Blog

As I turn the car on, I glance over at Kookie.  He’s still grinning at me.  For some reason, my eyes are drawn to first his right ear and then his left.  No earrings.  My heart dips.  Privately, I reflect on how funny this is.  I miss his silver hoops.  But this boy has no piercings. 

I remember a time when I hated earrings on boys.  I was younger, and they were frowned upon.  I didn’t really like them at all until I met Jungkook of BTS.  And I fell so in love with his sweet nature that I began to love everything about him.  Including his silver hoops.  And the silver rings that he wore on the strangest fingers.  

His index fingers?  Really?

He even inspired me to start wearing rings.  On strange fingers.  Even my thumbs.  Though later I read that in Korea this would have meant I was single.  Oh, well.  I don’t live in Korea.  And by that time, I had grown accustomed to wearing rings on my thumbs.  Especially while I typed my stories.  I love to see those rings flashing light as my thumbs type at warp speed.  In another post, I read that thumb rings represent wealth or influence.  I am praying my writing influences someone.  So perhaps thumb rings are appropriate after all!

For some reason, I felt closer to Kookie when I wore rings.  They reminded me to pray for him like I would for my own sons.  Every time I look down at them, I remember him and the other members of BTS.  Of course, now in my present reality, he is not a member of BTS.  But my own son.  I get to enjoy his sweet face in my own home.  And here in my new van.

As I pull out of my parking space and shift the car into drive, I glance up at his left cheek.  Strange.  He still has the long scar.  The one he got fighting over video games with his older brother.  But that was in yesterday’s universe.  How did that scar transfer into my present reality?

Then it comes back to me.  Like a far-off memory.  I see Kookie and Nana – that’s Janna’s nickname, the one Kookie gave her when they were fourteen months old.  The one the tiny twins broadened into Banana.  I smile as I think of how they sometimes still call her that.  She bristles at them now, though she loved it when they were tiny.  

When Kookie and Nana were three years old, they were playing outside.  She picked up a metal rake and began to swing it around.  It scraped across Kookie’s little cheek, causing a deep gash and an instant stream of crimson blood followed by a gut-wrenching scream flowing from Kookie’s lips.  I pulled him up into my arms as Nana began to sob after her first stunned reaction.  

“I sorry, Kookie!” She cried over and over.  “I sorry!  I sorry, so you all better now!”  She was distressed that he kept screaming.  She thought her remorse would have healed him.

I ushered them both into the house and got the disinfectant, the antibiotic ointment, a band-aid, and a Q-tip.  I took Kookie to the living room and sat on one end of the couch, depositing him on my lap.  

“Shhhh.  It’s ok, Kookie.  You’ll be all right.”  

But privately I was mourning the marring of his perfect cheek.  This was going to scar.  It was fairly deep and long.  As he grew, it would grow with him, spreading out to cover nearly an inch of his cheek.  Of course, he would still be beautiful.  And all the guys would think it was cool.

I cleaned the wound, and he whimpered in pain as the disinfectant hit his raw flesh.  I tried to soothe him, informing him quietly, “This ointment will take the pain away, Kookie.”  I swiped some across the wound.  “And I got you a Super-Man band-aid.  See?”

He stopped crying as he lifted dark eyes up to me and eagerly grabbed the band-aid from my fingers.  He stared at the red and blue bandage with wonder in his eyes.  “Mommy, put Super-Manned on me!”  Now his midnight eyes were shining.

I smiled and took the band-aid, pulled off its strips, and applied it to his cheek.  “See there, Kookie.  All better!”

Nana was sobbing still.  She had thrown herself down on the couch next to Kookie and was soaking it with her tears.

“Nana.  It’s ok.”  Kookie reached out and ran his little hand over her hair, caressing the top of her head.  “Nana.  I ok.  See!  All better now.  I forgive you, Nana.”

Nana sat up, tears streaming down her rosy cheeks, strands of her blond hair caught on that damp skin.  Kookie reached up and wiped a tear away with his tiny fingers.  “Don’t cry, Nana.  I ok now.”  

He beamed at her, and she smiled back before throwing her arms around him and hugging him.  Oddly enough, what had begun as a horrid memory had become a treasured one.  Love had turned a horrible mistake into a beautiful story.