Tat by Donna Gum

Tat by Donna Gum

“Who are you?!” A red-faced man glared at the elderly homeless woman seated on the stained cardboard across from Michael’s workplace.

As Michael watched through his office window, the well-dressed man stormed past the woman, hand upraised as though to strike her. The old woman’s hoarse laughter followed.

Michael never crossed this street and didn’t know the woman dressed in ragged clothing in autumn’s chilly air, but he witnessed her provoking abuse from people she spoke to. People on rare occasions showered affection on her as if she’d done something wonderful.

Today, he might encounter her for the first time when he stepped across the street to the post office. For reasons Michael couldn’t explain, his gut instinct told him to avoid her, his palms sweating.

The cold wind blew back his hair as he crossed the street and walked down the gritty sidewalk. Michael noticed the woman looking down at her wrist, something he had seen her do many times. Closer now, he saw she wore no watch. She looked at Michael through the dank gray hair hanging in her face.

“Michael, all your slaving in that building and working at home on Sycamore Street with no family to love you only causes unhappiness. At 42, you’re wasting your life.” She cackled and wiped her rheumy eyes.

Michael stopped dead in his tracks despite the cool weather. How does she know this about me?

“Have you been stalking me? Spying…”

The old woman turned up her dirty inner wrist to him. Dizziness overcame Michael as he saw his name tattooed on her wrist.

“Why do you have my name tattooed on you!? Who are you?”

Michael felt his hands grip into fists. He couldn’t strike her. Michael heard someone coming down the walk behind him as he buttoned his jacket against the fall air.

The aged woman pointed a hand at the younger woman behind him and showed Michael her wrist again. The tattoo is moving! It’s not my name anymore. The name was Megan Swisher. The old woman motioned for Michael to move out of her way.

“I must talk to her!”

Michael stepped away. The driven woman called out, “Megan Swisher!”

The woman, dressed in a pink business suit, came to a stop. She glanced from Michael to the woman in rags, keeping her distance.

“Megan Swisher, you must adopt the girl. You’re her chance for a happy life. You must adopt.

“How did you know my name and I’m considering adopting?”

Michael looked at her and shrugged. The young lady looked at the impoverished woman and said, “Oh, I don’t care how you know. I asked for a sign, and you gave it to me!”

She slipped money into a frayed pocket while she embraced the elderly woman.

Michael stood dazed as the woman hurried away, her steps brisk and sure.

 “You didn’t show her your wrist,” Michael said.

The frail woman said, “You’re the only one I’ve shown my gift to.”

“Why me?” asked Michael. Fear pierced his heart as he stood on the street shivering beneath an overcast sky.

The old woman stood, keeping her balance with her hand pressed against the brick wall of the building beside her, and hobbled away.

“How did you start with this tattoo thing?”

Without looking back, she answered. “I was head nurse at a skilled nursing facility, and a patient pressed his wrist against mine as he was dying. I can tell past or future, but I cannot change either, except for the one who inherits my gift. That person will experience a drastic change.”

Aghast, Michael asked no further questions. I’ve got to keep my distance from her. That’s warning enough.

Despite his concerns, Michael didn’t want to leave her hungry and penniless on the street in the cold. He learned her name was Sheila, and she’d received the gift at age 39. For the next year, Michael provided food and cash to her often but did his best to prevent Sheila from telling him about his future or her past.

He kept her away, except Sheila caught him off guard when she staggered across the street as he left his office. She grabbed Michael’s arm digging her ragged nails into his sensitive flesh. Michael shivered at her smile as she pressed her wrist against his. She fell to her knees dying on the barren street.

Michael tried not to think of his wrist as he called 911 and made funeral arrangements. Unable to put it off any longer. He looked at his wrist. Groaning, he saw his name and realized he had only a short life ahead of him. Michael realized he couldn’t get the tattoo covered. It would show the name of the tattooist and would be a disaster. Michael couldn’t rid himself of an overwhelming sense of helplessness as he put his cold hands into his pockets. He went home and dreaded his next day at work.

His first confrontation occurred in a meeting with the CFO. He’d felt the swirling on his wrist and knew. I won’t say anything. The pressure mounted to speak and, finally, it was beyond his control.

“I know you’ve been using the employees’ retirement funds for your gain,” Michael said to the CFO.

Michael received no response to his outburst. He lost his job instead. Michael faced empty days and lost his home. He spent his days sitting next to the city fountain. He dreaded the itchy feeling of the tattoo gliding into another name on his grimed skin. He confronted the worst people and blessed a few good ones who deserved it. The despair of no meals or shelter wore him down until a kind girl brought him hot meals. Michael already knew she worked at the soup kitchen. Her name was Cheryl. He didn’t mention her name on his wrist.

Despite the girl’s visits, today had been bleak. Michael shivered and pulled his tattered blanket closer to his body. The cold, hard concrete made his hindquarters ache. A sob escaped him. He understood why Sheila desired to show him her wrist. I don’t care who I pass the gift to when my time comes. It can’t be too soon.

Michael looked up and saw Cheryl approaching. She carried a hot meal. Michael hesitated. I shouldn’t pass it to her. Cheryl is kind and has a bright future. Enough. With a bitter grin, he turned his wrist to show her name. A sharp, chill wind blew. Cheryl stepped back.

“You keep away!” She fled to her car, taking the meal without a backward glance.

 Michael was sorry that he’d frightened her in his desperation. I’m glad I didn’t give her this cursed gift.

The afternoon wore on. A police car pulled up with a blaring siren and flashing lights. Michael’s head dropped. He’d tried to avoid the cops. The name Riley swirled across his wrist, and Michael knew he was no one to toy with. Riley looked shocked when Michael began spouting Riley’s sins.

“You’ve lived a life of corruption. Taking life whenever it suited you.”

Michael waited for the impact of the shot from the weapon Riley pulled on him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who are you? You’ve been loitering here for some time and breaking the law.”

Michael took pleasure in showing Riley his wrist. Riley stared in horror at his name, and Michael gave in to the need to spill his story.

Riley’s face darkened. “You’re a freak. You’ll not live to be arrested. We’re going to the river.” His voice was merciless.

Riley shoved Michael into the cruiser and drove to an isolated wooded area. Michael’s heart pounded. He knew what he faced. Riley hauled Michael out, forcing him to walk through the shaded paths until they reached a river. The water looked cold and deep as it rushed past.

At the muddy riverbank, Riley shoved him forward with the gun in his back. It wasn’t difficult for Michael to act as if he were slipping. He grabbed Riley’s arm, pressing his wrist against the officer’s wrist. Riley shot him. Tumbling in pain down the mud and rocks on the bank into the river, Michael smiled as he died. Before he gave the gift, Michael saw how Riley’s dirty friends would respond when Riley blurted out their deeds.

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Donna Gum 2025