I recall seeing a significant scar on my mother’s arm as a child. It sits high up, close to her shoulder, and resembles a ring of little indents in her skin surrounding a larger depression. Don’t ask me why that caught my attention all those years ago; I can’t remember. I just remember that it existed, but as is often the case, I forgot about it over the years.

Obviously, I didn’t forget it existed (it’s still in the same position), but I did forget that I was once interested by what had created it. Maybe I asked my mother once, and she explained. If she did, I forgot about it as well. That was until I assisted an elderly woman off a train one summer a few years ago, and I happened to see the identical scar, in the same location, as my mother’s.