The bruise is still there. It has been there for a very long time. Maybe it will stay forever. A scar–from my battle with somebody else’s heeled shoe, when I was only wearing flats, ill-prepared for the fight.

It is a battle scar that I will keep. Not for other people. I keep the scar for myself. We go through battles with the most ordinary objects; shoes, clothing, other people. Sometimes they combine.

After my foot was so rudely stepped on by that high-heeled shoe, I did not react. That was a battle too. The bruise signifies something more important than getting stepped on, or maybe it does not. It is not only a reminder of how fragile human bones are, and not only a warning to dodge somebody wearing heels.

It is a reminder of all the battles that plagued my mind at that time. I do not remember them now. But I remember the feeling. I remember being stepped on, and remember the pain of it. I remember, vaguely, what had happened before and after–not terribly significant, but it is a snapshot of life, memorable because of the pain associated with it. Life is like that. Bits of pain, confusion, happiness.

Tomorrow I will face another battle. But once the procedure is over, I will be relieved.  Every time I look in the mirror will remind me of another battle, one that I did not choose to receive–but when do we ever choose our scars?

I have many. The scar from the battle with the test tube. The small cheese knife. The scissors. The wire. The high-heeled shoe. And soon I will have another. But scars, mortal, physical, mental, spiritual, emotional, are only reminders.

They are only there to remind us and give us warning. I will no longer touch hot test tubes–or trust my lab partner at the time with open flames around. I will not longer try to slice food that quickly. I will not touch the stove, even by accident–I will wear gloves next time. There are lessons to be learned.

Oh, and I will always, always wear protective shoes around high heels.