Close-up of a small fine line black script word tattooed on the inner forearm, with the hand resting in a white jeans pocket.

Small script word on the inner forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small single word is written in thin, black cursive script on the inner forearm, just above the wrist. The linework is fine and even, with no shading, and the ink appears dark grey to black against the skin. The shot is taken at an angle with a soft, blurred street background, and the hand is tucked into the pocket of white jeans.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Script Word Cursive

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The band had dropped into a slow foxtrot when Stanley Pike crossed the parquet at the Regal Ballroom with his cap wrung into a ball, and you saw your mother over his shoulder, lips pressed flat, the way she looked when the photographer from the Gazette was setting up his tripod by the stage. She had pinned a note into your coat pocket that afternoon. It said one word in her quick looping hand, and you had read it on the bus and folded it small again.

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Stanley asked for the dance in a voice so careful you almost felt sorry for him. You said yes because the alternative was standing by the cloakroom with your hands knotted in your skirt, and because his shoes were polished so bright they threw the chandelier back at you. He trod on your left foot twice. Each time he apologised, and each time you felt your face settle into the grim, obedient shape it had worn all week.

Then the trombonist, who had been sweating through a solo in the corner, lost his place and let out a honk like a goose at a wedding. Stanley's head snapped round. He lost count, lost his grip on your hand, and the two of you turned a full circle on the wrong beat while couples swerved around you. You laughed before you could stop yourself, a loud, unladylike bark that made the photographer swing his lens.

Your mother's face went through three expressions before it settled. Later, in the cloakroom, you took the card from your pocket and smoothed it flat on the counter. Smile, it said. You read it twice, then tucked it back in, deciding it could stay where it was.