The Scar

We relaxed on a couch in

mild coolness of a thermostat

registering 84 degrees.

It was all the air I could afford

on limited income,

in the stale, dank oven of South Texas

in the middle of a record August.

Beads of sweat trickled down

both of our foreheads,

television on,

(something comedic, I think),

my arm slyly positioned

(back in those days, no doubt,

without noble intentions).

As we laughed together

at forgettable jokes,

mere background noise

to an (imagined) main event,

a slow hand connected (surprise!) 

to my arm, of all places (imagine that),

trailed along her bare shoulders.

That’s when it happened,

it not quite the it envisioned.

I felt it.

There, on the back of her neck, just

underneath her hair line:

A thick pouting mound of flesh,

hardened with the years.

Immediately sitting up, I turned on

a lamp for closer inspection,

pushing her head gently forward.

And there it was: The Scar.

Raised a notch from skin around it,

it betrayed a cut both wide and deep.

The bleeding, easily visualized.

“What happened here?”

In reply, she told me of a devious man,

An early morning stranger,

lying in wait in darkness

along the path to home,

walked in solitude (she supposed).

Poor guy. Biggest mistake of his life.

His intentions were clear,

as were his demands, backed by a blade

catching a slight (but ominous) glint

from a streetlamp nearby.

Within two minutes,

spinning in the street was knife sans man,

far away from stifled sounds,

muffled unintelligibly

as the ill-intentioned cad

lay face-down in mud-caked ditch

they had been standing next to.

My girlfriend’s younger self,

knee firm in his back, explained 

the actual situation to him.

It’s doubtful if that guy ever stalked

another victim, as he found out

that some prey, if provoked,

quickly becomes the predator.

His would-be victim,

currently the new girl in my life,

was home before she even noticed.

That is, before she even noticed

blood bathing the back of her neck

bright red, flowing from the gash

that evolved into The Scar,

the very one underneath my hand.

She was tenacious, unfearing,

unyielding, aggressive if necessary.

This woman had teeth,

tall grasses swaying when she was about,

other predators cornering her

at their peril, terrified once realizing

their dangerous miscalculation.

It was at this moment that I realized:

it was either time to run, or …

I was going to marry this woman.