Scars

Laura Delp

It's been 22 wasted days since the accident ö days lost in a blur. She feels trapped in her house, but afraid to go places by herself. Deanna, a friend, tells her it's because she was alone during the accident. Maybe . . . It doesn't matter. She won't go for a walk by herself and is afraid to drive.

She tries not to think about it, to remember the day walking down the road. He was 86 with a heart condition and had been released from the hospital the day before. Her day started with a list of things to accomplish before leaving town for a mountain biking trip. After cleaning the house, she set off for her usual 3-4 mile walk, ? of which was spent on peaceful country roads with wide shoulders. That day, she wore her headphones and heard nothing when she felt the incredible force behind her. It felt like someone shoved her roughly from behind, pain exploded in her head, and her leg wouldn't allow her to stand up. Warmness ran down her face when she lifted her head; she realized that she was hurt and the fear started. From ground level, she looked up and saw cars driving by and wondered why nobody stopped. Didn't they find it strange that someone was lying on the road? Finally, a voice, "I'm from the fire station down the road . . . I'm here to help. Do you know what happened?" She didn't. Another voice and the touch of a hand holding her own, "It's OK. Hang in there." She appreciated the woman's touch and didn't want her to leave.

In the ambulance, they ripped her favorite t-shirt and struggled to get the contact out of her left eye. Later, she lay in the hospital, waiting for a surgeon to show up, while friends and family gradually showed up, faking cheeriness as they attempted to pass time. Eventually, she went into a surgery that lasted most of the afternoon. The surgeon started to count stitches as he repaired her face, but lost track at 125. She woke up later that day in the hospital to see students at her bedside, waiting with balloons and flowers. In the evening, she was horrified when she looked into a mirror and saw the fat lip, swollen nose, and bandages across her face.

Days were spent recovering in the hospital. She was angry with the driver, and threw the bouquet that arrived with the words "I'm sorry" into the garbage. There was a rumor that he was drinking in a bar later that week. The unfairness of everything struck her hard: he was out drinking and having fun, while she would be marked forever because of his mistake.

Weeks later, the mirror began to show improvement. Black stitches no longer criss-crossed her forehead, nose, and left eye. Redness still remained but the swelling was down around her eye ö she's thankful for one thing ö her vision -- but is scared to let people see the scars ö the problem is solved by hiding under baseball hats and avoiding eye contact with people.

She spends time today to plan a wedding. Bridal magazines with creamy skinned brides are stacked on the coffee table. She'll have scars on her wedding day. She's sorry for the fight last night when she yelled, "Just leave. I don't want you here anyway," to test him. She looks out the window, wanted to go somewhere, but is too afraid. The orthopedic surgeon said that walking was the best thing she could do to strengthen her knee, but she isn't ready for that, yet. Her brain knows that there's a one in a trillion chance of being hit again, but that's not enough to make her go.

In the evening, Mike and Deanna come over for a barbeque and decide to walk down to the activity center and play miniature golf. No one says anything, but they walk on the outside, "protecting" her from the cars. Feeling daring after walking down the road next to cars, she looks the cashier in the eye while paying for golf. At the end of the evening, Deanna suggests that they go for a walk the next day. They plan on a time.

Slowly, with the encouragement and patience of others, she learns to have fun again, to have faith that she won't be hurt, and understand that most people don't notice scars. Over time, she comes to appreciate her scars ö occasionally, people ask, usually inquisitive students, and she tells the story.