ellster_kyle

I hate telling the story of my tattoo. I get it wrong every time. Of course, unlike a lot of tattoo stories, it’s neither amusing nor pleasant, and I can’t spin it without trivializing it, which I refuse to do. So I abridge it.

My tattoo is a cartoon outline of a moose, and next to it is the phrase “Skinneh moose.” It’s my favorite scar that I hate the most.

I used to have this friend. She was the most effervescent, luminous human being. She was the size of a pixie—and the strongest person I’ve ever met. One night, she was positively hammered. I’ve no idea what they gave her at that party, but it was a miracle she was conscious. She started sending us iMessage doodles in our group chat with our closest friends. The ones you can send if you turn your phone sideways. It pulls up a drawing pad, and you can send hand-written messages or pictures. She sent us these outlandish, wonderful drawings. They’re better than anything I’ve ever drawn in my life, and she was drunk, drawing on an iPhone screen with her finger.

Not long after,* maybe a couple weeks, she ended her life. And I’m sorry, or maybe I’m not, to bring us here, but I’ve smoothed the edges so many times, and it always feels like an erasure to leave off what happened to her. To Kayla.

It may seem silly, but in what was and is to me still, an incredibly salient way to remember and honor Kayla, we each got one of her drawings tattooed onto us. Mine is on my wrist where I can always see it.

So there it is: the story of my tattoo. I finally got it right. I suppose the takeaway is that you never stop being important. Trust me on this. I wish I could make every person in the goddamned world understand that. I wish I could go back and make Kayla understand that. You never. Stop. Being. Important.

*And this is where the abridged version starts.

familiarity with the
numbness born of
Empty whiskey bottles. The
Cigarettes, at least, help me
slow my breathing, which I'll
assume checks the
palpitations. So many
attempts to snag it and set it
aside, but the
Guilt magicks itself back onto my
shoulders. I think the sad
Music distracts me, but the things I
should have been will
always
haunt
me;
my nightmare pièce de résistance.

Hiyas!

New to the community and hoping to join the LJ Prize Fight. :)