I had a little accident last week. I tripped up some steps into my kitchen, bopped my head on the edge of the dry sink and cut my arm. Amazingly there was practically no pain, but my forehead did begin to swell, so I applied ice, popped an Aleve® (only needed one) and my life went on.
Over the next three days, my arm put on a dazzling display of colors, from blues and greens to yellows and purples (one patch was a particularly pleasant lavender I would like to repaint a room in), and whatever discoloration I could have had on my forehead dispersed and took a journey in a southeasterly direction down the bridge of my nose, below my eye and across my cheek. The bruising is a perfect half-diamond on my face, with my forehead looking as if nothing happened.
I look like somebody punched me, but only one person has actually come out and said anything about it. Of course they knew that I am single and not in a volatile relationship or prone to picking fights in bars, so they felt comfortable showing genuine concern. It seems the rest of the world has become so jaded by body piercings, O-rings the size of soda cans in earlobes and tattoos in unlikely places, my bruised eye is tame by comparison.
I wonder, however, if I were in a relationship in which my partner used violence, somebody reaching out to ask about my eye might make a difference if I were the kind of person who didn’t know where to turn for help. Would it be so improper to say, “Gee, may I ask about your eye?”
Anyway, I know the discoloration will go away in a few more days, and thank goodness there are makeup products out there to help hide the worst of it. And I didn’t dent the dry sink.
Susan's Scribblings the Blog 