I Don't See It

Another story for you all. I can't take credit for the idea on this one; it's shamelesly taken from an anonymous video posted on PostSecret, and you can see it here. I haven't really changed the original idea at all, but I think it makes for a great story and was inspired when I saw the video to put it down in words. So, thanks to the guy from the video, and hope you all like the story. It's still very much a first draft, so any ideas for improving/changing are more than welcome, as always.

I Don’t See It
A short story
inspired by an anonymous video, submitted to PostSecret
by Christopher Jackson

She puts her arms around me, from behind, and looks into my eyes reflected in the bathroom mirror. Between the slightly open folds of my dressing gown I can see her breasts; soft and warm and familiar. She lets her hands, cold, wander across my chest, playing with the rough diamond of hairs and tweaking my nipples playfully. I watch her in the mirror; she hugs me tight and rests her chin on my shoulder.

“I love you,” she tells me; like it is the first time she has ever said it.

When I was younger I would blurt out; say the words back as though if I didn’t say it immediately it wouldn’t be true. But now I pause; safe in her embrace and in her gaze, enjoying the soft silence that follows those words spoken truly.

“I love you, too.” I say.

She smiles, and closes her eyes. I do the same, just listening to our breathing and the hum of the bathroom light. She lifts her head from my shoulder, and I feel her arms around me slacken ever so slightly.

“I’ve never noticed that before…” she says. I open my eyes, and she is looking at my face.

“Noticed what?”

“That scar…” and she straightens up slightly, not letting go.

“What are you talking about?” I say. “I’ve told you all about it. It was a long time ago, but I did tell you.” I take her hands in mine, still resting on my chest. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the story…”

“I…I don’t know…”

“It’s a great story!”

“I can’t remember… tell me it. Tell me the story…”

Taking her hand I kiss it, once, and turn my head to kiss her lips, twice. “Well,” I say, and I turn back to the mirror, looking at the scar, as I tell her my story.

“Once upon a time…”

“Oh be serious!” she snaps, slapping me on the chest. I laugh and grab her hand, and start over.

“About a year before we got together, I was driving home from work, in a hurry, because I’d been delayed when some stupid intern guy messed up, and of course I had to sort out the problem before the day was up. Anyway, I’d made plans with my wife at the time and was pretty anxious to get home… so I was driving pretty fast, and…”

“Do you ever rush home to see me when you’re late?”

I turn to look right into Sarah’s eyes. “Of course I do…” I kiss her. “Now… shut up and let me get on with my story…” A wink saves me from getting hit again.

“Anyway, I’m driving pretty fast, flying down the motorway… and my mind is already home, getting ready to go out for our evening, and…”
“Shit… you crashed?! I would have thought I’d remember tha…”

“Baby, I didn’t crash!” I turn around now, holding her arms. She looks frightened almost. “I wish…” I continue, “might have been less embarrassing!”

“Embarrassing?” I’m looking into her eyes as she says this, and it doesn’t look like she is looking at my scar.

“Yeah…” I continue, reposition myself into her arms, wrapping them around me and looking into the mirror once again. “I didn’t crash, but I zoomed into the driveway, whacking on the breaks. Into neutral, handbrake on, engine off, keys out… I opened the door and… tripped out the car.”

A laugh blurts out from Sarah’s mouth, immediately caught by her hand.

“You… tripped!?”

“Yeah.”

Another blurt.

“It fucking hurt!”

She’s laughing hard now, so much so that she’s separated herself from me, clutching herself. She has to wipe away tears that appear in her eyes, and soon enough she’s sitting on the toilet. I pretend like I’m insulted. She manages to speak through laughing.

“Oh, don’t be like that…!”

“I could have been seriously hurt…” I say, turning away and crossing my arms, “and all you can do is… laugh.”

“I know… I’m… sorry…” she manages to say.

“I’m just lucky I didn’t put my eye out.”

“What?”

She stops laughing immediately and the look that she gives me is completely unexpected. She goes to open her mouth, turns me around to look at me properly, and then looks back in the mirror, as though searching for something.

“Your eye out…?”

“Yeah…”

“But…”

“The scar on my eyebrow…”

She stops. “No… the other one.”

“What ‘other one’?”

“The… the other one. The other scar on your face.”

I look back into the mirror, moving closer.

“There is no other scar…” I tell her.

“Darling… there is.” She tries to move in front of me, taking my head in her hands to inspect my face. I push her away.

“Get off…” and I move closer to the mirror. My eyes search everywhere, but the rest of my face is fine. “I… there isn’t…”

I notice in the mirror she’s sitting on the edge of the bath. “Mike… there is.”

I look again. She gets up, and this time I let her hold me. Her finger presses to my lip, stopping there for a moment, before moving down; straight at first then cutting across sharply and creeping under my chin. It stops. She looks into my eyes; her finger doesn’t move.

Taking my hand, she repeats her finger’s journey with mine.

“Mike…” she says, and I turn away from her eyes.

I look again into the mirror.

I don’t see it.