ASSIGNMENTS:
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Leah
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania USA
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REPORTS:
PREVIOUS NEXT
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When Liz and I were very young girls of twelve we dreamed of the exhilarating and marvelous things we would do once we were grown. One of these things was getting our navels pierced when we turned eighteen. We needed to wait until we were eighteen because our boring parents would never permit either of us to have holes punched into our bodies. So when Liz turned eighteen we went to the tattoo parlor together and had a middle aged tattoo-covered man pierce us. We were pierced. We were eighteen. We were hot. We were pierced.
A few months later Liz's piercing began to ooze a thick purulent goop. It was infected. That summer I realized that my piercing only brought curious looks; not to the cool spider navel ring, or my thin waist, but to my ill-placed navel. We were pierced. We were infected. We were self-conscious. We were eighteen. We both removed our rings.
I am twenty-three now and have outgrown my desire to put extraneous holes in my body. I now consider the more mature adornment of a strategically placed tattoo. I have the scar above my navel which has slowly faded, and it barely noticeable unless looked at very closely. I smile whenever I see it.
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