SCARS

I recently read an interview where the Minnesota Vikings running back, Adrian Peterson, discussed his healing process post ACL surgery. A potentially career ending injury that occurred during a football game last Christmas Eve (2011). In that interview "AP" made an interesting comment. The interviewer asked Adrian when he knew he was back to his old self, which obviously he is based off his league leading stats, and "AP" responded with a story about how he made an instinctive cut and plant at full speed. He went on to say that during this cat like action he felt the area around his ACL "tear" or "release". Initially this sounds gruesome. Maybe even like it would be the last thing you would want to feel, but he said his physical therapist told him this would happen when he "broke through the scar tissue". In that moment, at full speed, AP heard his P.T.'s words... and he knew he was healed. This must of been an empowering revelation.

I find this bit of information amazing. Yesterday, while I did my eight mile run, it was all I could think about. I have scars, we all have scars. Scars aren't an issue. While I propelled myself along the coast one foot at a time, I asked myself, "Do I do enough to break through them? Do I put myself back onto the field of play at full speed? Or do I allow my scars to hold me back, only go as far as they allow me to go, allow them to control my range of motion?" The real issue isn't the scar, but rather the effect I allow my scars to have over me.  

Trauma happens. It is just a part of life. Scars form. I (we) can allow these scars, either physical or mental, to hold me (us) back or I (we) can tear through them, choose to release myself (ourselves). 

Release. It is really my only option. 

Abuse – Noun. /a-byus/

: A corrupt practice or custom

I always felt my mother’s biggest flaw was that she lacked a method to her madness. She relied heavily on her emotions when making decisions. She never adhered to any sort of code. Her philosophy was more of a non philosophy, “feel it, do it”.  It was this irrational mind set that landed her in Greenville. After her and my step-dad divorced she decided to leave Charlotte and go home to Atlanta. Two hours into her four hour drive it occurred to her that black sheep can’t go home. So she exited the freeway half way between home and Hell.

Marie and I arrived in Greenville by plane. We had spent that summer in Indiana with our father, Lee. When Marie and I walked off the plane Mama was there waiting for us. She hugged Marie first and then grabbed me up into her arms. Her tight caress was too much. She realized it and released me.

“Are you Ok?” She asked me.

I just nodded yes: an obvious lie. 

“Come with me to the bathroom” she insisted as she reached out her hand. She lead Marie and me into the ladies room.

I was embarrassed. I didn't want to go into the bathroom. I was sure there were women in there. I knew what Mama wanted and didn't want others to see.

“Take your pants off”, Mama ordered.

I stood there staring at her. There were no women in sight but I could hear a woman who was using one of the stalls.

“Ray, honey, now. Show Mama” she pleaded with me.

I slowly unbuttoned and unzipped my blue jeans. My hands were shaking. I was unsure what my mother’s reaction would be. I was afraid the lady might leave the stall just I bared myself. As I slowly took my pants down Mama asked me to turn around.

As I did Marie spoke up, “it’s bad, huh Mama?”

I stood there, pants down around my knees, my ass exposed to my family. I tried to lose myself in the yellow wall tile in front of me. I thought about floating in the bowl of banana pudding on the Nilla wafers box. My visualization couldn't take me away from this moment. Mama slowly came towards me and lifted up my shirt. As she rolled up my pin striped tank, goose bumps ran up my  spine. She used her free hand to pull the band of my underwear away from my body. As she did I cringed. The release of the tight elastic band from my bruised and swollen flesh sent pain up my back.

“I’m sorry baby. Mama didn't mean to hurt you.” she assured me.

The woman in the stall flushed the toilet. Mama gently released the elastic band of my underwear and let my tank top fall freely. “You can take your pants up now Ray” said Mama. 

The stall door clicked as the lady inside unlocked it. I quickly reached down and pulled my blue jeans up and fastened them around my waist. As I worked the zipper up, Mama asked the lady what the fuck she was looking at. The lady didn't speak. She just turned the water on and proceeded to wash her hands.I don't blame her for not speaking. I was embarrassed. There was no reason for Mama to curse at her. 

The three of us exited the restroom and headed for baggage claim. We walked in silence. I wanted my mother to say something. She didn't  We arrived at the baggage claim and stood along the other passengers and watched the bags go around. Mama sent me up close to the conveyor belt so I could grab the bags when they came out. I stood there waiting. I was confused as to why Mama hadn't said anything. Was she upset at me? I felt like I let her down. I wanted to tell her I fought back. I was overwhelmed with the urge to apologize. Did she think I was an ungrateful little asshole, too? 

“Ray, my bag!” Marie yelled as she pointed. 

Marie's bag lined itself up with me, I reached down for it. It was heavier than I expected. As I grabbed the shoulder strap the weight pulled me forward and caused her bag to fall off the conveyor belt. I lost my balance and fell forward, my shirt came up. My lower back was exposed. I quickly jumped up. I was certain another passenger saw my bruises. A flush of embarrassment came over me. I looked around. No one seemed to notice me. Sweat beaded on my forehead. I could feel my heart pulse through my wounds. I set Marie’s bag on the ground next to my feet. I was relieved to see my bag when I looked down the line of bags moving towards me. I braced myself and removed it from the conveyor belt.

With both bags in hand I awkwardly walked back to my family. Mama grabbed Marie’s bag out of my hand. Our trio exited baggage claim and headed toward the parking lot.

Marie and I were surprised to discover Mama had replaced our station wagon with a new car. I didn't like it. Our new family vehicle only had two doors and no rear facing seat. The sun reflected off of it and made it difficult for me to tell if it was gold or some sort of rusty orange color. Either way it was ugly to me. Mama popped open the trunk. I lifted my bag and placed it inside next to Marie’s. Mama closed the trunk and walked around to the passenger’s door and unlocked it.

“Shotgun” yelled Marie.