Bloody + Nose

When I’m a kid my nose bleeds. It bleeds often, enough to cause concern that a child is bleeding from his nose in the middle of 3rd grade social studies. I’m told not to pick my nose, which I wasn’t cause it was bleeding. Why would I ever want to put my fingers into my body where it’s bleeding. It becomes second nature that I may have a nose bleed. A nose bleed is almost certainly guaranteed if my nose is ever impacted. I use this to impress Johnny Wilson freshman year of high school explaining that all he needs to do is flick my nose and the blood will come. He laughs and doubts me and I tell him go ahead, do it, flick my nose. He flexes his finger and flicks and with a certainty I believe in blood begins to drip out of my nose, then flows. Everyone around is amazed and I’m saying I’m fine and Johnny Wilson is apologizing and I’ve pinched my nose with the bandana and laugh and tell him I told you so and it will stop soon. Sometimes my nose bleeds and I don’t even know, I’d wake up with my face caked into the thin threads of my pillow case, brown lake shaped stains reaching across my jaw and cheek up into my nostril. At scout camp Phil Zachow and I practice our fake fighting moves, kicking and fighting the drawn out summer afternoon with nothing to do and unable to go anywhere. Then Phil’s fist grazes my face, my nose bouncing across his knuckles like the spring of a door guard and the blood comes. Blasting out of my nose in a way that stunned even me. The older scouts rushed us and Phil is panicking trying to answer the teenager guardians asking us what happened over one another. I’m assuring them nothing happened and they’re ready to crucify Phil and I’m between two of them explaining this happens but they don’t believe me in the way I believe that my nose will bleed. Their shocked that my calmness and nickname me “bloody mouse” for the rest of the week, mouse because my round plump face made them think of micky mouse. I realize then that spilling blood brings a kind of honor but not always the kind of honor you want. The summer I’m sixteen I’m struggling in the way sixteen year olds struggle. My father is also struggling, he can’t get his boat motor to work. Then he comes into my room telling me I’m going to work the deep fryer job he got me at the fair and I’m telling him I’m absolutely not. Then I’m kicking him off me. His greased hands grabbing at my shoulders. My feet kicking at his throat, pushing so hard with my legs my back is bending into the worn springs of my twin bed. Then my foot goes through my bedroom window. There’s no blood, I remember quickly glancing at my ankle amazed I didn’t bleed. When he tosses me from the bed into the closet door I know I won’t bleed. When he’s got me on my back on the floor, grabbed by the collar, he punches my face and I know something with more certainty that he does. I know absolutely that I will be bleeding. My nose gushes and I keep my eyes open, I see every fist and can feel the heat of the blood expanding across my face. Even after I get married I still get nose bleeds, they shock my wife. Her concern is palpable every time I stuff toilet paper up my nose finally asking me to see a doctor. Which I won’t, I have a parlor trick, a secret that I know well that is a mystery to everyone else.