for some reason we were talking about tattoos that night, late, as the paint dried on the walls of the small room around us. i touched the circles on his inner forearms. we talked about faith, and how those marks were a reminder. i asked him if he had any others, and he said “do you want to know? maybe i should let you wait and find out.” he said it with laughter in his voice, with me perched on a stool in my skirt and boots and sweater like the night.
i didn’t find out, and i had forgotten until just now, watching all the real girls, when zooey deschanel touches the tattoo on her boyfriend’s shoulder and he laughs and says that he got it a long time ago.
0 thoughts on “[untitled]”
I love your ability to bring out the necessary and sufficient details of a moment. You certainly whet one’s appetite for an excerpt of the novel, where one suspects you’d string them together with the same heartpiercing elegance. No doubt other readers of this space so hunger as well, though they wisely and unlike myself leave you to keep your own time on the matter.