A Nose Grows

by Mary Higgins

I remember the day my nose grew, really. No, I didn’t mistake the arrival of a behemoth sebaceous gland bursting out on the scene. That usually arrived on my cheek. I woke up one morning from a delicious night of sleep suddenly seeing my nose in my vision. The 13 year old me, still with braces on my teeth, surveyed my nose in the mirror but there were no outward signs of growing a honker under the auspices of the sandman.

At breakfast, over my soft boiled egg and cereal, no-one else noticed either. Believe me, with seven other members of the family clustered around the kitchen table, surely at least one other person would have noticed it. I had to navigate around that bigger nose for at least three days. I thought to myself, so this is what it feels like. There was no pain involved. I wasn’t a normal teenager. Along with the wonder of what my first kiss would feel like, I actually spent time wondering and worrying about that day when I’d have an adult nose. Would I feel it growing? How much pain would be involved in growing one? After all, adults were always talking about those “growing pains”. Which body part would it pertain to?

It wasn’t like the trauma of a master zit on the forehead screaming adolescent angst all over your face. Besides, zits always appear right before the big event, on the eve of an important social occasion such as the school dance or right before your first date. Yes, they send their calling

cards 24 hours in advance, not that there’s much you can do about it at such a late date except to pick them or use a warm compress. We all know nothing good results from doing that.

My nose chose to grow overnight when nothing particularly important was happening. For three days, I was hyper-aware of its presence on my face. Then I guess, I adjusted to it and learned how to focus beyond it. It never morphed into a bird’s beak; never lengthened into a giant ski slope; nor became a pretty turned-up nose like my sister’s. It was simply an average woman’s nose.

My nose growing, along the teenage time line was fairly a blip on the radar somewhere between shaving legs for the first time and buying your first antiperspirant. It was more of a non-event. No cake was baked upon its arrival, no celebratory tea and cookies were served. No presents received, no money collected, yet I remember it so clearly. It wasn’t a life-altering event either such as the birth of a breast bud or the onset of menarche but it made a long-lasting impression on me. Maybe I was afraid that the growth would continue. It certainly lacked the cachet of buying the first training bra.

I often wonder if writers are just different. Our eyes perceiving the slightest change, our sensors tuned in to the world around us even to micro-changes.