Small lowercase word on inner wrist
Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo
A hand is raised toward the top of the frame, showing the inner wrist and lower forearm. A small, single word in lowercase sans-serif lettering, reading stot, sits just above the wrist crease. The letters are solid black ink with soft edges, set against warm brown skin and a pale wall.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The ball hit the cobbles on the harbour steps, rose higher than it had any right to, and came down again on the slipway. Our Dad always called that a stot. He said it the way other men said a good pint, with satisfaction and no need for a second word.
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My brother Col had the ball, a red rubber thing gone soft with a summer of abuse, and he was twelve and useless at holding anything. It went off the wall at the end of the quay, bounced once on the wet weed, and dropped into the gap between the fishing boat Sea Lark and the stone. We heard it knock against the hull, then nothing but the slap of the tide.
Grandad Ewan was mending nets on an upturned creel. He didn't look up. He asked which of us had been daft enough to throw it, and when Col owned up he said a stot was a thing that came back to you if you let it, provided you didn't chase it into the water. Then he pulled a length of twine from his pocket, tied a sinker to the end, and lowered it over the edge with the patience of a man who had watched a lot of things come back up.
It came up with the ball pinned against the hull, a strand of green weed draped over it like a scarf. Col cheered. Grandad only nodded and coiled the twine. Years later, when I had a boat of my own and a boy of my own, I shouted stot across the slipway and watched him run to meet it.
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