Getting myself off the sidewalk is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. The last time I felt this way was when my dad died. Grief is heavy. Loss is a familiar weight, but it still wants to drag me down until I’m lying prostrate on the sidewalk, unable to move or breathe or think.

As wonderful as it sounds to become one with the Earth, I need to get up. This is not a good look for me. People walking by are starting to give me a wide berth and clutch their children closer to them. And if I don’t move, I might actually drive my fist into the sidewalk. A different kind of pain might feel good for a second, but the only real result would be a broken hand.

I force myself to my feet and start walking aimlessly. I don’t know how long I walk. Half an hour, maybe? I find myself passing by a tattoo parlor. The three guys inside are all sitting around, chatting. They don’t look very busy.

Tattoos have never really appealed to me, but something tugs at me to go in. Maybe if this internal pain could be external for a little while, I’d feel better. And this is a way to do that without breaking my hand. It could be cathartic. Without giving it too much thought, I pull the door open and enter.

“What can we do for you?” one of the guys asks. He’s a big, burly man, and almost every inch of his skin is covered in intricate designs. On a normal day, I might actually be intimidated by him, but not today. Today I’m too pissed off and sad to feel anything else.

“I’d like a tattoo, if you have an opening.”

The man eyes me up and down, assessing. I’m sure they have a policy about not tattooing people who look like they’re in the wrong state of mind to make permanent decisions, but he must see something in me that makes him give a sharp nod. “Sure. What did you have in mind?”

I don’t have anything in mind. The only thing I have in mind is Scarlett, but it would look far too desperate to tattoo her face on my arm. Besides, I don’t know if I could look at that every day.

Words that are as much a part of her as they are of me rise up from my heart. I close my eyes as they wash over me. I’m sure I look delirious as I recite them in the middle of a tattoo parlor to three of the biggest men I’ve ever met, but I don’t care.