WHY IS MY NAME ON HER FOOT?

PEOPLE ALWAYS ASK. I TRY NOT TO ANSWER BUT THEY ALWAYS ASK. YOU CAN RELY ON PEOPLE FOR THAT SORT OF THING. ALWAYS PROVEN TO PRY, EAGER TO ENGAGE IN ANYTHING THAT COULD POSSIBLY PULL THEM OUT OF THEIR OWN STICKY LITTLE LIVES. THEY ASK OTHERS THE QUESTIONS THAT THEY THEMSELVES CAN'T FACE, THEY DANCE AMONGST DOUBT AND THEY JEER AND JOLLY THEMSELVES ON HOW WE SQUIRM. I NEVER ASK. IT'S BENEATH ME. A CURIOUS MIND IS GREEDY. DREADFUL PEOPLE INDULGING IN PIGGISH GROPES AT EACH OTHER'S LIVES. EVERY CONVERSATION AN ATTEMPT TO FORCE OUR SUBMISSION TO THEIR INCONGRUENCE.  WHAT CAN BE EXPECTED? WHAT CAN BE DONE? WHAT WAS THE FIRE TO THE LIBRARY OF ALEXANDRIA IF NOT A BURNING QUESTION? WHEN THE SMOLDERING STOPS AND ONLY THE RUINS REMAIN, THE LIBRARY'S ASHES TELL STORIES OF THEIR GRANDEUR BEFORE IT WAS STOLEN. BEFORE THE MOB AND THE FLAMES. AND THEN THE MOB, TORCHES STILL IN HAND, ASKS FOR PROOF. ASKS ABOUT EMBERS AND FIRE, AS IF THE ANSWER DIDN'T EXIST IN THE QUESTION. AS IF DEATH WASN'T INHERENT TO DISSECTION. THIS IS SOMETHING JESS AND I KNOW.

WERE YOU IN LOVE? THEY ASK. DID SHE LOSE A BET? DID YOU GIVE HER YOUR KIDNEY AND REQUEST INK IN RETURN? WHAT DIRT DID YOU HAVE ON HER? WAS SHE BEING BRANDED? MUCH LIKE YOU WOULD A COW OR HORSE. MAYBE IT WAS BLACKMAIL, OR REVENGE. MAYBE IT WAS A PUNISHMENT FOR THE BREAKING OF SOME KIND OF SACRED CODE, LIKE A SNITCH LOSING HIS TONGUE OR LIKE THE CHOPPED OFF FINGERS OF A THIEF. MAYBE SHE WAS JUST REALLY REALLY DRUNK AND WOKE UP WITH IT THERE. NO MEMORY OF ITS APPEARANCE AND NO DISCERNABLE REASON WHY. I HATE WHEN THEY ASK. SHE DOESN'T MIND BUT I HATE IT.

TO BE TRUTHFUL, I FIND IT ALL TO BE QUITE IMPERTINENT. WHY SOMEONE WOULD WANT MY NAME TATTOOED ON THEM SHOULD, IN MY OPINION, BE ABOVE QUESTIONING.  I FIND ALL THE IMPLICATIONS THIS LITTLE INTERROGATION DRAGS WITH IT HIGHLY OFFENSIVE. TO ALL THOSE CURIOUS, FRANKLY, HOW DARE YOU. THE SHEER BRASS NECK OF YOUR INCREDULITY IS EXACTLY WHY YOUR NAME ISN'T TATTOOED ON ANYONE'S FOOT, OR ANY OTHER PART OF THEIR BODY FOR THAT MATTER. IN MY TIME, I'VE FOUND THAT BEING ONE OF THE GREATS BRINGS WITH IT THE HUMILITY TO UNDERSTAND WHAT QUESTIONS ARE WORTHY OF BEING ASKED. A SENSE FOR WHAT IS OF INHERENT VALUE AND REQUIRES NO EXPLANATION. WHY IS EVEREST THE TALLEST MOUNTAIN? THEY ASK. WHY IS HIS NAME ON HER FOOT? WHY DO THE BIRDS SING? BUT I CAN'T EXPECT THAT LEVEL OF INSIGHT FROM THE BOTTOM DWELLERS ONLY ARMED WITH THE ABILITY TO SPECULATE. BEING SLUNG THROUGH THE GOSSIP MACHINE'S MEAT GRINDER IS STANDARD PRACTICE THESE DAYS. MERELY A SYMPTOM OF BEING THE ZEITGEISTS BEATING HEART. JESS AND I BOTH KNOW THIS, BUT SHE'S BETTER AT DEALING WITH IT THAN I AM. SHE DOESN'T MIND WHEN THEY ASK. SHE WILL, UPON PESTERING, ANSWER.

