Just Another Face

An accident. That’s what I tell people when they ask. Boiling water or sometimes oil. I tripped, that’s all. An unfortunate spill with catastrophic results.

I wasn’t beautiful. My nose was too long, my face narrow, my cheekbones plagued by freckles. And my eyes were farther apart than they should be. The cumulative effect was a bit feline actually. But I wore my thick, auburn hair long, curled at the ends. And I knew about makeup, so boys looked my way. One boy in particular.

He had this desperation about him. When he presented in class, his balled hand would drip sweat. His hair fell in long greasy strings. When teased, his mouth twitched into a teeth-baring sneer, but he never fought back. He took the punishment, laid flat against the lockers, curled into a ball on the floor, all with that same sick look stamped on his face. I watched the whole thing go down once. It was eerie how silent he was while the kids pounded on him, kicking him in the neck, the chest. I didn’t step in though. How could I?

Just before the bell rang every day, he squirmed in his seat, slipping and sliding on the plastic like an eel, bolting so quickly that his desk rocked back when he left it. But his eyes were the thing. His eyes would sometimes spin as if possessed, as if trying to latch onto something to keep him in place. Spin and then refocus, always on me. Always on my face.

I knew he wanted to ask me. I could feel it coming in hot waves off of him. His shadow stood over me, wanting. He blocked the sunlight and stuttered the question, but I just couldn’t. Not even to be nice. When I said no, he pulled out a vial. He yanked my hair back and brought me to my feet with one hand and then ripped out the plug with the other.

The fire that fell from the tube ate away my flesh to the bone, pooled in my eye sockets, spread into my hair. I can still feel it burning even now. When I fell, screaming, at his feet, he dug into the raw flesh, ripping and pulling and muttering to himself. I felt my nose slip past my cheek. Felt my left ear slide to the tile floor. As I screamed, it ran into my mouth and down into my throat.

When a teacher lifted him off, he shouted “Now, you are something special. Not just another face.” And he laughed. Laughed at me as I lay quaking in blood and melting tissue.

Blind now, I’m not allowed to buy a gun. Knives however... I’ve taken my time, working my fingertips over the blades, feeling the weight in my hands. He gets out in 19 days and I will be waiting. Waiting to carve off that sneer. He will learn what it means to be not just another face.