Temporary Tattoo

I can see its little head creeping out from under my sleeve all day. It's a smeared blue and I can smell the lotion I used to put in on my forearm. It's a fruit-purple odor and each time I move my sleeve to cover up the temporary zebra tattoo I can smell it. I can even taste the fruit stripe gum whenever I see that tattoo, long after it's been removed from my sore jaw. And it's a fucking blue and orange zebra on a bike and it’s fruit stripe and elementary school all over again. It's sitting at the lunch table waiting to finish my sandwich so that I can taste the pink and white sugar-gum.

The numbness from the early morning dentist visit has worn off and I keep moving my jaw to check in and see if it's awake. I'm still getting used to the way my teeth collapse on top of each other, awkwardly adjusting to the new fillings. I keep thinking that something's stuck in my teeth, and if I clench down hard enough things will go back to normal. I've only had two cavities in my life, so three in one day seems pretty intense but I promised myself that I would relax and keep my shoulders down off my ears. Because eventually that turns into a headache. And with the wind and the train near my apartment the night before each hour seemed to wake me up and my eyes feel swollen with metal wheels clicking on a track.

The sun’s finally back out over the mountains and I can see it pouring into the hallways outside my office. And it's quiet and reaches out onto the blue carpet. I want to say that it seems sunny outside but I feel like each time I move my whole office can hear me. And it stays like that on through the afternoon.

When I get home the Henrico County news is forgetting who Nikki Giovanni is, and I half-watch while I get my stuff ready for yoga. I pack my duck towel I've had since I was four, in the past saving it for the yearly beach trip down to the outer banks with my family. And when we could no longer survive the hot six hour car ride (no bathroom breaks unless we were on empty, which was much worse for my older sister), the towel got stored away on a shelf in my closet. Now it's becoming all scratchy and worn after months of sweating and washing it out. It feels stiff under my fingers and I squeeze it tightly as it crunches into my bag. I switch between three towels. One has a picture of a monster holding a pencil with "No More Mr. Nice Guy" written on it and the other is a man, woman, and poodle surfing with a "Come On Aboard!" written in big, red letters.

When the class isn't that crowded at first I feel relief, then the heat, then the comfort of it as it begins to try to warm my body. Something feels so off about tonight and I turn my duck towel onto the white side to keep the bright colors from distracting me. But eventually my sweat bleeds through it, and I can see the ducks all crowded around a beach ball. It feels like they are just looking at me as I try to balance and breathe and concentrate. But I know after all those years of being stuck in my closet that they are resentful. Each time I bring them into the hot yoga room I know they listen for the sound of the ocean but it's not there and my sweat isn't salty enough. And there's blue streaks coming down my arm as the temporary zebra tattoo washes away. I try to let it all wash away.