Black fine line tattoo of two small footprints and the words you are my sunshine in cursive script on the top of a bare foot.

Footprints and script on the top of a foot

Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A bare foot rests against a patterned blanket, showing a tattoo of two small footprints in solid black ink above the words "you are my sunshine" written in flowing script that runs towards the ankle. The footprints are filled in with dark ink, while the script uses thin, even lines. The background is dark and the image is in neutral tones with a red-painted toenail visible.

Fine line Other Footprint Script Lettering Foot Word

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Our Ada learned to walk on the back step, where the coal dust lay thickest because her mother swept it least. Every morning before the buzzer I came down the stairs with my tin and my lamp, and there she'd be, two fat fists on the sill, hauling herself up to watch me go. Nell said it was the only spot in the house the wind couldn't reach, and that was true, but I think Ada liked the black on her hands.

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The song was Nell's idea. She sang it over the washing tub with the steam fogging the window, you are my sunshine, my only sunshine, and Ada banged the wooden spoon in time. I never had the voice for it. I hummed the tune down the shaft instead, where the men took it up in whatever key suited them, and by the time we reached the face it had turned rougher, a thing the lads sang to keep the roof from listening.

The week the seam ran wet, Ada took her first real steps across the flags, three of them, straight to the doorway. Nell caught her, laughing, and then went quiet, because Ada had walked through the coal I'd left on the mat and out onto the cold stone. We crouched and watched two small prints go across the grey, dark as bruises, each one a little further than the last.

I didn't wash them off that night and Nell didn't ask me to. When the cage came up at six the next morning, I stopped at the bottom of the shaft and pressed my palm to the wall, the way I'd done every shift for eleven years, thought of those two prints waiting on the step, and went down anyway, humming.