By Jaime Gill
This Story Won Second Prize in Our Contest
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I trace my finger slowly over the faded coils on your cool naked skin and surprise myself by smiling.
Celtic band. Right bicep. Tattooed in Salford, 1998.
The first time we woke up in the same bed, I teased you about the terrible cliché wrapped around your arm. You told me you didn’t hate any of your tattoos and you’d never remove them or cover them up. They were what you wanted at the time, they were who you were at the time, and erasing one would be like erasing part of yourself. I asked if it was okay for me to hate it. You laughed and said you’d probably judge me if I didn’t, although—in your defense—you were quarter-Scottish, you were only eighteen when you had it inked, and David Beckham hadn’t ruined Celtic tattoos for the rest of the world yet. I’d always thought tattoos tacky before I met you. I still do, secretly, but these designs aren’t just scratched into your skin. They’re scratched into your soul. How could I hate them?
Sketch of man’s face. Left bicep. Salford, 1999.
I knew not to mock this one as soon as I saw it. There was only one reason you’d have another man’s face on your arm, and that was for love, not art. I asked who he was and watched you reach for a joke to deflect, but then your eyes held mine, and I saw you deciding you could trust me. It was your grandad, you said, copied from an old self-portrait you’d found scribbled in an ancient football program. You said you’d grown up in a war zone, your parents locked in combat as long as you could remember. Your grandad was the only uncomplicated thing about your childhood and his house the only place you felt safe. You’d got the tattoo the same day he died. You didn’t want to let go of him, so you kept a sliver of him with you. It felt like you’d just taken a bite out of my heart. When people talk about falling in love, I wonder if they really mean it. Is it truly so sudden and dramatic for them? For me it was like being eaten slowly, mouthful by mouthful.
Musical notes. Left ankle. London, 2000.
My favorite of all the tattoos that you had before you met me, though it took me a whole week to notice it. When you told me that the notes were “Raspberry Beret,” I yelped with excitement that it was my favorite Prince song. We listened to it together then, dancing stone-cold sober in your living room in the early afternoon. We made one of those declarations that only the young and foolish make, that there was nothing so bad in life that this song couldn’t make better. Life knew otherwise.
Istanbul skyline. Left rib cage. Prague, 2003.
I never knew it was possible to be jealous of a year, but whenever I saw this tattoo I remembered your time backpacking and I envied 2003. You’d only held onto a few faded photographs of that year, but your eyes shone in them all—and it wasn’t just the drugs. It was the last time you were truly free, though you never said so. One year later, your first real job would stake a claim on you. Two years after, so did I. We said we’d backpack together one day, when Ben was older. I think we would have.
The sun. Left pectoral. London, 2005.
You managed to hide this from me for two weeks so it healed in time for our wedding. The sun, designed as a stylized outline, emblazoned on your heart. “This one’s for you,” you said, but I didn’t understand. You told me Eleanor meant “shining light.” How had I never known this before? You taught me so many things about myself. I laughed then, and we kissed a honeymoon kiss, but when we broke apart I said I wouldn’t return the gesture. I didn’t like pain. I’d keep my love inside me, thank you, but I promised you it was just as permanent.
Aries Constellation. Left pectoral, below sun. Colchester, 2021.
I reach to touch your last tattoo, but then hesitate. It was inked two blocks down from the hospital where Ben was born, in the shape of his star sign. It was five years old last month, just like our boy. When you showed me, I said it was a sweet gesture, but I’d make sure Ben remembered who really went through agony on that day. You said you’d have to keep going to the gym now, or it would sag into some other star sign and we’d need to have another kid to fit that one. It never did sag, though. Gravity didn’t have time. I used to lay my head on these stars and listen to your strumming heartbeat. You had such a big heart that it was easy to believe it was also strong, easy to forget its little flaw. That’s why I can’t touch it now. I don’t think I could bear cold and silence where once there was such heat and noise. No, I’ll keep rereading your life on your skin, until the doctor knocks at the door and tells me I have to go. When I leave, I’ll get my first tattoo, try to keep a sliver of you with me. Callum is Scots for “dove.” Should I get it on my shoulder? No, I don’t want to leave you behind me. My wrist, then, somewhere I’ll always see it. I know it will hurt. I want it to.
Brilliant!!! I am in awe of the author’s ability to travel through time in such a creative way. This is a beautiful love story with a fresh approach tellin a story of heartbreak.
Thank you so much for reading and commenting so kindly. I do like the way the tattoos provide anchors which allow me to move really fast through these lives… hadn’t occurred to me before
Heartwrenchingly beautiful, Jaime. I’m crying right now.
Beautiful story..tats are personal for most people and this was a brilliant illustration of how. Really tugs at my heart..
Well this isn’t autobiographical (I am not married, heterosexual or dead) but the inspiration is definitely my own tattoos which provide a kind of weird personal history – and which did indeed start with a Celtic band in the mists of time. Glad it chimed with you
Beautiful story! And I’m in tears…
I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath through your story until I exhaled a “woah” at the end. Incredible work.
Yup, got me right in the feels. Well done.
