A Blister on My Wrist

At Bruno's wedding back in August 2006, they had sparklers at the end of the night.  The idea was that we'd hold them up and the newly married couple would run under this corridor of sparkle. Well, they forgot the age old rule: open bar + fire = injury.

Fortunately, the couple escaped unscathed to my knowledge. I did not, a gentleman behind Laura and I was holding his sparkler seemingly directly over my head. One large spark fell on my wrist and got caught under my watch. Needless to say, it caused a blister, which eventually popped and left a scar. I didn't mind the scar, I liked it. I thought it was nice to have a reminder of all the fun I had that weekend, something that would always be with me.

But then a few months later it blistered up again. I thought maybe it didn't heal right. That maybe it had an infection or something that still needed tending. I let it run its course and then went on about my life.

I didn't give it much thought until this holiday season when it happened again. Now I was thinking that it was far-fetched for something like that to fester for a year. So I've leapt to something even more far-fetched and irrational, that somehow this scar is tied to the person I was standing next to that night, that it somehow represents extreme joy (or possibly sorrow). And if it is sorrow, maybe I'm supposed to help somehow. Or, if it is joy, maybe she just needs to share it with someone. Either way, I'm too chicken shit to ask.

It's crazy. I'm crazy. But it's what I think about.