Multiple bruises (or perhaps one large one) had turned his face the color of a rotting heirloom tomato. His lips were stitched in so many places it looked like he was holding in a mouthful of angry spiders. The ER doctor on duty, an entitled first-year resident Ray couldn’t stand, had assured him that the small chips of teeth imbedded in his lips and gums would eventually work their way out naturally. “Or maybe not. It’s hard to tell right now,” the young doctor said as he roughly (yet perfectly) reset Ray’s broken nose. “Either way, you will have some scars. They’ll be small, but visible, especially when you smile.” Thus guaranteeing their invisibility. Miranda and Christie helped Ray into the passenger side of his Jeep and buckled him in. Leaning his head against the window, Ray relished the coolness of the glass on his right ear, one of the few unscathed parts of his face. Several yards of gauze had been stuffed into his cheeks and nostrils, forcing Ray’s mouth open and creating a perpetual stream of drool that dripped from his stitched and swollen bottom lip onto his snowman tie, now a gruesome holiday tableau.
