Scars

After a long shower, I stood staring at myself in the mirror. The black dress was a perfect fit but without sleeves it revealed too much. The white scars that ran from wrist to elbow looked as though someone had tried to stuff my arm into a paper shredder, failed, and haphazardly glued the pieces back together. The cuts done to quell the pain swelling inside were meant to silence my head and not to silence me entirely.

I hated these scars yet I knew all of them stemmed from the memories contained in this one bit of Iowa landscape - a landscape etched in my every movement. Newton, Iowa. My hometown. I became bitter just at the sound of it crossing someone’s tongue. Newton originally meant “new town.” I’d always wondered what clever fool thought of this name. I fled Newton the first chance I could and had not looked back over my shoulder. Little good came from Newton aside from Maytag. Other than washing machines and dishwashers Newton bred nothing but drug addiction, sexual frustration, and contempt.