It made me unsure of myself and I went to find a new part of me in its
infancy.
We (I did not know any of the other people) were attending a garden party on an early summer afternoon. Lots of the women were wearing wide-rimmed straw sun hats while the others had hairdos frozen into one mold. Adirondack chairs were on the manicured lawn. The men wore khakis and short sleeve polos. They too had Perfectly Styled Hair and artificially tanned skin. There were no children around. It seemed to be an upper class affair.
Why was I there? I was, along with another girl I did not know. Neither of us were in proper attire for the event. Behind the party was a 50s or 60s type institution. I never saw anyone who lived there. The halls were empty and squeaked with all the vigorus buffing it had received over the years. There were no lights inside, only sun light from the windows. It was sterile and reclusive and phobia-inducing.
Outside, the girl must have started talking about how she wanted to get a tattoo. I was telling her about my experience with my tattoo. She asked me to show her my tattoo, which is on my back. I eagerly pulled my shirt up (for reasons I don't know, I was not wearing a bra) and she stood behind me. I asked her what she thought of it.
"Where is it?"
"What do you mean 'where is it'? It's large and in the middle of my back!"
I looked at it via mirror. She was right. My tattoo was not there. It was as if it had peeled off in search of a new body. What was left was the negative, a patch of very light skin in the shape of the tattoo. She pointed this out to me as the edges of the negative began to blur.