Reign on my Parade

I couldn’t help but notice the scars on her face as she walked in. Such a pretty, young thing. The wind outside had not been kind to her hair and as she lifted a hand to brush a few strands away from her eyelashes she stalled halfway through the action.

So young, so much potential and so shy. The scars beneath her left eye refused to be hidden behind the thin veil of honey blonde she so desperately hoped would hide them. ‘Ouch’, I thought, ‘That must have hurt’. I peered at her over the rim of my coffee mug. It tasted like shit but on a day like this, any warmth was good warmth.

The wind howled.

The scars were pretty bad so I can understand why she keeps either her hair or her hand in front of her face. I’m by no means a voyeur but there is something so captivating about the deep, red marks on her otherwise porcelain skin. Like a broken doll. Shattered perfection. She sits down surrounded by what looks to be family and friends. Another joins the table and I see that familiar brush of hair in front of her face. She’ll never regain the confidence she once had.

Prom Queen.

I see the shifting eyes of her party. They want to stare without staring. They feel uncomfortable looking at her but they smile and pretend they don’t notice a thing. I brush my fingers against my pock-marked cheek, avert my gaze and catch the eye of the waiter. That wobbling lump of gelatine cleverly disguised as cheese cake has not gone down well, my coffee has seen its last and it’s high time for me to leave. Important things to do

 I know how she got those scars. Neither she nor her shifty-eyed family will ever know. She went out with a friend. Had a few drinks. She made the mistake of ‘getting friendly’ with the wrong man. I wonder if she’ll recognize me.