I LOST A BET, SHE TOLD THE MAN IN THE PARLOR WITH THE GUN WHEN HE ASKED. HIS PROBING TOWARDS HER HAD BEEN DULLED DOWN TO PROBING’S LOWEST POSSIBLE FORM. INTRIGUE EMPTY OF IMAGINATION WITH A BLUNTNESS THAT I FOUND TO BE RATHER TELLING OF THE MAN'S NATURE. WHY YOU GETTING HIS NAME TATTOOED THEN? HE ASKED, THICKLY. IF I HAD MY WAY HE’D HAVE BEEN BANISHED FROM THE PARLOR AND SPANKED WITH A HARDBACK COPY OF A BOOK ON ETIQUETTE. TROUSERS ROUND HIS ANKLES AND SPLAYED ACROSS MY KNEES TILL HIS BEHIND BLED OR HE LEARNED TO BEHAVE. BUT SHE DOESN'T MIND.  I LOST A BET, SHE SAYS, WITH THE ALL GRACE OF A GIRL TALKING TO SOMEONE SO FAR BENEATH THEM THEY HAVE TO SHOUT TO REMAIN AUDIBLE. AND YET SHE DOESN'T SHOUT, SHE LETS THE WORDS FLOAT DOWN TO MEET HIM, WHEREUPON BEING HUMORED, HE PERSISTS. HE WANTS DETAILS NOW, HE WANTS SPECIFICS AND INTRICACIES AND PEOPLES NAMES AND PLACES OF EMPLOYMENT AND EDUCATION. HE WANTS TO KNOW WHO SHE IS AND HOW SHE’S “BEEN" AND CRUCIALLY HE WANTS TO KNOW ABOUT THE BET, HE WANTS TO KNOW WHAT WAS ON THE LINE. 

NOW, I DON'T BELIEVE THE NATURE OF THIS BET MERITS TOO MUCH DETAIL, NOR WOULD I BE WILLING TO GIVE THOSE DETAILS OUT. THE PARTICULARS OF WHAT, WHO AND HOW BIG DON'T NEED TO BE PUBLICLY SHOWN OFF FOR YOU TO GAWP AT. PUT PLAIN, IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS. ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW IS THAT JESSICA RACHEL LEIGHTON HAS MY FULL NAME TATTOOED ON HER RIGHT FOOT. MY NAME WILL BE BURIED WITH HER WHEN SHE PASSES AS MY NAME LIES UNDER HER COVERS WHEN SHE SLEEPS. JESS IS ONE OF LIFE'S WINNERS, NOT BY ASSOCIATION BUT BY RIGHTS. MAYBE SHE WAS BORN WITH IT, THEY ASK. I NEVER ASK. LIKE HER I UNDERSTAND. I UNDERSTAND THAT SHE IS THE ANSWER. I AM THE ANSWER. MY NAME IS THE ANSWER. YOU ASK ABOUT DRUGS AND PORNOGRAPHY. YOU ASK ABOUT RELATIONSHIPS. YOU ASK ABOUT STICKERS AND GOD WHEN YOU HIT THE CONCRETE TOO HARD. YOU ASK ABOUT CHEESE BURGERS. YOU AND YOUR LOVE OF COCK AND ALCOHOL AND VAGINA. YOU AND YOUR TELEVISION AND YOUR CD COLLECTION. YOU ASK ABOUT FISHING, AND ABOUT MEANING. WE ARE THE ANSWER. YOU WHO IS WRONG CONSTANTLY. YOU WHO ASKS ABOUT NIETZSCHE. YOU WHO CONSTANTLY ASKS  “WHY AM I SO WRONG?” INSTEAD OF EVER BEING RIGHT. THE FOOT IS THE ANSWER. THE INK INSIDE THE FOOT IS THE ANSWER. WE KNOW. ALL WE DO IS KNOW. YOU WHO ASKS FOR SALVATION AND THEN DARES TO ASK WHY HE IS SAVED. WE ARE SALVATION AND WE ARE THE ONES WHO KNOW.

THE ANSWER IS IN THE QUESTION, SO STOP ASKING. 

PHOTOS BY @MADITHAROUT