Ink

By R.J. Byrd

He knew she’d been to prison. She had prison tattoos all over her body. She had dragons, gang symbols, the name of an ex-boyfriend, and even one that said ‘Mom.’ She didn’t like to talk about that time in her life, her prison time. He knew she struggled with it, even though it was over five years ago. She’d get quiet and have a far-off look in her eyes; that’s when he knew she was remembering something particularly bad. He’d never been to prison, so he could only imagine what she went through.

One night, he counted the tattoos. Twenty-five. Twenty-five tattoos adorned her otherwise flawless body. He traced each one with his fingers. He’d never gotten a tattoo. Even though he was at the right age in the 90s, the time when tattoos exploded. Everyone and their grandmother were getting them. He felt like more of an outsider for not getting one. They’re pretty painful, especially the ones you get in prison. Their ink uses a lot of metal, and the conditions are not exactly sanitary.

At first, she didn’t tell him about her being in prison. She had been there for ten years, from age twenty-one to thirty-one. He met her when she was thirty-six. She is thirty-eight now. When he found out, he couldn’t exactly say he was surprised. She fit the “criteria”; she had tattoos, a guarded attitude, and a foul mouth. He was drawn to her for some reason. He met her at a club, and boy, could she dance. She was dancing sensually, but she was all by herself. She didn’t want any of the guys to dance with her. She was swaying her body off in a corner drawing all the men’s eyes to her.

He still remembered what she wore. It was a white halter top that set off her brown skin beautifully and a pair of tight dark blue jeans. Her hair was braided in multiple thin braids that hung around her face like snakes and slithered down her shoulders and back. He came up and danced next to her. She didn’t notice him at first. He got closer and closer until, eventually, he was right behind her. She was startled and cursed him out, he apologized, but unlike the other guys, he stayed around.

He got a date by the end of the night, then another and another until they had been dating for two years. She’s changed since then. He’d like to think it was at least partly because of him. He tore down her layers. She was really just as scared and insecure as the rest of us. She’d gotten used to hiding all that in prison. In prison, emotion was an open wound, and everyone carried buckets of salt. He showed her she could trust him, and he wasn’t going anywhere like the pictures she’d permanently etched onto her skin.

She told him after their first year of dating that she’d been to prison. The next day she told him why. It was a nonviolent crime, but he would have stayed with her regardless. When they’d first made love, she tried to make it quick. He had other ideas in mind and taught her how to be tender, to make it last, and to be meaningful. She could now fully expose herself to him mentally, spiritually, and physically.

At first, she’d been almost ashamed of her tattoos. It was a weird mixture of shame and pride. He thought mainly it was due to her ex’s name, but he kissed her and said it was alright. She wants to get the name removed; she also wants to marry him. He’s fine with both. In May, they’ll be getting married. He can imagine her in a white gown with tattoos shining on her exposed arms. And he couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful.

Copyright 2023 By R.J. Byrd All Rights Reserved