Scars

“He deserved it!” the ten-year old boy shouted. “He called me weak! I couldn’t let him get away with that!”

“Calm down, Daven. Hold still while I mend the wound.” The boy’s mother placed a wet rag on his son’s left cheek, soaking up the blood from the newly-born scar. This wasn’t Daven’s first scar, nor would it be the last.

“I don’t need you to clean up after me!” Daven pushed the rag away, glaring. “I want

people to see it, to show that I’m not weak.”

“Then it’s going to get infected. Trust me, cleaning a scar isn’t going to make you weak,”

his mother assured. Daven grumbled but allowed her to continue mending his wound. As she did,

his eyes drifted to her exposed arms, noticing all the pink and brown streaks that adorned her

skin. He hoped to one day get as many scars as her. His eyes migrated to his mother’s bedroom,

sighting an open chest of weapons beside her bed: axes, daggers, short swords, knives. He’s

asked her about how she acquired each weapon and if she would train him in how to use them.

Her answers were always ‘no’, which upset him greatly.

His sight returned to her arms, studying them as if stuck in a trance. His mother notices her son’s

ogling and covers her arms with her sleeve.

“Mother, why do you cover your scars?” Daven asked. His mother stopped, her eyes

shifting to him as if he asked her to reveal a deep secret. Perhaps he had.

“What?”

“You have so many. But you cover them. Why?”

“Despite what others will tell you, scars aren’t always a symbol of strength,” she answered, her tone low and grim.

She placed the rag back into the wet bucket. Daven got up to leave, but his mother grabbed his wrist. “Where are you going?”

“To finish my fight with Matt.”

“It’s over, Daven. The fight is done,” but her words fell on deaf ears.

“The fight is over when Matt’s too weak to stand!”

“Take it from me, the words of others have no power over who you are.” His mother released him, and Daven stayed.

“Do you think I can’t defend myself, or you?” he asked.

“That’s not what I said.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“Being violent doesn’t make you strong, Daven. It makes you weak,” his mother snapped.

His eyes became wide, mouth agape. “B-but. . . I need to-”

He was cut off by his mother suddenly embracing him. Daven was speechless, too befuddled to form words or ask why she was hugging him.

“And you can do that by being a better man than Matt. Show him that his actions don’t mean anything to you. Refusing to fight doesn't make you weak. It shows you know which fights are worth fighting and which to walk away from. That is why I cover my scars, because I’ve learned what it means to show strength.”

Daven took a moment to take in her words. She hugged him tighter, her warmth making him feel a sense of comfort, love, and tenderness. Daven placed his arms gently around her back, then set his head on her shoulder.