I love bruises. It sounds masochistic, slightly insane, but I've always loved physical bruises. Not the pain that comes with them, but the aftermath of the bruise. To me, bruises are fascinating as to how they emerge -- first an initial red bump that turns into a deep, dark blue that's almost black that slowly fades into a kaleidoscope of shades of yellows and blues and greens, turquoise and violet. The colors can be dazzling. Not to mention the varying sizes and shapes that bruises can take form in. How a gentle bump can create a bruise the size of your fist, or a complete pounding on the leg will result in a barely-there smudge of color, just a pale shadow on the skin.

For me, the bruises have always been a sign of surviving some battle. From a tough dive on the softball field to chasing after a lose ball on the basketball court to wrestling with my brother to accidentally ramming my hip into the kitchen counter, a bruise shows that I'm tough, that I have accomplished something. Even if I did not emerge from the situation a winner, it shows that I fought.

This past winter I played in two different indoor volleyball leagues. On Wednesday and Thursday nights, I participated in a six-on-six co-ed rec/intramural volleyball league. While my team was neither skilled or hardcore about playing to win, we had fun. And we occasionally dove for the ball. My intramural volleyball days are much different than my days of high school volleyball. I'm older; I don't move as fast or jump as high, I'm not as focused, and have no strategy other than to have fun and try to win while also trying to make sure that the team we're playing against is having fun too. But the biggest difference is that we don't play wearing kneepads. So when I dive for a ball, there's no cushion to protect my aging knees. And when I dive, I don't bounce up like I used to -- body parts crack, I sometimes need a teammate's hand to help me crawl off the floor...and the next day I ache.

But the bruises have been amazing. The last day of play in my Wednesday night league was actually an all-day tournament. By the end of the end, I had floor burns and bruises galore on my knees and forearms -- there truly was an unblemished area on my knees. In the last two weeks, I've watched the bruises turn fascinating shades and slowly fade away...and I've been delighted.

I realize that these bruises I'm talking about are superficial and self-inflicted choices due to me carelessly throwing my body about; I've been fortunate enough not to have been subjected to a situation where my physical bruises have come from someone else. But recently, as I've watched the post-volleyball bruises turn colors and slowly fade, I wonder what the colors of emotional bruising might be. I envision them to be brilliant reds and oranges that turn to magenta and copper, then eventually giving way to softer hues of pale pinks and yellows. Unlike physical bruises, those emotional bruises don't go away -- the pinks and yellows are there permanently, like the soft, raw colors of spring. And, unlike volleyball bruises where they fade after a week or two, the reds and oranges stay for an indefinite amount of time -- days, months, years. Until they fade into the pinks and yellows that don't quite go away, that stay in undertones but make for one beautiful pastel arrangement.

I'm eagerly awaiting the next few weeks until spring volleyball begins. During the spring season, we move outside to sand volleyball courts, where the sand provides more padding against our dives than the unbending indoor courts and provides fewer opportunities for bruises and scrapes. But we still dive, which means maybe there will be an occasional bruise to watch...