The Piercing
Punching through the procrastination
I’d thought long and hard about the piercing. The idea of getting it done would float through my mind every few days. I’d long since discarded the idea of a tattoo. No part of my body is smooth enough to do justice to the bold colours and distinct patterns I admired. I tried to imagine the needle moving across slightly wrinkled skin and couldn’t envision a design that would benefit from it.
“Perhaps the top of my foot?” I said brightly to a friend. “I could have the pattern there along the edge. Nothing crepe-y about that skin and it wouldn’t show above my shoes.”
But even as I said the words, I realised I was already planning on how I could hide it. Which seemed an odd place to start. So, then my mind again turned to a piercing.
I have an impressive nose. When I was younger, I despised it, would avoid letting people see it from the side, and arrange my hair around my face just so to stop it being so visible as I hunched over. So boldly jutting out from the rest of my face. My father’s nose replicated perfectly felt burdensome to teenage me. The reminder of him when I looked in the mirror was unwelcome. I used to scour the mirror for signs of my mother back then, and now here in the future, have forgotten her face entirely.
