Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Matching pinky promise hands on upper arms
Fine line · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo
Two people stand with their upper arms touching, and each has a matching tattoo of two hands with the little fingers hooked together. The linework is thin and single weight in dark ink, with no shading. The tattoos are small and sit near the elbow, with a plain dark top and a light denim skirt or jeans in the background.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Dear Ruth,
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It is gone three and the ward has gone quiet in the way it only does at this hour, the monitors ticking over like a clock nobody has wound. I am writing this on the back of a drug chart because I left my notebook in the staff room, and because you once told me letters count more when they are written in a hurry. Mrs Okafor in bay four has been asking for her son again. He is in Lagos, she says, and he is coming on Thursday, and I have stopped correcting her.
Forty minutes ago she caught my wrist and asked me to swear on something. I said I would swear on Mum's Sunday roast, and she laughed so hard the oxygen mask fogged. Then she hooked her little finger round mine, quite firmly, the way we used to on the school field when we swore we would never speak to Gemma Pratt again. "Promise you will come back and tell me," she said. I promised. I don't know yet whether it was a kind lie or not.
Here is the thing I keep turning over. We made that promise at seven and never once broke it, not even the year you moved to Bristol and I stopped answering the phone. Maybe that is all a promise is: two small hands that refuse to let go while the rest of the world is shouting. So tomorrow, when you ring, don't ask how the shift went. Just hook your finger through mine down the line, even though you know I can't feel it.
Love, M
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