Tattoos of Boats

May Challenge

"OUTSIDE! OUTSIDE!" A hoarse yell invades the hot air. I impulsively turn to find the source. A streak of white rushes past my right side. Damn it! I could have gotten her!
BAM! I'm on the floor on all fours.
"GET UP! GET UP! RECOVER! RECOVER! COME ON!" I stumble on my wheels and re-enter the throng. A long, sharp note pierces the air. "BLACK! ZERO! CUT TRACK MAJOR!" In a haze I trip over the blocks on my feet and work my way to the outside. I push as fast as I can to the three chairs lined up on the side of the track and attempt to skid on my knee-pads. I lose balance and fall on my tail-bone instead. I rush to get back up and manage to land in the metal chair. The sweat on my thighs sticks to the chair and I tap my wheels nervously, going over everything I should have done. You need to look around more, d****t! Stop being a p***y, knock those b*****s out! Four sharp blasts. The play is over. This is my intro to roller derby. My first scrimmage. A man standing near me with a stopwatch says to me "thirty-six seconds" I nod.

A cool breeze takes mercy on me. The sun is hot. I've been walking for hours. The field of corn sprouts waves in the wind. It reminds me of the sea.
Delicate notes slip past my ears, an occasional bird in the distance, the rushing of cars on the freeway less than a mile off. I skip through the field in the hot sun, singing lullabies to the earth. My heart feels light. Light like the sound of a flute.

Or a whistle. The next play has started. I watch intently, waiting for my time. "ten seconds, stand" the man beside me says. I get on my toe-stops,  ready to sprint. "You may enter the track"
I bolt out to get between those red lines and rush to meet my teammates. Then four more whistle blasts. The scrimmage is over.

The day is over. I step out of prison and take a breath of the fresh air. The sun is shining and clouds dapple the sky. I close my eyes and feel a light rain like mist falling on my face. I feel as if I am at sea, with the water splashing up and coating me in fine mist. The only thing missing is the smell of salt.

The salt is running down my back. Down my neck. Down my stomach. Down my legs. It covers me.
Five more laps, come on, only five, you can do it.
I'm knocking wheels and falling behind. I am winded and ready to quit. I can't go any farther. I go five more laps.
"GET WATER AND COME BACK TO THE TRACK!"

Water. The essence of life on earth. Oceans vast and salty. Let me traverse those seas, let me explore unknown shores, let me breathe in the world and crack it open like a pomegranate! This place is too small for me, I have wings, goddammit, let me use them!

My eyes close and I am a thousand miles away. I am on a ship, playing violin to the tide. I play for the water and the earth and the moon. I play for freedom and passion. I play because I can.

I am a little chick in a hen house. My teammates are all bigger and older than me. But for some reason I fit here like I fit no where else. I could not even fit in a summer lover's arms so well as I fit on the track. Summer passions do not compare to how I feel after I strap on my skates. But after they're off...
....I am back here. I fall back to planet earth with a hard thump that bruises my spine. I am back in chains, dreaming of sails.

Everyday I dream of sails. I dream of distant lands and ocean air.

I draw boats and ships to pass the time, but my fellow inmates don't understand.
We sit around the table, the six of us. I am the only girl. Today we are discussing tattoos.
The boys want things like "proud to be hispanic" or "made in BR" another wants a U.S. air-force tattoo, only one of them has a really planned idea, this one wants a waterfall on his back, cascading over the world. When the inquest turns to me I say "I want a boat." simple as that.
They shoot me puzzled glances. I knew they wouldn't get it. "A boat, like a pirate ship" I say. That's not what you mean. You mean a sail-boat, something small and elegant that can take you anywhere.
"Why?" the slow one of the group says.
"Just cause." I reply. You couldn't understand what it means to me. So I let him tease me.
"Like a tramp stamp? 'Ahoy, matees!'" he says, laughing at my expense. I laugh too. He's so simple its truly sad. So to my fellow inmates, or classmates, the true meaning is lost.

A ship is freedom. The oceans are power and adventure. A ship can take you anywhere. Perhaps not to the top of a mountain, but it can bring you to the shore. If one wants to disappear, a ship would do the trick. If one wishes to run, a ship would get them far.
But for now I have wheels. And I have paintings and violin bows. I have the cool breeze that comes through the windows.

Author's Note

I attempted a steam of consciousness. Written right after my first roller derby scrimmage, actually.

Reviews

[Ravyne Hawke]

This is pure brilliance.. definitely stream of consciousness and I love how the three separate scenarios (the roller derby, the ocean/sailing, and prison) all work together well. You have so many beautiful lines in this story, it would be difficult to chose just one to express joy over. Suffice to say, it is a lovely story and a great title to go with it.

On a side note, if someone doesn't love and long for the ocean, they would never understand what it is to love and be loved, to long and be longed for by the ocean.. it is symbiotic in nature.