Semicolon Final Revision

“Okay, I only have three rules.” I stared at the man, my eyes wide, his hand holding the needle incredibly close to my arm. “If you feel warm, cold, or anything out of the ordinary, tell me and we’ll stop.” I slowly nodded my head, showing him I understood. “Rule number two is do not move,” I shook my head up and down again, becoming more and more unsure of myself. “I don’t want to accidentally give you something you don’t want.” “Last, if you feel like you’re going to pass out, please tell me, I don’t need you fainting in my chair.” A small chuckle escaped my lips. He looked up into my eyes one last time, as if asking if I were ready to have this for the rest of my life. I bobbed my head in the affirmative and watched the needle enter my skin. To the left of me was my mom, and behind her, a full-length mirror. I could see myself, my red hair pulled into a ponytail and glasses covering my brown eyes. From where I sat, I could barely make out my freckles since they’d faded over the winter. The black, full-body chair I sat in was bigger than I, swallowing me whole. The man, wearing an apron displaying his name, Nate, stared intently at my forearm laying lazily on a vinyl armrest. My eyes wandered down towards the needle creating my tattoo. By the time Nate would be done, it would be a semicolon. A period and a comma located just above the inside of my right elbow, no bigger than a push pin. And since my life has been full of quotes from books, I thought about the grammar side of my tattoo. A semicolon is placed at the end of a sentence that was supposed to end but did not; instead it continued. And while people can twist that definition any which way to make it meaningful to them, mine

is the continuation of watching the sunset. It’s the continuation of reading books that leave you feeling hopeful, yet empty all at the same time because you never wanted them to end. It’s the happiness I feel after a night of laughter with my family and friends. And last, it’s moving on from the person I was in high school to someone I can be in college. And all the excitement that comes with the continuation of my sentence. When people ask why I chose a semicolon, I respond first with, “Because I love grammar,” and after a second of seeing that person laugh, I try to put into words everything meaningful I’ve lived through to get that little tattoo on my arm. Things like photographing giraffes in Botswana on safari with my mom, seeing John Mayer live in concert and singing every word along with him, and sitting through nine innings with my brother in every Major League Baseball stadium in North America. And I then try to explain my hopes for the clause that will follow that semicolon, that I am excited to see where the future takes me, to see if one day I can explore the far corners of the world, or maybe even write a book that becomes a New York Times Bestseller, or even simply be someone I am proud to be. As I felt the paper towel wipe off the excess ink, I kindly thanked the man who never asked why I had chosen that tattoo--a simple period and a comma on top of each other, with just enough space to breathe, representing my struggles, my fears, my sunsets, my life. I think he knew it meant more than the world to me. And as I walked out of the parlor, that small new mark on my arm brought with it an immense newfound hope for what the future would bring.