By Teresa Burns Gunther

Proud Flesh

EVERYDAY FICTION

NOVEMBER 30, 2021

In her English class, Gillian was assigned an ode. She wrote to the jagged Zorro scar above her knee from the August night she taught Benny to surf in the rickety trailer camper their father towed. They’d been banished from his truck because their excited license plate counting interrupted his ballgame; when Dad’s driving, he likes to drink with his Red Sox in peace. In the narrow “kitchen” of that squat rolling camper, she showed her seven-year-old brother how to surf the unseen mountain curves. Two years older, she was on a mission to teach him to be fearless.

“Look,” she said, skinny arms wide. “No hands.” But the camper jerked hard right, then left; horns outside blared as she fell, ripped open her leg on jagged sticks in the apple crate. Firewood to keep them warm outside, later, after Dad went to sleep.

They used their socks to staunch the bleeding and the zigzag cut healed up strong, all on its own. For a while it was her favorite. Her English teacher showed her Ode to a Scar to the school counselor who peered over smudged glasses and asked questions in a suspicious voice, soured with stale coffee. Gillian called herself clumsy; she understood the Irish proverb about the devil you know. Ms. Patel, the biology teacher, a woman with dark, curious eyes and a razor-keen mind, shared her fascination. She explained that scars are proof of healing. Gillian loved the word in the woman’s sing-song voice — hyper-granulation — for the way skin goes above and beyond its duty to protect the rawest places.

At 14, Benny has tattoos up and down both arms and right calf. His “memory keepers.” He wanted to celebrate her surviving to 16 with matching tats he paid for with his yard work money. She cherishes the IGY6 tat on her wrist, a truth in her heart. But her memory keepers are carved into her skin and map her sharpest moments. The hyper-granulated crescent moon on her cheek where Dad’s belt swung through the air and caught her when she stepped between him and Benny. And the railroad track down her back when she was chased by boys, a pack of dogs, who tried to touch her where she did not want to be touched. She hopped a fence armed with barbed wire that didn’t want to let her go either…

Note from Author:
This work will be included in my upcoming new collection. Please sign up for my newsletter to receive notice of my upcoming publications.