Personal Narrative: My Left Knee

I considered the gravitas of my actions only once before deciding to bandage a part of my body. I had wondered if girl I sit next to in Sociology lecture would believe the stories behind my injury. I had wondered if my friends would notice the injury and try to aid me as I walked around the bustling city. I had wondered if they would be annoyed and the constant reference to my injuries. I began to question myself as I wrapped the bright blue bandage around my knee. Around once, then twice, and fastened it securely on the back of my leg. I had spent an hour trying to figure out which body part I should bandage. The wrists were too obvious, my back to hidden, my left ankle too obscured by my new Adidas superstars. So I settled on my knee. My knee could play a central character in thousands of stories that could have caused injury. I began to picture a tumultuous decent down the cement stairs of 55 E 10th street, a catastrophic encounter with a street sign marking the fire line as a no-park zone, an awry Uber making direct contact with my kneecap in the middle of a rainy overcast afternoon. I push those thought away instead focusing on the Yoko Ono’s words. I must only make up the story when someone
I imagine how Yoko Ono must have felt as she decided what she would be wearing to perform “Cut Piece.” Ono had to have realized the importance of what she wore as one by one individuals began to cut off pieces of her clothing. Just as Ono believed that the clothing worn in “Cut Piece” must be of significant emotional value, I too believe in the importance of clothing for this performance. In this case, the performer’s clothing must showcase the fictitious injury, without explicitly drawing attention to the bandage. It must highlight the injury, without divulging why the bandage is needed. I cut two the strands of denim stretched across my knee and stand ready to interact with the