I’ve known you since we were children but today you reached for my elbow out of pure instinct to keep me from falling when I tripped – and I noticed for the first time the scar on your chin. It made me want to ask you if you’d wrecked your bicycle when you were a kid or if you’d taken a tumble off a horse. It made me curious if you had leaned too far over a fence and collided with barbed wire. Your reputation with women made me wonder if someone had left that mark out of anger with the sharp edge of a ring. It teased me in a small way and I realized I don’t know much about you even though we’ve spent the last twenty-five years in the same town of fifteen-hundred people. I didn’t have the courage to ask you though, mainly because people always get weirded out when I take interest in those types of things. As you guided me back to my feet, I fought it, the urge to ask where that scar had come from but maybe one day you’ll tell me anyway.
Copyright © 2016 Pearl Bayou