A year ago today I got this tattoo, and not a day goes by that I don’t think of the other who bears the same markings. I’ll be walking along and glance down at my foot, thinking of the other foot that has often traveled a similar path, and does no more. A pair of cherries, connected at the stem, two women connected at the heart. When people in the village notice it, as they often do, as I live in sandals, they smile and comment, sometimes conversing in Setswana to determine the proper name for such an exotic marking. I smile and thank them, thinking of her. Whenever someone mentions it I speak of her, and that she has the same, and we got it together, as it feels and has always felt like a shared symbol, a half to a whole, something not quite mine and thus the shared property rights must be duly noted. I think of our feet, and how she always seemed to follow in my footsteps, and the richness our lives have taken on because of such a highly shared but incredibly unique experience. She is the only one who can truly know certain parts of me, has seen my life from the mirror’s perspective, knows my thoughts and can predict my intentions with an almost unsettling accuracy. In some ways we are opposites, in height and demeanor, in others so similar as to be startling. No matter where I go or how far I travel on this planet I carry her with me, in this marking we both share.
Love you, Sis.
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