In the weeks leading up to final examinations, I was convinced that I didn't care about the tests anymore. I'm nearing graduation, I'm a great test-taker, and I have what seems to be a solid job; having one or two mediocre finals isn't going to kill me.
And here I sit on day two of finals week locked up in my room surrounded by papers, notebooks, and a computer screen. Apparently I do care. I don't know how to not care. After looking at the same scribbles and print-outs for two days I was ready for a break, so I'm writing a history of the red spot that adorns my face.
At birth: According to legend, the doctor was quite squeamish when he saw the mark on my face. He told my parents that it can be removed with surgery. They declined, saying that if it ever became a problem they would consider having it removed. Or at least this is what I have been told. This has yet to happen.
As a child: For some reason or another I was visiting the doctor. The nurse was looking me over and saw that there was a bruise-like mark above my right eye. She asked my mother what happened to my face, but her tone said, "Are you beating your child?" I could have had a lot of fun with that situation had I been a bit older.
As a teenager: I routinely got asked, "What happened...?" as they waved their index finger above their eye. The answers that I gave varied for awhile, but then I ran out of creative things to say. I had no other option than the boring truth.
As an adult: A friend of mine tried to remove the mark from my face:
That's a Tide stain removing pen. It didn't work. Next story.
I cut myself shaving one morning, and it really tore up my chin. I donated plasma later that day, and apparently I was a miserable sight. When I walked in, one of the nurses asked me what happened to my face. This time she meant my whole face, not just my eye. She later revealed that she initially thought I lost in a fight. Not ten minutes later I walked into the back room where 40 people were pumping plasma for money. The moment I crossed the threshold of the door another nurse asked me what happened to my face. This nurse happened to be on the other side of the room; she had to scream so I could hear her. Every one of those 40 individuals took a gander at my face to see what was wrong.
I met an old man a few weeks ago, and he was asking me about my family history and where the name 'Gessell' comes from. I explained to him that it was Scandinavian (at least I think so). His response was, "It sure left its mark on your face!" Because of my history, I thought he was referring to the mark of my birth. Apparently he knew what I was thinking, because he immediately and apologetically clarified his statement to mean my facial structure and hair.
The current joke about the mark comes from my roommate. Over the summer and especially during the Fall months, the temperature outside varies quite a bit. When somebody would ask, "Is it cold today?" Josh would study my face and answer based on the shade of red that the mark took on that day.
June 13, 2013 Update: Recently Josh was married, and I happened to be involved. The whole day people were making jokes about the mark (which is normal). The time came to take pictures of the wedding party (is that what it's called +Rachel Thorley ?) , and the photographer decided to do individual pictures. All of us turned to our right, which meant that the mark would be out of the picture. She went down the line getting close ups of each face. When she got to me, she looked at the camera, lowered the camera, and in a kind voice asked me to turn the other way because there was a shadow on my face.
At this point, I thought that somebody had bribed her to play a prank on me. I asked her who put her up to it, but she didn't know what I was talking about. I then told her, "There's a shadow on my face? Have you seen what's on the other side?"
I'm confident there will be more stories to come.
