I was birthed on the sidewalk next to the laundromat. It was dusty and full of insects crawling amidst. My mother folded down one of her cloths she had retrieved from the building to prepare my arrival. I was bleeding everywhere, covering the wild bugs with red liquid. My mother grasped me, staring into my bright blue teary-eyed pupils, and sprinted towards the clinic. It was covered in cobwebs on the outside and was empty within. She sprawled onto the floor, sobbing loudly, when a male ran in, discovering her holding me, covered in goo. He dragged me onto a hospital bed under makeshift paper towels. He was puzzled on my rapid loss of blood, and peered into my ear. I was put into a cooling chamber, covered in warm fuzzy blankets with my ear freezing cold. The next dawn I awoke and screamed.

I was missing my ear.

There was skin protecting any internal damage that could be done to parts of the revealed brain. He had drawn plastic foam and stitched it into my hairline. The whole time I was told that I was crying, grasping at the air. I don't remember what I was reaching for, but it was unclear, yet interesting.

I grew up strange to everyone. I always parted my hair to the side so the knots that entangled the dark brown locks would cover my mess. I always pondered why my ear was cut. The bleeding affected my brain a few days after my birth, and now my mind is terminally altered. This man was never given a name. My mother knew it, but never swore to tell me. Not that it mattered. I never wanted to hear it. The man ruined my life.  But, in other ways, he saved it.

I guess I didn't understand why he impacted it so hugely.