Assignment #11: Photograph a scar and write about it. Photograph a scar on your body or on someone else's body. Make it a close-up shot so that it shows just the scar. Include a story (write it on a computer as a separate file, don't write it on the photograph) about how the scar happened. Please do not send images of wounds that are fresh and have not healed. Only images of scars will be accepted.
See that tiny white dot in the middle of my thumb? I got that scar in the security line at JFK airport while on my way to begin the spring break of my freshman year of college. I was with Jon deSimone, who is now one of my best buds. We'd been friendly for most of freshman year up to that point, but I mark our spring break trip as the start of our friendship as the two of us now know it. He and I were traveling back to my house in California for a few days to go to a reunion show of a band we both liked, among other things. I don't know if I can say the same for Jon, but those three days we spent in my neighborhood were indescribably awesome. It's always a wonderful feeling to like hanging out with someone new, and to hang out with them so much that they are no longer new but have become familiar. That spring break, Jon established for himself an important place in my life, just nestled his way into my universe and got comfortable. We had such a blast doing so many (mostly illegal) things together that week, and I remember thinking it was crazy that a year before then we hadn't known each other existed.
Anyway, our epic journey began that morning in JFK at some ungodly hour. We reached the front of the security line and Jon handed me his bag to take off his shoes and jacket. I was half-asleep, zombified by how tired I was, so when he went to take his bag back, I didn't let go immediately. The buckle of one of his straps caught on my thumb and pinched the skin. I yelped and Jon muttered a sleepy apology. It wasn't until we sat down at our gate that I realized the bag had actually cut me, carving out a little crater in my thumb. I turned to Jon, holding out my hand for him to see, but he was out cold, curled up in a big, mint green plush chair. I let him sleep, and slept myself.
Anyway, our epic journey began that morning in JFK at some ungodly hour. We reached the front of the security line and Jon handed me his bag to take off his shoes and jacket. I was half-asleep, zombified by how tired I was, so when he went to take his bag back, I didn't let go immediately. The buckle of one of his straps caught on my thumb and pinched the skin. I yelped and Jon muttered a sleepy apology. It wasn't until we sat down at our gate that I realized the bag had actually cut me, carving out a little crater in my thumb. I turned to Jon, holding out my hand for him to see, but he was out cold, curled up in a big, mint green plush chair. I let him sleep, and slept myself.
Sometimes the most insignificant of moments can serve as a turning point. So this tiny, unassuming scar does not remind me of the day it happened, but of everything that came afterwards.
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