Tat, by Phillip Hoyle

I had proven myself the occasional social drinker and social smoker, but there was to be more. I became a social tattoo wearer. Not the temporary tattoos, not henna patterns from the subcontinent, not painted designs like kids wear at festivals. No, I got a tattoo, a permanent crescent moon with its old man looking thoughtfully on my life: its constancy, its changes, and its crises; a July blue moon that arose that summer night twelve years ago and still shines on my left calf.

My tat caught the attention of the security guard at the Denver Public Library the other day. He asked if it had any particular meaning. I said it didn’t, but went on to tell him about the crazy choir member from Tulsa who, when I was planning to move to Denver, said she was coming out soon to visit her daughter at CU Boulder and we were going to get tattoos. “Oh we are?” I asked. “Yes,” she affirmed, “and I’ll have my daughter call you with the name and number of the guy her friends have been going to get their tattoos.”

I moved here, got the information, called the artist, set the appointments, and thought: what would I indelibly mark my body with? I had already decided I’d get my ears pierced; I could always remove the posts or hoops, but a tattoo seemed different. What design was I willing to sport around town for the rest of my life? I chose a crescent moon, and when the artist asked what kind of expression I wanted the man in the moon to have, I quickly responded, “Thoughtful.”

So the moon has been looking on, watching my life with its important changes from married to single to partnered, from minister to masseur, from kind of straight to kind of gay. He’s watched my continuing generous style, and my life’s plentiful crises over finances, relationships, and losses.

I got my moon. My friend got a ladybug on her ankle. A few months later I arranged for more tattoos for her and her husband but declined to add more to my body. I’ve grown so used to my moon that am surprised when someone asks about it. My man in the moon smiles thoughtfully as if to provide me a sense of calm, determination, and love, all three feelings I inject into all my social relationships whether drinking, smoking, or otherwise fitting in.

© 17 Sep 2010 

About the Author 

Phillip Hoyle lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, and socializing. In general he keeps busy with groups of writers and artists. Following thirty-two years in church work and fifteen in a therapeutic massage practice, he now focuses on creating beauty. He volunteers at The Center leading the SAGE program “Telling Your Story.”

He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot.com