I have many scars. One halfway up my upper arm from playing soccer with too much passion and momentum in a field surrounded by barbed wire. One on my right index finger when the thought of losing months of writing lead to a desperate and poorly thought out attempt at computer repair. My longest is on my left ankle, from when I cut myself on the window of a sunken car chasing after a flotation device. One on my chin, from a bike accident- simply put. The complex story would take too long to tell here. But at least I know it. This is the story of the one scar I have that I cannot say for sure the exact cause of.

All I can do is give some of the details leading up to it's conception.

It happened when I was 19. I was back on the ranch again because I'd met a girl who lived nearby. We visited often. I was in school because she was impressed with that kinda thing. She did give me the time of day but that was about it. I think I just enjoyed the challenge really.

In college I was taking my third speech class. I've never taken education frightfully seriously so my other speech classes were uncompleted. But I did learn. I think I must have caught her attention when the teacher asked us to form an alliteration with our names. I was well prepared by the time she got to me. The exchange between myself and the professor went about like this:

"You?"

"Stubborn Ben."

"Alliteration is..."

"I am well aware of that madam. I shant alliterate as you should have guessed by my choice."

"Erm..."

"Ok Fine. I am Beautifully Boastful Big Ben, occasionally Brusque But Barely Boring. Benignant, not Beligerant nor Bashful. Bookish, Batty, and Bountifully Babbling."

"Well. I don't think anyone is going to be forgetting your name Ben."

"Also I have a Beard."

After class I sat down at a bench nearby to read. I did this to pass the time as my ride had classes until way later in the day. She appeared across from me, I looked up and said:
"Artistic Ashley."

"Beautiful Ben."

"That's not my full name you know."

"I just picked my fav-o-rite term."

I'd noticed her. She was attractive, but I noticed her in the way I always notice people when I'm into someone else. Sort of a 'Yes, you're attractive. I hope it never matters to me' kinda feeling. I don't really remember how it got to it but eventually she was asking me if I'd done anything crazy lately. I had been feeling a little fenced in... things were getting boring. So I confessed I hadn't. She asked how old I was. 19. Had I ever drunk? Not really. Why not? You look old enough. Why would I? Because a pretty girl is telling you that she wants to go off and get drunk with you.

I felt a shivery feeling run down my spine. I guess that was pretty much the first time. I actually kinda resent that this was the first time considering what came of it. Oh well, it was a new feeling which was intriguing. I followed it.

She taught me about chasers. We shopped for those together. She made fun of me for picking a Starbucks Frappachino. I figured Irish Coffee right? I was too self conscious to remember what she got. I want to say Arizona iced tea but that just doesn't make any sense... What can I say. There were a lot of firsts that day.

I went back in for the rum myself. She took me to her place. I remember being so exited... just seeing how a person like her lived. There were stuffed animals and draped cloths and a beaded curtain. Posters of musicians I'd never heard of. Dreams I'd never share but I wondered if I would.

We mixed the rum inside of our drinks. The ratio kept increasing, the taste of alcohol becoming less and less apparent. Our bodies getting closer together, our stories less coherent but apparently more hilarious.

I woke up on the floor the next day. This was uncomfortable and somewhat disappointing. But later I'd be glad that nothing happened. Or at least I tell myself that nothing happened and hope I'm right. As I tried to get up shooting pains went through my hand which was wrapped with a piece of fabric I didn't recognize. This fabric was sopping with blood.

I shook her awake with my other hand. She was surprised to see me and not to happy. Whatever had happened to my hand was my own damn fault. I got the feeling that I hadn't been supposed to spend the night.

Just gathered myself and left. First time in the emergency room for a couple years. Figured out I'd apparently been coherent enough to tell my ride I'd be staying in town that night. Didn't really talk about the incident for another year except to Artistic Ashley who seemed to remember something, but it was something that made her not want to be around me.

I'd had my fill of crazy for a while.