Slowly, I traced a line down his arm. He turned his head and kissed my forehead. “Tell me about your tattoos.” Raised eyebrows. “‘kay.” He held up one arm. “Traditional Japanese style, but they’re Miwok legends about Yosemite. Stealing fire here. Origin of thunder and lightning here. Story of the bear and the deer here.” Holding up the other arm, he gestured. “Heart with mom. Here it says, ‘Like Father Like Son.’ And I’ve got designs marking each summer I worked here. Half Dome for when I climbed it. A mountain lion for the time we had to capture one, tag it, and release it in the wild. Snowshoes for winter in Badger Pass.” “If you were making a tattoo for this summer, what would you add?” “Yosemite Falls. No question.” I suddenly felt very funny. “With the Big Dipper pouring into it. Kissing you.” “You’d put something to remember me on your body?” “In a heartbeat.” That was pretty intense—telling me he’d tattoo something on him that reminded him of me made me question what I knew about him.
