erhm…einsog eg hef adur sagt, eg myndi skrifa a islensku ef eg hefdi islenskt lyklabord…en thangad til tha…verdur engilsaxneskan ad duga.


The Scar:

A long, long, time ago. In a country, far, far, away. Two little boys, approximately seven or maybe eight years old, were outside riding their bicycles.

It was quite a warm night(or as warm as a night can get in a place known by the name of Iceland), and the boys were just wearing shorts and t-shirts. The sun had been shining all day long and it showed no intention of stop doing that, just like it does every summer in that country, shines 24-7 giving people no chance of taking a brake from her, a little rest so they can go to sleep. A quite annoying thing, as some people say and there are even some, not many but some, people who want the government to build some sort of a sunscreen or something to block the sun, just over the night. The tourists, even though most of them come to Iceland specially to see the midnight sun, all agree on that, because they cant sleep for the sun that has the annoying habit of shining at night, right in to their eyes.

Anyhow, so the boys, as said before were riding their bikes. Going faster and faster and further and further away from their home. Or to tell the truth the home of one of them really, the other one was just visiting and was in fact moving closer and closer to his home. But that is not important and a whole different story, as some might say.

As moving downwards one of the many hills in the neighborhood that they were riding their bikes in, which happened to be the neighborhood that one of them lived in. One of the boys, the one that lived in that particular neighborhood, lost the control of his bike and crashed in to a fence, that for some strange reason was just standing there, like it had nothing better to do then just being there. Waiting along the pathway, for some unlucky person to crash into it and get their foot stuck in it. And at exactly that place and that very moment, I, the boy living in that neighborhood, was that person. The one to get his (left) foot stuck in the fence.

And as I was fighting the fence and struggling to get my left foot back from the monster(the fence) a young man, whom I didn’t know and I still don’t know came running towards me. “Oh, my god, you’ve broken your leg really badly there, we’re going to have to call an ambulance” – The man said with a horrific tone.

“No, no, I’m alright. My left foot has always been like that, I was born with a twisted leg you see?” – I answered him calmly and then added “All that happened is this. I lost control over my bike, crashed in to the fence, fell over and now I have this little cut on my foot. Nothing serious.”

“No, no, you got it all wrong, we MUST get you to a hospital. RIGHT NOW!” – The man then screamed, or at least, said in a rather high tone voice.

Me, being just seven and a half-year old, clearly much younger than him, could not argue. “Never argue with a grownup” they tell you in Iceland. So I didn’t. I just followed the man in to a little kiosk, or some sort of a candy store, where he told the clerks to call an ambulance because I needed to be rushed to the hospital. The clerks, two teenage girls, did as the man said and few minutes later I was in the ambulance trying to persuade the paramedics to let me go, because as I told them, I was alright.

But, they did not want to believe me, and besides, as they said, “since we are already here, we have to take you to the hospital. We don’t want to drive back to the hospital with an empty ambulance”.

Meanwhile, my friend, who also happened to be my uncle(another unimportant thing that has nothing to do with the story at all, really) was at my home, telling my parents that I had broken my leg and that I was being rushed to the hospital. My parents, quite naturally, panicked.

So, off they went, driving way above the speed-limit all the way to the hospital And in few minutes they got there to be told that I was down in the basement having some x-rays taken.

Approximately thirty minutes later, the X-rays are over and, I and my parents, are called to a meeting with a doctor.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but…your son seems to have lost one of his bones” – The young doctor said worried.
“What do you mean by, lost one of his bones?” –My mother screamed.
“Well, you see right here on this X-ray that there is one bone missing”
“That has always been like that, he was born like that!”
“Clearly, that cant be. Without that bone he could never have walked or done anything with his leg, but as he said himself, he was outside, biking. So he clearly and quite obviously had that bone!” –The doctor said in the kind of a voice that doctors talk when they are trying to explain something to none-doctors and no-one can really speak in without having at least few years of medical training.
“Then how come he walked right in here, right now, if he , as you said, can’t?”
The doctor’s face went blank and without a word he left the room.

About an hour later another doctor walks into the room. “Okay folks, you are free to go. We found his profile with all the x-rays that have been taken of his leg here and it proofed you right. He did never have this bone” – The doctor said and of we went, straight home.

So this is the story of how a small little cut, made everybody believe that I had a broken leg and gave me a tiny little scar on my left foot that I can not even find anymore in the big wild jungle of scars that my left leg is.