Rose Tattoo

I ran across the bridge just to have a glimpse. They had forcibly thrown her into the van, and the vehicle sped up gradually. Chasing it all I could, after a few turns, there were no signs of the black Omni. I cried- getting weak by the minute. All I had managed to gather was a man around six foot tall, a beard that shone from forty yards away, and his Ray ban glasses hiding those eyes that held in them what he would do to her. 

Nearing the police station, I smoked a Marlboro to get it together and have everything I knew sorted in my head. Its aftertaste lingered for quite a while, bitter and fluffed up inside my lungs. 

"May I have a word, officer?" I tried to get a notice from the Station In charge. 

There was no response. 

"Officer, it's important that you listen to me once."

"What do you want?" he replied, slamming shut the notebook he had been holding. 

"My wife, some men took her. They've taken her somewhere in a van and God knows what they'll do to her." 

"Get the constable to write an FIR. We'll see what can be done." saying this, he went back to the notebook. 

As I sat down in front of the constable and started narrating the incident, hopelessness surrounded me. It was as if the whole area smelled of unsolved cases of men and women raped and murdered, of thefts unreported, of criminals who seldom walked in the premises, and of the unjust living for the commoner. I was no one to question them, especially in the situation I found myself in- terrified and out of my wits.

                                                             

My tears had dried up and the worrisome days had taken a toll. My eyes blinked not frequently and tired of all the waiting. I had done my share of rounds to the cops but none to my avail. Roaming around the street looking for a black van, usually in broad daylight and suspiciously eyeing every well-built man with a shining beard, it was no sh

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ort of paranoia. 

On a much subdued morning, something unexpected happened. Jenny was standing at the gate- all bruised and dejected. I rushed to hug her, but she pushed me back with all the force she could manage and started walking to the bedroom. 

"Jenny, are you alright? I have been sick and worried all this time." I almost teared up speaking to her. 

She didn't answer and went in to take a shower. 

I prepared some tea for her and could hear no sound except for the water running down her body. 

"Here have tea. Some biscuits as well. You'll feel better." 

There was silence all around, and I could feel it pricking on my soul as each second passed. 

She drank her tea, dipping biscuits into it, and almost an hour had gone by when she spilled her first words. 

"I want to get rid of this!" she said, showing her tattoo. 

It was a rose with BLESSED written below it. She had this made just after we married. 

I hugged her and we cried together in each other's arms, hoping that it'd all be alright with time. I took her word that she wouldn't get the tattoo laser removed. 

                                                             

It has been several months since Jenny returned, and I still see her scrubbing hard at the tattoo every now and then, trying to make it go away. She doesn't speak much. All she does is eat, and stare out the window for hours and sometimes it's difficult to make her stop when she starts crying. It's melancholy and I feel helpless at times, as to what could have been different if we hadn't gone for a walk to the park that day. Her tattoo reminded me of the pain whenever I saw it. The rose was intact with thorns, but BLESSED seemed much more faded now, much to what she felt about her life, holding on by a soft thread. 

To be fair, it was her slim hope that kept me alive.