The Scar

The Scar

I had known Melanie for six months before ever asking her out. We both work for the same company, but in different departments and even in different buildings on the corporate campus. We met at a company picnic last summer, and I think there was an immediate, shall I say, interest on both of our parts. She was a shy girl, but sweet in many ways and something about her had always intrigued me. Our first two dates had been rather generic – out to dinner, a movie, and even a little light necking. But never anything serious. So, for our third date, I was convinced that this would be make or break for our budding relationship. I invited her out to the park. Sitting on the grass under a spreading oak tree, my head in her lap, she slowly fed me grapes – one by one. As I looked up at the underside of her chin, there was a noticeable scar. “What’s the story of the scar,” I asked innocently?

Her body instantly froze.

She slowly pulled back the grape she was about to delicately place in my mouth. And I realized maybe this was something I shouldn’t have asked about, at least not on our third date. My mind raced with possible explanations.

1.     Her mother dropped her on her head when she was an infant. She rushed Melanie to the Emergency Room, and suspecting child abuse, the hospital called the police.

2.     No, she was abused as a child. Her brother – wait, an uncle tried to molest her. She fought back, and he hit her across the face with the back of his hand. His pinky ring caught her under the chin, causing a deep gash.

3.     Oh, that can’t be right. It was a sports injury. Softball – no, that doesn’t sound right.  Too soft. Football, not likely. Melanie is nowhere big enough for that. Hockey, I bet that was it. She was playing goalie. A slap shot from mid-ice, straight for the goal. She was wearing her facemask, but the puck, traveling at over a hundred miles per hour, hit her squarely in the chest and bounced upward, catching her on the chin under her mask.

4.     Well, she doesn’t really look all that athletic. Maybe it was a former boyfriend. He had a motorcycle and insisted that she ride with him. Holding on for dear life with her hands around his waist. Her fingers interlocked just above his belt buckle as they sped recklessly down neighborhood streets. Swerving to miss a parked car, they hit a pothole at forty miles per hour, throwing them both into the air. Luckily, she was wearing a helmet, or she’d be dead now. But that didn’t protect her chin as she skidded across the pavement, straight into the curb. The doctors were all amazed that she didn’t break her neck.

5.     Or wait. Melanie told me that she likes to play pool. I wonder if she was a pool hall hustler? Scamming bikers for beer money. That could explain it. She was playing pool in some smokey biker bar. Acting all innocent and naïve. Suckering bikers into a game of Eightball. Deliberately losing the first two or three games, she kept offering double or nothing to lure them into her trap. She is so sweet and innocent looking. I’d fall for it. Then, with a hundred or more dollars on the table, she breaks and sweeps the table. A big burley biker, realizing he’d just been had, breaks a pool cue upside her head in retribution. No, that would leave a scar on more than just her chin.

6.     She was in college. Yeah, that’s probably when it happened. She was at a fraternity party. They were all playing Beer Pong. I bet she’d be good at that. The way she is plopping those grapes in my mouth – she’d be a natural. But then, of course, if you’re good at Beer Pong, you have to drink all those beers. She got shit-face drunk, passed out, and landed face down on the table. That would do it. And no wonder she’s embarrassed to tell me about it.

7.     Oh – oh! She was a spy for the CIA. No, the military. She was in the Army, or maybe she was a Marine. Being as petite as she is, she would have been assigned to a bomb disposal unit. She was serving in Afghanistan when she was sent to a remote village in the Kandahar province. Defusing an IED left by the Taliban in a girl’s school, it exploded. She was wearing a bomb suit and face shield. But a tiny piece of the explosive pierced the protective neck of the suit and embedded itself in her chin. She was airlifted back to Kabul, where Army doctors bravely fought to save her life. Their surgical skills were so exceptional that only the tiniest hint of a scar remains.

8.     Humm. She has never said anything about being in the military. And now that I think about it. She doesn’t really look the type – whatever the type is. I bet it was a previous boyfriend. Or maybe a blind date. They were at a club, probably dancing, when he just got a little too fresh. Grabbing her in a way she didn’t appreciate. She pushed him back. He grabbed her and attempted to pull her off the dance floor. Fearing for her safety, she struggled to get free, but he kept pulling her toward the restrooms. In a final desperate attempt to break his hold on her, she kneed him, with all her strength, squarely in the groin. Crumpling in pain, he collapsed to the floor, but not before shoving her into a nearby wall. As she fell in the opposite direction, her chin was the first thing to make contact with the concrete floor – breaking her fall. Yes, I bet that was it!

Smiling, she popped the grape, initially intended for me, into her mouth. “Oh,” she said slowly. “It’s from a dog bite. I don’t remember it, but according to family legend. When I was a baby, and I had just learned to crawl. I must have cornered the family dog under the bed. I just wanted to pet the dog. But apparently, the dog wasn’t used to the new rug rat in the family and bit me. As the story goes, I screamed bloody murder and received three stitches in my chin at the doctor’s office.”

“And the dog?” I asked.

“Well, that’s a whole ‘nother story,” she replied with a smile.