fountain of blood that was spewing from his right cheek. She ripped the white apron from around her waist and began wiping the bloody cheek to reveal the extent of the injury.
“Gran, did you see me? I was flying,” Seven said with bloodstained excitement.
“Flying were you, boy? Don’t you know gravity always wins?” she replied while cleaning the boy’s wound.
The jagged scar that ran down the length of Seven’s right check served as a reminder of the best of times and the biggest of errors in judgement. As the years passed, he learned to love it. It was a unique facial feature shared only by the rough and rugged. It shouted intrigue and danger to all who saw it. He learned to politely pause upon meeting a new person who was not yet familiar with the brand. A brief moment to allow them to digest that they were truly in the presence of a man of mystery and adventure. He never brought up the injury or how it came to be on his face. He simply acted as if it never existed until the curiosity boiled over and his counterpart was forced to ask how the scar came to be. Even then he would give a nod of the head and announce that it was just an “incident” he had as a kid. He found that the word “incident” kept the scar a mystery and few would inquire further. It worked and it worked well with the ladies of Florida State University.
Having completed his primary education with the Thomas County School System, Seven Andrews now found himself on the campus of North Florida’s premier party spot. It was more of a glorified fashion show than a college campus. Students came from all over the country to flaunt the toys and privilege bestowed upon them by their affluent parents. Seven applied and was accepted to the school. He was less interested in the parties and social status than he was in the ROTC program. It was somewhat of a letdown to the Colonel when Seven told his grandfather that he had chosen to attend the university in the next state over but still just forty miles from his home in Thomasville. The Colonel