I Remember

• Vanessa Alexander, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2015

I remember the first time I visited you. I remember the way that you were asleep, so soundless that it scared me. You were rarely silent.
My eyes lingered on your face, taking in every detail. The small amount of freckles on your nose, your hair, how it parted in the middle because you thought it simply wasn't natural to have it any other way. I took it all in. Everything.
I remember my eyes trailing down your arm until my eyes rested on your collection. I counted each scar carefully, running my finger on them so lightly. I was scared that they would burst open if I pressed too hard. I was scared that the blood would start to flow again.
I found it funny, how when you were asleep you let your scars show. Like you were proud of them. It felt like you wanted the world to see you like this; a sleeping boy with a never ending trail of scars on him.
I remember rubbing my own hand up and down my arm, putting slight pressure on my own collection.
I stopped rubbing my arm when you slowly turned your arm over, hiding your pride. I clearly remember the way your eyes flickered open. My eyes quickly glanced down at your wrist again, wondering why when you were awake, you were embarrassed to let the world see the true you. Why you didn't let them show.
But then again, we all hide the biggest part of ourselves.