My sister and I used to play make-beleive in our living room. We played the typical children game where we couldn’t touch the floor because it was lava. The only way around the room was to stay on the furniture and not touch the floor. We’d jump from couch to couch in effort to avoid the lava. One day I dared to jump onto the glass coffee table. I gave one giant leap from the couch and landed with both feet on the coffee table. I didn’t break. I lost my balance and hit my leg on the sharp edge. It bruised my skin and drew blood. I cried loudly, screaming bloody murder. It made my sister run to get our mother. She came rushing and fixed up my leg. “Be careful next time,” she said. I didn’t tell her I jumped on the coffee table. That is why my left shin has a weird blood colored scar that resembles a birth mark.
I had a new pink bike. It was a Huffy with sparkly tassels, striped seat with white wheels. I took that bike everywhere, which was as far the neighborhood would take me. My mom would say, “Don’t leave the complex.”Our place was in front of a small creek at the bottom of a hill that ran through the backyard. I took my bike to that hill and stood at the top. I was going to ride down there. I prepared myself by positioning my back downwards. And I was off. Tree whizzed past and I could feel the wind in my hair. Then my bike stopped abruptly, caught in a small ditch and it took me with it, over the handlebares. I lie on the concrete awkwardly, with my legs wrapped around the bike trying to process what happened. I lie on the cement in a tangled mess with my pink bike. My chin rested atop the wet concrete. I could see blood begin to trickle into the water. That it is why I have a scar underneath my chin the permentaly indents it.
I had a neighbor that lived next door to us, her name was Tyra. Even though she was my age, she’d hang out with my sister and I because we were all so close in age. Trya was very inventive, always coming up with ideas to rid us of childhood boredem. One day she had the idea of wanting to build a clubhouse only for girls. We borrowed some wood and nails from her dad’s garage and decided to get to work. We didn’t know the first thing about building anything, but that didn’t stop us from assembling a dilapitated contraption. The wood was various lengths and sizes so we tried our best to make something with what we had. I was carrying a piece of lumber to Tyra when I stepped on something that went through my shoe. Pain took over and dropped the board jumping back. “What happened?” They both said. I could barely muster out the words. I wanted to cry. They carefully lifted my foot and saw the offending object. Tyra removed my shoe, the nail barely went through. She carefully removed it. My sister went to retrieve a band-aid to cover it up. That is why I have a small scar the size of period on my foot.
I had my first boyfriend when I was sixteen. We were engrossed with each other. We ate lunch together, hang out after school and sometimes snuck off during class. Young love is what I would call it. One weekend we decided to spend the day together. It was the first time we were ever really alone. His parents were away and I had somehow convinced my mother to take me over to his house. We were in his room exploring each other’s bodies, learning about each other. His hand was under my shirt, but soon made their way to the button of my jeans. He looked at me for approval of this untouched terrritory. I smiled and he excitedly resumed. In his excitement he acceidently scratched my stomach near my belly button. It was minor cut, but he immediately felt awful. “I’m so sorry,” he kept saying, burying his face in my chest. I insisted I was fine, but to him it seemed to be a sign that we needed to slow down. That is why I have a small scar on my stomach, barely visible.