I drift. One thing leads to another.
I heard from a friend today. We talk sporadically; it’s like we just spoke two hours ago to one another. “Hey,” she says. I’m right with her. All I need is one word and I’m there, without any passage of time, without our many miles of distance.
My friend tells me her parents’ bodies are breaking. Her mother-in-law is breaking too. We’ve reached that age where our original gods are falling to their knees. In response to the breaking apart of her parents, she got a tattoo.
A Celtic thing. With meaningful colors and whirly whirls inked into her frightened body.
I couldn’t be more awed by my friend. In response to the pain of her parents, she laid a symbol on her back. Leave Me Alone, it says. I’m Not Afraid, it shouts. I Am At Peace, it belies.
I’m fighting the urge to get my own tattoo now. If I were to do such a thing, I’d probably pick out the cartoon character, Goofy, for my ankle, a butterfly on my back, a circlet of Army-speak around what used to be my bicep because I once tried to join the Reserves. Maybe something esoteric and dragony. Oh, yeah … I’d be the queen of Ink.
I’d be all over it. But … I have a husband, and two dogs … and other family who would look askance at me and think me ridiculous for embellishing what they already love.