Down the Rabbit Hole

Monsters and Ink

"Blogging Circle of Friends "
DAY 2175 November 2, 2018
"You are home alone when a young monster knocks on your door saying “Hey, can I borrow you? I need to bring something cool for show-and-tell.”

Stella looked down at her son. He'd smeared most of the blue face paint off one cheek already. She reached out an adjusted his lopsided horns.

"You can't take Momma to show and tell, " she said, smiling with delight that her six year old deemed her "cool" enough.

Steven hung his head, the childish pout exaggerated by the monster makeup.

"Why me? Why not take Mr. Bear or one of your action figures?" She offered.

Steven looked up at her, his eyes suddenly bright.

"Because your skin is painted with cool stories," her son reached out and pointed to a small tattoo on her forearm, "like this one."

Stella was temporarily stunned. Her son was referring to her tattoos, of which she had many, colorful ribbons of artwork that traveled down both arms and ended at her wrists like sleeves.

Steven laid a finger on the heart tattoo, the one she'd had done after she lost her sister in the 911 terror attacks. Then he ran his fingertip up to the pair of cutting shears on her bicep that got when she finished putting herself through school. Her son moved to the other arm. He pulled her closer to examine the band of blue sky and rainbow that marked the memory of giving birth to him after she'd had a miscarriage the year before.
His eyes crawled upward, following the sleet, black back of the panther that occupied the space from her elbow to her shoulder. The panther was her design, the first tattoo she'd ever drawn for herself, drawn in the darkened room of the safe house she'd fled to with her infant son when her ex's abusive rage threatened both their lives.

How could Stella tell her young son that these pieces of art were more than pictures? That the stories behind them were not stories for kindergartners? Her body was a canvas of her triumphs and her tragedies. These were bigger stories, ones her own son was still too young to hear. She had an idea then, a compromise of sorts.

Stella went to her closet and took down a battered spiral notebook. She handed it to her son.

"This is momma's sketchbook from when I was a teenager. There are lots of pictures in here that tell stories."

Stella reached out and flipped through several pages of ink drawings of mermaids and dragons, skulls and castles. She told him that many of the drawings became tattoos for other people. When she placed her designs on their skin, it brought the stories to life. It was very special and she was trusting him to take care of it.

Steven's face was blazing with interest and with pride. He solemnly promised to keep it in his bag until show and tell, and to put it right back in after his turn. Stella kissed her blue-horned monster right above his third eye.