my mother lived in. my brother is watching pinky and the brain as a part of the lineup of Saturday morning cartoons. He sits on a pillow in front of the television perfectly content with his choice of entertainment. I wander in a four year old girl with sleep still in her eyes as it’s early. I plunk down on the carpet Indian style and begin to pick at a scab on my knee. I knew better, adults were constantly reminding me not to do so. My finger nails mindlessly scratched at my body’s natural defense against the outside world while my attention turned to my brother who was wearing dads undershirt as a make shift sleep shirt that hung down and revealed a pale white shoulder. he was young too at this point about 7. back when his hair was in a permanent buzz cut sometimes even now i look at him and i see that same little kid, my big brother. 

“Hey noah, where is mom?” I ask outright and the word mom sounds awkward in the room.

““the monster took her” he replies as if he were just talking about the weather , like it was fact.

“The monster?” I questioned.

“Yes, The monster. First he took her skin, in bits and pieces and moles.  Then he took her time she always had to go to the doctor. Next he stole energy until she lay in bed and slept all day. Finally he stole her breath and now she is gone.” he stated this his eyes never leaving the screen. 

I looked at my knee as he spoke struggling with whether or not I should make it bleed. tears threatened to roll down my face but i focused hard on not allowing them to fall. a few escaped and I wiped them away with the curly hair that fell down to my waist while he moved from his place in front of the television and wrapped his arm around me, at his touch i automatically felt at ease.

“Don’t worry Katie the monster didn’t take all of her. She hid a very special piece of herself with you and with me and even with josh. She left us with her smile. We all have the same lips and the same gaps in our teeth as she did. So whenever you smile or laugh she is right here with us. You carry her as long as you are smiling. “

Noahs grip loosened and i sighed as he he left the room. I sat alone in front of the television. My finger nails went still and instead i traced it with the pad of my finger. my mind searched for answers and my fingers ran over my knee like brail, though i couldn't find the answers on my skin. i remember wondering if cancer hid beneath my bed and about the gaps in my teeth if I should let the blood run red down my leg or if I should leave it be and allow myself to heal.