I really ought to get my tattoo redone. It's beginning to look like prison ink. But I know what's there even if most people can't see it anymore. It was a divorce present to myself and it's over my heart so no one gets to see it unless I choose to share it.
My partner, who hates tattoos, worried that it would get messed up when I got a defibrillator installed. That's the scar above it and the box itself sits between the scar and the tattoo and is much more obvious in real life.
The triangle used to be pink. Google that if you don't know that sad history. The shape was intentionally broken because it was meant as a proud defiance. I'd wanted help with the rest and I know plenty of good artists. None of them came up with anything remotely iconic. Too many lines. Too much detail. I wound up drawing it myself and I'm still happy with it. It was a dull brown bird perched on the stem of a rose which is blushing red.
The image was taken from Oscar Wilde's "The Nightingale and the Rose" which is brilliant (and short), go read it. But I've retold the story in brief so many times that my story is now the one I remember. My version varies from his and I offer no apologies. This is the kind of story that changes with the teller. [East of the Web]
It's also an unlikely Christmas tale although Christmas is never mentioned.
There was a student that today we would call a stalker. Every day he would walk back and forth in front of this woman's house trying to figure out how to speak with her and get her to spend some time with him. One day this foolish woman let him into her house and he begged her to go out with him.
"I will go out with you on one condition: bring me a red rose."
He ran out crying "Oh joy! She'll go out with me!" But this was pre-refrigeration England in deep winter. There were no roses to be had anywhere. Soon he was despondent again but he was still stalking her. His hopes rose one morning when a miracle occurred and a rose began to bloom - but it was white and his object of obsession required red.
There was a nightingale who lived in the rose bush who had been watching the stalker and still somehow felt sorry for him. That night the nightingale pressed it's breast on a thorn of the rose and sang all night as it's blood pumped into and up the stem, blushing the rose red.
In the morning the stalker was back, because of course he was still stalking her. He couldn't believe what he saw: a big beautiful red rose! He plucked it (totally ignoring the dead brown bird at the foot of the bush) and ran into her house.
"I've brought you your red rose! Now will you go out with me?"
"You fool, I only told you that to get rid of you." And she opened the window and tossed out the rose.
This story is not about the stalker or his object. It's about that bird. No, it's not even about the bird. It's about the sacrifice the bird was willing to make. Not expecting something back. Just giving.
No comments:
Post a Comment