It's all about nosebleeds these days. I have, since an early age, been a nose-bleeder. I seem to recall my mother telling me once that she too, was a nose-bleeder. I have many nose-bleed-related memories:
Once in elementary school I remember going to our family doctor (in the strip mall near the Radio Shack I think) who looked in my nose and declared something to the effect of "You have so many capillaries right up there on the surface, we couldn't cauterize them all without burning your whole nose off."
I remember visiting New York in the sweltering heat of summer, staying at Aunt Emily and Uncle Dolf's place in the village, and waking up in the middle of the night with two-nostril flood. I immediately woke up my mom, who sat bleary-eyed with me on her lap and her fingers a vice on my nose until it stopped, a good 20 minutes later.
There was that time I was staying at my friend Sonny's house and, right before we were going to go to Splash Mountain, the water park, I got a nice trickler. His mom was a doctor, but for some reason it was his dad who swabbed my nostrils with a vaseline-laden q-tip and reminded me "Keep the nose moist. Dry makes it bleed."
And of course this morning, for the third time in as many days, I was washing my face in the sink only to see watery-red trails splashing all over the basin.
Whenever I get a nosebleed in the shower, I immediately pretend I'm a famous boxer at the tail-end of a mediocre career, who's maybe got one last fight in him. It's the 8th round, and both I and my opponent have been to the mat twice. Points-wise, I'm behind, but if I can get through his barrage of jabs and plant a couple of solid body shots on his punished ribs, I can finish him with a KO uppercut. But those jabs are making blood pudding out of my nose. I stare at myself in the mirror on the shower wall; guard up, blood running down my face and framing my lips, eyes focused, feet dancing, watch his left, watch his left, duck and cover, guard up, in with the left-left-right to the body, then he drops his elbows and I see my opening, streaking my Anvil Uppercut into his unsuspecting chin. He stumbles back, reaching for the ropes, but drops on his back, arms flailing. The ref counts...8,9,10! KO! And I raise my arms in victory, my face bloody as I shout "Adrian!"
And then Hiroko yells at me to clean the blood off of my face and stop messing around, she wants to wash her hair.
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