Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Corkscrew tattoo on a forearm
Forearm · Black and grey · Photo
A corkscrew is drawn in fine black outline with hatched shading along one side of its body and spiral. Small cross-shaped sparkles surround the design against the skin. The tattoo is shown in black and grey on a bent forearm, with a light blue shirt sleeve visible at the edge of the frame.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Marisol had driven the same stretch of blacktop for eleven years and had never once seen a car pulled over at the Tres Hermanas turn-off. Today there was one, a dusty Volvo with its bonnet up and a case of wine rattling in the back seat. A man in a pressed shirt stood by the engine, holding a corkscrew up to the sun as if it might explain what had gone wrong.
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"It was my father's," he said, turning it so the spiral caught the light. "A waiter's corkscrew, folded into its own handle. The bottles in the back were for a wedding in Barstow that I am now not going to reach." Marisol took it from him. The steel was dull where the blade had been sharpened and bright along the spiral, where a thumb had worn it smooth. She knew a pull when she saw one. She opened the case, found the Rioja with the split cork, and worked the screw in slowly, the way her grandmother had taught her, until the cork gave with a soft sigh.
They drank from paper cups in the strip of shade beside the sign, watching heat shimmer over the sand. Nobody mentioned the engine. Small flecks of mica winked in the gravel at their feet, and the man laughed at himself for counting them. When he asked what he owed her, Marisol shook her head and nodded at the corkscrew in his hand.
"Keep it," she said. "I have three in the glovebox and only one of them works." He tucked it into his shirt pocket and she watched the Volvo's dust settle back over the road. That evening, in the cab, she found a faint pale mark on her palm where the handle had pressed, and she left it there for the rest of the drive.
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