Small black script lettering tattooed on the side of a tanned torso beside a patterned bikini, with palm trees in the background.

Small script tattoo on the ribs

Lettering · Ribs · Mixed · Photo

A person lies on a white bed wearing a blue and white patterned bikini, with their face out of frame. A small piece of black script lettering sits on the side of the torso near the ribs, and it is too small to read clearly. The image is colour, with warm skin tones against white bedding and a pale blue sky with palm trees across the top.

Lettering Ribs Script Bikini Palm tree Bed Beach

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Marisol Vance had been sending telegrams from the Palm Court Hotel for eleven years, and she knew the difference between a message that wanted an answer and one that only wanted to be sent. The wire that came in on the Tuesday was the second kind. It had been written by someone pressing too hard, the letters crowding each other the way they do when a person is in a hurry to be brave.

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She read it twice at the switchboard, folded it into her apron pocket, and walked out past the bougainvillea onto the boardwalk. The palms along the front leaned all one way under the sea wind, like people waiting for a bus that never came. Beyond them the water was the flat pale blue of a cheap enamel jug. A man selling coconut ice called to her, and she didn't stop.

The room was on the third floor, number nine, shutters half open and the white counterpane thrown back across the bed. The woman inside was not what Marisol had expected. She looked up from the pillows with a slow, tired steadiness and held out her hand for the paper without a word. She read it, then laughed, a short dry sound. "He always did spell my name with two ls," she said, and handed it back. "Send him nothing. Let him wonder for a week."

Marisol did not send nothing. She went back to the switchboard and wrote out the shortest reply the hotel had ever carried, a single word she had to count out letter by letter because the clerk in Havana kept asking her to repeat it. Each one was small and neat, the kind of script a person could carry where no one would think to look. At four o'clock the line clicked, and the word went through whole.