The nail on the back of my right thumb has an imperfection that I find very cool. It is a defined brown-maroon stripe running parallel to the left side of my nail. I don’t specifically remember what I did to cause it. I have a memory of biting my nail to such a degree that I was able to peel it back. I pulled the nail; it looked and felt like a wood shaving, all the way down to the cuticle. When I tore the nail away with my teeth, blood started to swell in perfect red globules. I remember endorphin-rich, comfortable pain. But I chewed my fingernails a lot when I was younger, and variants of this butchery happened more than once. There is a joy in trying to see how far you can push toward the destruction of your fingers. Today, my nail is perfect, except for this stripe, which grows fainter every year.

If you look at the surface of any of your nails, you’ll notice three distinct parts, each with their own colour. At the bottom, it is pale pink. This part is the factory. It is where blood and tissue is turned into the protective shield that is the nail. It is curved, and flexes upwards into the next part of the nail. That part is a darker pink, and with the curve of the pale part, the entire effect is that of an expanding sky with an intrusive glare of sunlight. At the top of the nail is the end, the white ridge.

I like to think of this part like a young man who leaves home. It is still connected, and will leave after a long growth period. I think everyone attaches random associations such as these to little things in their lives. I remember a carpet in my parent’s house that had a red, black and yellow floral pattern. I always used to walk on the yellow part as the red was lava. The black part was my army, holding back the lava. Every child did this. I don’t know if people stop doing this as they get older. I haven’t stopped completely, although I can’t think of another example. I want to remember all of the things I conjured when I was a child and to still have that optimism that comes from trying to avoid lava. These associations are metaphysical proofs of one’s own individuality, of knowing that noone else thinks the same way.

On my nail, my blood stripe runs through all three parts.

-Pete Harpur