I have a scar on my right butt cheek, my inner thigh and just below my navel. I had them when I was a little younger. Gas explosion. I was far from the kitchen but I got caught up and lost the upper layer of my skin through that. The one in the kitchen when it happened didn’t survive the burn. My cousin Ann.

Growing up, the scar became my shame. It was the reason I didn’t want to have sex with the boys I fell in love with. When I started having sex, the light had to go off. I didn’t do it in the afternoon because I didn’t want the men I loved to see the ugly scar on my bum and on my thighs.

I lost two boyfriends to the scars. They saw it when I was sleeping. They didn’t like it. They thought I’d lied to them. The scars were like my babies, I had to declare them right at the initial stage of the relationship. Like women with children do; “I have a child but I’m not involved with their father.” In my case, “I have scars on my bum, thighs and below my navel.” When I didn’t declare them and they later found out, they used it against me; “You had a baby and didn’t tell me?” In my case, “You have these ugly scars and you didn’t tell me?”

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Jude came along. I said yes to him and when the relationship was about to get sexual, I tried telling him about my scars but I’d matured enough to know that the scars didn’t define me. I told myself, “The one who truly loves me will stay regardless.” I didn’t tell him, yet I was scared he would find out later and leave me. The first time we did it, the lights had to go off. It was quick and none intimate. I didn’t have the courage to take all my clothes off.

I think it was the third time when he found out. His hand was taking a stroll on my skin, trying to put me in the mood. When his hand got to the scarred area, he quickly stopped and asked, “What’s that? It’s different here than here,” moving his hand away from the scarred area and back again. I answered, “It’s all part of my skin. I had an accident when I was young. He quickly turned on the light and said, “Let me see it”

I turned over for him to see it. I opened my thighs and showed him the babies there and how wide they spread. “Wow, that might be painful,” he said. I answered, “My cousin couldn’t survive it. That’s how painful it was.”

He lay next to me and started running his fingers around it. He’ll move to the scarred area and back to the non-scarred area. He said, “It’s like a map. Those maps in movies that lead to a treasure.”

For the first time, I didn’t feel ashamed. I felt comforted. I felt like home. My babies were out and ready to play. I let myself go. I mean every part of my being was involved that night. It felt different. I could see his face and he could see mine. The lights were on while we did it. Right after the action, his fingers found their way back to the map, looking for where it may lead us.

Jude, it’s sad it didn’t work out in the end. The map led us nowhere because it wasn’t a map that led to a treasure, but through Jude, I discovered myself. I discovered what I had was alright. It wasn’t shameful. It deserved to see the light just as any part of my skin.

Most importantly, I learned that the one who loved me will love everything about me. So the light stayed on in my next relationship. I told the story with pride and comfort. The next one after Jude stayed and he’s still here with me.

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He didn’t say anything about it when he saw it. He treated them as if they never existed. It took him months to ask, “So what happened? How did you come to have them?” After telling him what happened, I said, “It’s my body map.” He nodded, “It’s shaped like a map, especially the one on your bum.

—Alisa

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