THIS IS US
Choosing Scars
I’ve always assumed the right to change my body. With the fall of Roe v. Wade, my daughter won’t have that right.
I’ve been thinking, lately, about who I’ve allowed to change my body. I don’t wear a wedding ring, though my husband wears his; I don’t like jewelry. It’s uncomfortable, and I always lose it. I have a tattoo of a rose on my forearm, which I got the day after our wedding. That’s how I carry him around.
We carry each other. All of his tattoos are for members of our family; a moon for our daughter, a lavish portrait of the dog he loves more than any of us, the outline of Ohio on the inside of his bicep — because I’m from there, because we got married there, because (he says) people from Ohio never stop talking about how from-Ohio they are, or putting the shape of Ohio on everything, and he thought it was funny to let me brand him. We both have Tarot cards on our shoulders, Strength for me and The Fool for him, and if I’d realized the message this sent, I would have chosen differently, but we just picked cards we liked.
I don’t imagine this is interesting. Tattoo stories are boring unless you lived them. I’m just thinking about the privilege I’ve always exercised — the right to change my body; to alter it to reflect my experiences — and…
