Starting to Dig #FrancisDolarhyde… Scar Included

Yeah, so… having just watched Ep. 3.10, I think my physical attraction to this character is #Becoming. Yes, he still gives off creepy vibes at times, and without giving away too many spoilers, this did happen early on in the episode as they explored the dynamic developing between Francis and Hannibal. Let me just say… this episode was my favorite to date. Francis figured heavily so I felt as if a satisfactory “RA Quota” was fulfilled, and even the scenes without Francis were primarily with Bedelia, who I find very compelling as a character, not to mention I’m a long-time fan of Gillian Anderson. I’ll probably review this episode more later after it’s aired in the U.S., but for now, I’ll leave it at this: Fabulous!

What I wanted to talk about was this somewhat strange phenomenon… that suddenly I’m starting to dig the scar. From the moment I first saw it, I thought it didn’t detract from the uniquely sharp handsomeness that is Richard Armitage’s face, but that was where I left it. For some reason during Ep. 3.10 I started actually finding the scar attractive in itself, and naturally I find that a bit curious.

 

Then I remembered something interesting, and perhaps only thought of it because of a song I happened to hear this morning. I was driving to work and happened to finish my audiobook, and I’d forgotten to download a new audiobook before leaving the house. Rather than try to mess with that while driving, I decided to turn on the radio, which is something I never do if there’s an audiobook to listen to instead. “The One I Love” by R.E.M. came on, and I felt this soft sense of nostalgia come over me, which momentarily puzzled me before I remembered that a boy once dedicated that song to me and played it on the radio the last night I saw him. His name was Chad, and he was the night shift DJ at a local radio station in the small Oklahoma town where my parents lived.

I’ve always had a bit of a soft spot for bad boys. Chad was not exactly someone my parents would have approved of me seeing. He was a high school drop out, for one thing, so I didn’t even know him from school. He happened to be best friends with another guy I did know from school, and both of these boys were in a completely different socioeconomic class than I was. Bobby lived in a tiny, run-down camper with parents who were drug and alcohol addicted, and due to having nowhere to sleep except in a chair or on the floor, he often stayed over at his friend Chad’s house, which was not a lot bigger than the camper, and you’d have to step over piles of clothes and junk debris and past an unconscious parent to navigate your way to Chad’s room, which he kept neat as a pin, a huge contrast to the squalor of the rest of the home. I knew Bobby from art class, and we’d occasionally hang out together, sharing the same taste in alternative music, and so the summer before I went off to my freshman year of college, I met Chad through my friendship with Bobby. I only went to his house a couple of times, usually to look at Chad’s artwork. He was (and still is) an amazing graphic artist, and now makes a living at it, illustrating comic books. Anyway, the summer after graduation, with about a week to go before I left town for college, Chad and I sort of hooked up and had a few intense days of feeling in love with that strange piquancy that comes when a separation is imminent and you know it’s not likely to work out for a thousand other reasons, but still feel that attraction humming and buzzing.

The thing is, Chad also had a scar on his upper lip, a scar characteristic of a cleft palate repair. I don’t know for certain whether that was the case, because there was no speech issue whatsoever, and I never asked him about it. Having moved to the Oklahoma area during my high school years, I didn’t know the history in a way that normally I would have in such a small town, and I never felt it was polite to ask Chad or Bobby about the scar. Maybe if we’d had more than one week together, that would have been shared, but we didn’t. The night before I left for college, I did drive into town to say goodbye. He was at work at his DJ job, and we spent a couple of hours hanging out, then I left with a heavy heart, knowing I’d miss this boy, though no promises of staying in touch were made. On my drive home, I listened to his radio station, and I’ll never forget his husky voice saying, “Jen, this one’s for you.” And as the first lines of the song, “This one goes out to the one I love” came over the airwaves, my eyes welled up with tears.

Sigh. Of course, I did go off to college, and while I was there I met a new boy, and was in a steady relationship for 4 years, so even when I did come home, I didn’t seek Chad out again. Years later, now and then l do think back on those few days with the boy from “the other side of the tracks”, and it makes me happy to know he has a very pretty fiancé and a successful job as an artist now. He was a pretty damn good kisser, and I never found his scar to be unattractive. It was just a part of him, something a little dark and melancholic and broody.

Maybe that’s why I now find myself wishing I could trace that scar on Francis Dolarhyde’s face. And staring at it with a new focus and level of attraction that confuses me.

I don’t know if it’s because it reminds me of a boy I used to know, or if I just happen to have some weird quirk.

Does anyone else find that scar appealing? Or am I just a little odd? =)