So I’m standin’ in front of the mirror shaving, looking at my February shoulder surgery scars from just three weeks previous.
“I’m disappointed,” I had told the doctor the day before. He had given me a questioning look.
“The scars—I was hoping for something more dramatic, ya know Doc, Frankenstein kinda scars, with the track marks down each side.”
The surgeon humored me and appeared contemplative as he moved in closer and rubbed his fingers lightly across the three incisions. There are the two arthroscopic cuts about a half-inch each and then the main three inch slice where most of the work was done. But already, at just three weeks, it takes a close look just to know they’re there. And they’re fading fast.
“Ya know what they say Doc, ‘Bones heal, chicks dig scars and glory is forever…’”
He has a really serious look on his face now, but the glint in his eye makes me think he’s faking it.
“Well,” he said slowly. “You could tell them you were shot. Twice. Entrance wound, entrance wound,” he said touching the smaller scars, “And then the one large exit wound.”
I lean closer to the mirror. Nah, the trajectory wouldn’t be right… unless… unless it was a rooftop sniper from above me. Bullets do strange things when they hit a curved bone… it could be… My homicide detective buddies wouldn’t buy it but…
From out in the hallway there’s a scream and the door bursts open followed by my two year old granddaughter sobbing convulsively. The sharp percussive breaths punctuate her sobs and her words.
“Papa! [sob], Papa! [sob]. Cha-Cha ba!” Madeline can barely speak.
I look at her and I know immediately what she is trying to tell me. She is carrying a Minnie Mouse doll but the Mickey doll is missing. Her twin brother Charlie has grabbed Mickey right out of her arms. I step out into the hallway and there’s Charlie, caught red handed, with Mickey in his hand and a devilish grin on his face.
“Charles James! These are Maddie’s dolls; you can’t take them from her!”
I recover the second doll and give it back to Maddie and Charlie takes off down the hallway in search of some other mischief. Madeline clutches both dolls in one arm and wraps the other arm around my leg, still breathing in staccato sobs, wiping her nose on my trouser leg.
She’s going to be a real drama-queen I tell myself. Where does she get that from?