Purple and black Aquarius zodiac wave symbol above the word Aquarius in black script, tattooed on an ankle.

Aquarius zodiac symbol and script on ankle

Lettering · Ankle · Mixed · Photo

A healed or fresh tattoo of the Aquarius zodiac symbol, two wavy lines with zigzag edges, sits above the word Aquarius written in black cursive script. The wave lines are outlined in black with purple shading, while the lettering is solid black. The photo is taken close up on skin with a pale tiled floor behind, and a foot in a flip-flop is visible at the top left.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Marjorie Pell had kept a fishing net from the Year Nine trip for thirty-one years, though she could not have said why, and she carried it into the function room at the Spa Hotel in a supermarket bag as if it might be needed as evidence. The room smelled of carpet shampoo and lukewarm gravy. Nobody recognised her until Dale Hattersley, who had once set fire to a bin in the science block, crossed the floor with a plastic cup of squash and asked whether she still believed the thing about her birthday.

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"Still do," she said. "Eleventh of February. Water carrier. Patient, supposedly, and hopeless with deadlines."

He laughed in the way he always had, through his nose. They had been paired on the sailing course at fourteen, and when the wind got up off the harbour she had insisted the centre board was fine and the boat would never go over if they kept their weight low. It had gone over. Mr Oduya hauled them out by their life jackets, both soaked to the bone, both furious, and neither of them had ever quite forgiven the other for being right about different parts of the same disaster.

Dale put his cup down on a radiator and said he had spent three decades waiting for an apology. Marjorie said she had spent the same three decades wondering whether he had ever noticed the note she slipped into his coat pocket that afternoon, which had said only, in biro, Meet me at the slipway when we're grown up. She had not expected him to find it. He had. He had been at the slipway every spring for twenty years, he admitted, and had never once seen the tide come in on time.

They left the reunion before the raffle. Out on the harbour wall the wind was up again, and Marjorie unfolded the old net and draped it over the railing, where it snagged on the rust and hung there, holes and all. Below them the water climbed the slipway one step at a time, patient as it had always been, and neither of them moved to stop it.

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