Bandages

These bandages cover more than scrapes,
cuts and bruises from regrets and mistakes
--Hot Hot Heat, "Bandages"

Scott and I are both damaged.

But for right now at least it's on the outside.

I'm still healing from my accident and he sliced his finger up pretty badly working in the kitchen. We were sitting on my couch and inspecting each other's wounds, laughing at the dysfunctional pair we looked like.

"I almost didn't put any Band-Aids on today, that way I could get a Superman one," he said as he nodded towards my palm. On it was the giant Superman bandage that I thought I would never get any use out of when I bought the box of Band-Aids. I chose the Superman ones for the irony: he's the Man of Steel and yet he's a bandage--Superman would never ever need a Band-Aid. Surprisingly, guys get really excited when they see Superman in my bathroom.

I smiled and lifted my palm to him, displaying my bandage, "Not only is he the Man of Steel, but he also fights infection!" I laughed.

Scott leaned away from me and looked into my eyes. It was a subtle double-take, but one in a good way. His face softened as he looked at me. "Come here," he said as he grabbed me and kissed me. "You are such a nut."

He melted and kissed me as a reward for my joke, but instead I felt guilty because it was half-stolen. Earlier that week a coworker was making fun my Superman bandages. "Did you put Neosporin on the wound?" he asked, "So he can also fight infection?"

Here's this guy who is seemingly so great to me, and he melted over words that weren't mine. When is he going to realize that I'm not as special as he thinks? Granted, I'm the one that chose the Superman ones and wore them proudly. I made the Man of Steel jokes. I even thought to reuse the joke, and I probably said it in a charming way. But the words weren't mine. And we all know how important words are to me.

What Scott doesn't realize is that he actually adores my half-Mexican coworker named Mike.