April 1, 2017 | By Nancy Walecki '20

I have a scar. When I look in the mirror in the right light, it takes the form of a neat, diagonal, pen stroke across the very top of my forehead, from the furrow in my brow to where it disappears into the hair above my temple. But when I only touch it and do not see it, it becomes a mountain range, filled with uneven peaks and valleys and jagged detours of knotted, sturdy flesh. If I tap my fingers lightly, I can feel the bone beneath that I saw once, before the mountain range converged and hid my inner-workings from me again. I remember it contrasted beautifully with the red—alabaster discovered during an excavation for rubies.