dual scars

It was the little plastic chair at the library. The one with the cool raised swirly pattern on the back. The one that’s just the perfect size for a child’s bottom, while adults look plain ridiculous in them. But that’s besides the point. Perhaps she’s sat in them way too many times before and sitting is just so passé and boring, so she decided to rock back and forth in them.

It’s fun. I know this because I used to do this when I was in primary school, tipping my chair back on its back legs, my fingers gripping my rusty desk for support. My mother used to warn me against doing so, telling me I could go blind if I hit the back of my head on the desk behind me. I laughed it off, because as a child who knew little about biology, that just seems absurd (your eyes are on the front, not the back!). However, as someone who minored in biology, I now know that visual cortex is back there, so duh. But I digress.

Raspberry learnt the hard way that rocking on bendy plastic chair legs is not a good idea. Somehow, unsurprisingly, they gave out and sent her forehead right into the table (also plastic). When I returned from getting groceries, I found Lucas, toting Ares, approaching with a band-aid in hand, a promise to explain later, and a seemingly nonplussed librarian in tow. The librarian, who watched patiently as Lucas stuck the band-aid on the gash, had Raspberry recount the details of how she acquired her injury, as he had to write it up.

She was left with a bruised, swollen forehead that, within hours, became a badge of pride, because she thought it made her look terrifying. A week-and-a-half on, the bump is still has tinges of yellow and purple and not as goose egg-ish as it was before and it’s become an afterthought, if at all.

There’s unfortunately no good backstory to his scar. They fought and the claws came out. I didn’t see what happened and was only met with his inconsolable pain cries. I suppose if the top of his head wasn’t so barren, his luscious locks would’ve absorbed most of the impact and he would’ve been spared a giant scratch. It’s too bad my kids are genetically predisposed to having little hair in their early days. Oh well.


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