10:12 p.m. - Sunday, Jul. 25, 2010
Mabus
Mabus used to bake bread for a chain restaurant. She worked overnight. And she worked alone. She really liked it. She liked not seeing other people. One night, she put a hot rack of sourdough bread bowls in the hallway to cool. A few minutes later, she went to get something in the hallway, and tried to reach around the hot rack. She got too close and seared the inside of her right arm. She was badly burnt. The pain was sharp and intense. It hurt for weeks. She couldn't sleep the first few nights after the incident, the pain was so bad. She had to wear long sleeves in the hot bakery because the heat of the ovens was overwhelming on her scorched skin.
It has been a lifetime since Mabus worked in the bakery. But the scar is still faintly present. Sometimes Mabus looks at her scar and reflects on the beauty of the burn. She reached her arm around a hot rack. She burned her skin. It hurt. You can see her melted skin. You can understand the pain. She doesn't have to explain it to you.
But for the pain she feels now, there is no cause. And no words to explain. And as much as she looks to you for understanding, she knows you can't. This pain is deeper.
Mabus longs for the beauty of the burn.
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