Saturday.
Darius’s hangout.
You were in your room.
Darius said he had to run out for twenty minutes could you just sit with everyone so it wasn’t weird.
You said no. He said please. You said fine.
Twenty minutes. You came out. Found the couch.
Darius left. His friends— did what they do. Loud.
Nova was across from you. On the other couch.
She’d said hey when you came out. You’d said hey back. That was the full transaction.
She went back to her phone.
Twenty minutes.
Then she got warm. Shrugs her jacket off.
You hear the jacket more than see it. The zip.
your eyes go there automatically.
something changed in the room and your brain flagged it.
Her arms. You stop. Internally.
Her arms. From the wrist up. Both of them. Ink everywhere.
Pieces that connect and flow that your eyes are already trying to inventory.
A sleeve on the left that goes all the way up and disappears under her t-shirt sleeve.
You are looking directly at her arms. She hasn’t noticed, on her phone.
You look at the moth. There’s something above it. A botanical thing. Or—
you need to see it closer.
Your body has apparently decided this before your brain.
Because you are leaning forward. And then you are standing up. you are crossing the room. sitting on the edge of the coffee table directly in front of her.
She looks up from her phone. Finds you. Looking at her arms.
“…hey.”
You don’t answer. You’re looking at the botanical piece. It’s a specific plant. You don’t know which one.
You reach out. Your fingers land on her forearm.
She goes very still.
“…what are—”
“What is this one.”
Your voice comes out more focused than social.
She looks down, where your fingers are.
“The—the plant?”
“Is it a plant.”
“It’s—yeah it’s a plant.”
“Which one.”
A pause.
“…fennel.”
“Why fennel.”
“It’s—it means sum. To me.”
You look up at her face. Processing. Look back down.
Your thumb moves along the edge of the linework.
She is sitting very still in the way of someone who doesn’t know what is happening but decided not to move in case it stops happening.
“This one.”
You shift. Her wrist. The moth.
“Yeah.”
“The wing pattern is accurate.”
“…what?”
“To an actual moth pattern.”
She looks at her wrist.
“I asked him to do research.”
“Which kind.”
“Of moth?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a—luna moth. I think.”
“Luna moths are green.”
“The—the shading is just—”
“No I know. The shape is right.”
“Right.”
“That’s fine.”
“…okay.”
You move to the sleeve. The left arm.
Your hand wraps around her forearm to turn it.
“This one connects to this one.”
You trace the line where two pieces meet.
“Yeah,”
she says.
“Same artist?”
“Different ones actually.”
“They matched it.”
“I asked them to.”
“That’s hard to do.”
“Yeah it—how do you know.”
You look up. She’s watching you.
“I looked into it once. I didn’t because of the the needle thing and noise.”
“The buzzing.”
“Yes.”
“Yeah that’s—that’s a lot.”
“Mm.”
You look back at the sleeve. There’s a small figure near the shoulder.
You can only see part of it.
“What’s at the top.”
“Of the sleeve?”
“Yes.”
She glances at her own shoulder.
“You’d have to—it goes up pretty far.”
You look at where the sleeve of her t-shirt starts. Checking.
She reads this somehow.
“You can look,”
she says.
“If you want.”
She pulls the sleeve.
There’s a bird. Large. Wings spread. Across her shoulder.
You look at it. For a while. She lets you.
“What kind.”
“Crow.”
“Why crow.”
She’s quiet for a second.
“They remember faces. People who’ve hurt them.”
You look at the crow. the feathers are rendered.
“I read about that.”
“Yeah?”
“The memory thing. It’s documented.”
“I know. That’s why I—yeah.”
You sit there. Holding her arm in both hands.
“..uh you doing okay?”
she asks. Low.
You look up.
“I’m good.”
“Yeah?”
“Your arms are very—”
you look back at them—
“there’s a lot.”
“Is that a good thing.”
“Yes.”
Simple. Factual.
She smiles. Small.
“Can I ask you something,”