Damaged

This is what I did at school today.

My first period class (of three) let out a gasp when I did it. "Ms. Flower!" they said. "That looks terrible!"

Of course, they'd watched the whole thing as it unfolded, keeping one eye on me at my desk while they did their work at theirs. When I held up my arm, they winced. "That hurts me, Ms. Flower," one of them said.

It took a while for the bruise to form, about forty minutes or so. I studied it anxiously, checking for irregularities and uncharacteristically dark spots.



I'd press it occasionally, because I have this weird thing where I have to push on a bruise to see if it hurts.

I forgot about it during the day, and every once in a while I'd push my sleeves up and hear a sharp intake of breath. "Is somebody abusing you, Ms. Flower?" one kid asked. "No way," I answered. "I did this to myself."

It's all makeup, of course. Every once in a while I like to do a stage makeup day with my theater class, and I have to practice on somebody. Over the past three years, I've gotten pretty good at handing out black eyes. Today ten of my students left my room looking like they'd had serious run-ins with a gang of thugs.

["Ms. Flower gave me a black eye," one student said proudly. "No no no no no, don't tell people THAT," I said.]

By the end of the day, all of my classes were talking about the sudden rash of black eyes in our school. I snickered behind my hand, but I didn't say anything. "Ms. Flower," said one student, "is it true that [Some Kid] broke up a fight between a cop and a gang member?"

"Well," I hedged, "who'd you hear that from?"

"[Some Kid] told me."

"I guess s/he would know," I shrugged. "I'm pretty sure s/he did NOT get it during second period in this very room, and I definitely know that I did NOT have anything to do with it."

"Ms. Flower!" the student exclaimed. "WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR ARM?"

And that is what I did at school today.