I don’t always enjoy these stories, which are often too brash, or stark or plain weird for my taste. But I read them all, because every once in a while there’s a true gem – like this one. Excellent work, I felt every word…
Three lives, woven together, in so few words. Gill makes it seem easy, the way the words flow. This story is gorgeous and bittersweet.
Seamless weaving in their names! Wonderful.
And poignant by the end.
Jaime has done it again. Never not true. Never not painful. Never not full of heart. There are few authors producing stories more consistently jaw-dropping than Jaime Gill. Bravo.
Aw my man, Cuyler. Thank you. Thank you so much. For reading. For commenting. For being such a champion of writers like me and many many others.
Wonderful story, Jaime (I wouldn’t expect anything less from you). It was so creative using the tattoos to tell a love story over the passage of time. Love your writing style.
Ah Anne. Thank you. People often ask me about my tattoos, which are an incoherent mess covering 31 years of my Life, and describing them always turns into my life story… and so it wasn’t actually a huge leap to writing this.
Thanks very much for taking the time to read and comment.
Loved the story! Beautiful and moving. I’m fascinated with why people get tattoos. This story gives me some understanding. That ending is something. Why is it that we want something to hurt? I often find myself in that position. Such a strange thing about being human, or maybe not, if it’s as common as it seems. Perhaps it’s strange because we don’t talk about it. Whatever our loved ones feel, pain, joy, we want to feel it with them. Well done.
Oh thank you for this! Yes, tattoos are interesting. I think some people treat them chiefly as aesthetic adornments, some as declarations, and others (like me and my heterosexual alter ego here) as a way of marking the passing of time and the milestones of life. It’s the fact my own tattoos (some of which I love, some of which I hate) tell a story that inspired me to write this.
Evocative, pared down, and it feels honest.
Very nice. Excellent craftsmanship.
Wonderful writing, beautiful story. Close to home for me, so I really appreciated how you handled it.
Oh I’m sorry if this was a story you could relate to but incredibly glad if I managed to handle it with the care it deserves. Thank you – and take care.
I like the structure, and the way it builds on that, adding different bits of history with each tattoo. Judge Allison said it is “sharp and controlled,” and I agree with that. Someone else called it excellent craftmanship, and I agree with that. That being said, in truth, the story didn’t unfold for me as it did for others. Hey, we’re all different. I didn’t feel the pain. No feels at all for me. I’m very empathic, but nothing. It’s hard for short stories to go deep. It didn’t feel real to me. But that’s just me. All I could “see” were the tattoos. The emotion didn’t hit me.
Thanks for reading and taking the time to share your thoughts, both positive and less so. Your opinion is totally valid and welcome – no work of fiction reaches everyone and in the same way. (Though, if you’re also open to constructive criticism, perhaps you only needed to stress your lack of emotional engagement once, not five separate times?). Obviously it’s not for me to speculate as to your response but perhaps it’s the way the structure itself hems the story in, turning a life into timestamped, compartmentalised moments, that didn’t work for you? I don’t often write stories with such a strong structure so I would understand that. Hope you find stories that reach you more! Thanks again for reading
Didn’t mean to repeat; just trying to clarify my thoughts. I do think you’re correct; it is likely the compartmentalized structure. I couldn’t understand my reaction myself.
A wonderfully original story, written so well- a great voice and powerful ending! Congratulations.
Thank you so much Barry, really appreciate anyone who takes the time to not just read but to leave a comment. Glad it struck you as original. The subject matter certainly isn’t, but as a person with tattoos I was quite fascinated with how they might be used to tell a story
Love the unfolding structure and story both. Congrats! Poignant and surprising and sweet and loving.
What a moving story. Beautifully done and well executed.
Jaime, a masterpiece of moving story. The timestamps were unique and well developed into the story of human emotions and tattoos.
Beautiful story, thank you! It’ll stay with me. Perfect words: “Like being eaten slowly, mouthful by mouthful.” Wonderful description of falling in love.
“It never did sag, though. Gravity didn’t have time.” What a beautiful foreshadowing of what’s to come, really well chosen language. By the end, the description of the cold silent heart actually made mine hurt. Interesting story!!
I absolutely hate tattoos, but I love this story. Beautifully and creatively told. I may never look at a person’s tattoo history the same way again.
Wow loved the structure and story ! Like everyone else has said a brilliant way to go through time and tell this story! Very effective!
I really did not know where this was initially going, but now here I am sitting, sobbing on my kitchen table. That was truly beautifully written; so, so vivid. As someone who constantly receives questions about the “senseless” tattoos I got from a very young age, this evoked a lot of emotion, but I kind of see some of my young and impulsive, indelible pieces differently now. Beautiful.
Beautiful, Jaime. Well done!
You probably don’t need more praise than you’ve already gotten, but I’m going to add my critique to the mix. An evocative, heart wrenching, beautifully and originally crafted story. One of the things I was struck with was that each tattoo told a story about the character. Most of the time a characters stories are harbored inside of them. Seeing those life stories on the outside of the character drew me to feel connected through understanding. An “I see you” moment, over and over as I read.
Such a poignant story and unique telling, the tattoos acting instead of epistles to unfold both the story and the characters. I truly enjoyed reading it. Congratulations on the win. I look forward to reading more of your stories.