Over the last six weeks, I've grown more curious about injuries and the scars those injuries leave. And since I have a bit more time than usual to sit and sit, and heal this bang-up knee, I've decided to do a series portraits depicting my own battle wounds.
Here are the first two:
The gash on my knee is from the surgery I had nearly 6 weeks ago after falling off my bike on 10th avenue and Flanders in downtown Portland. It was a beautiful Friday and that week, and I'd just started a new job. I was feeling self-assured and happy when my bike tire slid into the tram track and sent me flying off my seat.
I was 17 and hanging out with my childhood friend, Jill. It was a late summer day and I was wearing a dip-dye t-shirt and a pair of cutoff jean shorts. We got stoned on our 30 minute drive up to Evergreen from Denver and decided to stop and get some ice cream at Baskin Robbins. As we were crossing the street, I was hit by a forest green, American sedan, driven by a boy wearing a Dairy Queen uniform. The bumper smashed into my thigh. I flew into the windshield, then back into the air, then skid across the street several feet. When I woke up it was raining and the Dairy Queen boy was jumping above my head screaming "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"