CASE # 1278

I try to tell people that I got into a fight. That I saved the girl, that I fought off the bully, and that I was tough as nails. The idea in me that scars are symbols of courage, sacrifice, and bravery.

Not stupidity.

On a bright (sober) Sunday afternoon, I walked into school for an early afternoon meeting. As I walked in through the front lobby doors, something caught my eye. Could have been a familiar car passing by, a pretty girl I'd seen before, or maybe a sound.
When I turned my head back, I was greeted with one of the green concrete poles.

6 stitches.

1 painful memory.