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Printed from https://shop.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/765026-This-ones-about-bruises
Image Protector
Rated: 18+ · Book · Personal · #1762035
A little bit of everything, colored my own way.
#765026 added November 6, 2012 at 2:24am
Restrictions: None
This one's about bruises.
THE PROMPT: "Certain senses can often provoke a memory. A smell, a sound, an image, etc. Write about a favorite memory that is conjured up by a smell, a song, or any other sense."

What's goin' on? Same ol' same ol' here. Par for the course, as the cool kids used to say.

In my current way of living, I find myself riding an escalator on a pretty regular basis; maybe more now than I've ever cared to notice. That old bastion of transportation, taking you up or down to a fixed destination. Unlike the road, it moves you to where you want to go. You get on, and then you get off. It's pretty reliable, I suppose.

Today, like many other days, I began my journey on this modernish miracle. I took that step...you know, that exaggerated step that says "I want to see the things that are on the floor above (or below) me. The step that commits you to the ride. I'd quickly realized that this step onto a giant metal moving staircase is something in all my years of escalatoring is something that I've apparently taken for granted.

I can't even say I was expecting it...you just know that that step has risen to meet your feet. Only today, there was turbulence. A shift. The always-reliable step moved, as if to say "Hang on buddy, somethin' ain't right here". I instantly got that feeling you get when somebody calls you "buddy", but you're not buddies.

In my ignorance of not having been on such an unstable grounding before, I barely had enough time to have a mini panic attack before anticipating the trip just before the trip, which you and I both know it makes you look worse than had you just manned up and accepted a little wipeout. In the process of grabbing for the moving handrail (just a thought: grab the rail before the step...idiots like me are the reason signs like that should be posted everywhere), my shin grazed that little curb between the stairs and the inside wall of the escalator.

I collected myself and did what any normal person would do: I put my head on a swivel and counted as many faces I could that turned away, as if they didn't just see me look ridiculous. I tried to play it off like the tap-dancing-on-escalators savant I'm not. But that faded by the time I hit the top, thanks to the gradual soreness that had increased slightly above my ankle.

My shin decided to have a tiny throb session. The irritating tingle felt vaguely familiar. I stopped, and instantly I felt a rush like you see on tv when a character is having a flashback.

There I was, back in junior high. I had one of those brushcuts that required a lot of gel so it could be spiky. My pants were pinned at the cuffs, just above my loafers. My glasses were bigger than my face was round, which was necessary to accommodate a mouth that wouldn't stop talking yang to some girl who was barely pretty enough to be out of my league but not as self-absorbed to at least entertain my nonsense for a brief moment.

And by "entertain", I mean "blast me in the shin with her 'I'm pretending to be a big girl in these strappy, pointy, heely' shoes". To which I would respond by nearly falling to the ground and trying not to shed a tear that would be magnified by 3x due to the Coke bottle nature of my lenses. Because really, that's the only option you've got when no words can escape your mouth because all you can do is squeal and wait for the wound to turn purple.

For days, you were afraid of air hitting the mark. Bruises like that tend to become a magnet for damn near everything the wind can blow, fall off a table, or heaven forbid, any other girl you might piss off. Lord knows no amount of shin kicks will teach boy in his early teens any kind of lesson.

And just like that, the flashback was over. I shook my head and realized I had managed to visualize that whole scenario as I was making my way to a chair. Amazing how teenage girls can make such an impression.

MUSICAL BREAK!!

I just wanted an excuse to hear this song.



And with that, I'm outta here for tonight. Been a stressful day. And my eyelids are getting heavy from the sleep aids and this tiny screen. Peace, and GOODNIGHT NOW!!

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Printed from https://shop.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/765026-This-ones-about-bruises