My Dent

I had a massage recently, and the masseuse seemed to be quite uncertain about what I like to call my "dent" in my right thigh.  Usually during massages, I comfort myself with the fact that these people have probably seen all kinds of bodies, so mine can't be much worse than the others.  But I don't think she had ever before come across a mid-thigh dent.  It got me thinking to what caused my dent and what a good story it would make for my blog. Let's begin by saying that 12 years old is too young for a boating license.  So really, I blame the state of Connecticut for imposing this ridiculously lenient law.  But I'm really not complaining.  Aside from the occasional confusion of a masseuse, I rarely ever think of my dent.  And I've had my boating license for 15 years now.

It was a sunny Saturday in mid-summer when my dad, cousin, and I attended the eight-hour long session that was (and still is) necessary to receive a boating license.  Having passed the test at the end, we all were excited to drive my dad's brand-new jet ski down at the beach.  But jet skis need motor oil, and when we realized ours' was nearly out of it, my dad put my cousin in charge (my cousin was a year older and never let me forget it) and left to buy some.

"Well, we have our boating licenses, so let's take this thing for a spin!"  I don't know who made that fateful suggestion, but the other agreed to it!  So my cousin hopped in the driver's seat, and I scooted up behind him and held on for dear life.  He was driving so fast, with quick turns and the occasional 180 degree spin.  I don't know if you've ever been on the back of a jet ski while someone else drove -and rather erratically at that! - but it's scary!  So I closed my eyes to block it out and said nothing.  After all, I could do anything a boy could do!

And then we stopped.

I opened my eyes and saw a huge sail boat motoring towards us.  I don't know if my cousin thought the boat was stopping or if he thought he could beat it, but suddenly he hit the gas and we shot forward.  Unfortunately, the boat didn't stop.  And we didn't beat it.  And that boat sailed right up onto my leg and sent me flying 20 feet off the jet ski.

I swam back to the jet ski.  The owners of the boat reprimanded us, because we had been driving across the channel (a big no-no and something we had learned in our class earlier that day) and asked to see our boating licenses.  We were humiliated and rather scared.  We drove back to the beach, and while my cousin lamented the damage to the jet ski, I ran for my dad.  When he found me, I was sobbing and limping, so of course he thought the worst.  It was probably good for my cousin that he did expect the worst, because when he found my cousin safe and sound and saw the minor damage to the jet ski, he was only relieved.

Nearly my entire leg turned yellow, then black and blue, and swelled to nearly double its size.  But the yellow, black and blue faded and the swelling receded.  And all that was left was a dent.  A dent the size of the bow of a huge sail boat.