Scars of My Destiny

The Fine Art Of Bullshit

Mon. Sept. 16

It's been ten days since that rainy Friday night and I have yet to get it off my mind. I snort quietly, Well, every time I see myself I have no choice but to remember it.

I look at the mirror with a sigh and examine my reflection. Black combat boots, black ripped jeans, a Three Days Grace shirt, and a leather, military jacket-clad figure gazes back at me as I check that my feminine features are little to nonexistent or at least not noticeable and that my beanie isn't going to fall off. Then, I look at the long, soon-to-be scar on the left side of my face that starts at my hairline to end at my jaw. As all my stitches were taken out yesterday I'm no longer limited to using one eye and can wear my glasses again.

It's also been seven days since I started to argue against the use of a wheelchair.

"Get in the damn chair, Scar." My best friend, Jasmine, demanded, thrusting said chair in front of me. Jasmine Thompson, my first real friend. We were Semi-friends back in 3rd grade but we weren't all that close. She transferred during 6th grade but came back the second half of 7th, almost three years ago, and we instantly became close friends to closer best friends. Like me, she's Native American yet our physical appearance isn't really similar. I'm 5'6" with light brown skin and basically the personification of a stick while she's shorter with pale skin and curvy. We do share the same long, dark brown hair (hers is longer) and eyes only mine are more on the border of dark brown and black.

"No," I say.

"Don't be difficult."

"I don't need it."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Come on, we still have to go to the guidance office." She says, checking the time.

"I can hop."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes." Then I begin to hop away.

One very short chase and brief struggle later we're on our way to guidance while I frown (not pouting) in the wheelchair.

"If you had just walked away there would have been no need for a wheelchair," She says.

I sigh, "Not now, Jazz,"

"If not now, then when? It's been over a week since that damn night, stop avoiding the topic."

"I told you, someone was about to get jumped or something, I couldn't just leave them. What if they ended up dying?" Although a lot of my memories of that night are hazy at best & completely missing at worst, one thing I know for sure is that guy needed help.

We jerk to a stop, "Scar," I look up at her as she looks down at me, "You almost ended up dying while that guy came out completely fine."

"First of all, I'm too stubborn to die so it was, and is, fine. Second, he came out fine because I was there."

"It's fine?!  You're permanently scarred but it's fine. You almost lost an eye but it's fine. You almost died but it's fine!?"

"Finally, you understand, so we can drop the subject. Now let's go, weren't you the one worried about being late?"

"But-"