Sometimes people say” A picture is worth a thousand words.” Those people are definitely correct. The family photo from the Everglades or the group portrait in front of Rockefeller Center. These family vacations could have been absolutely terrible. They could have been taken right after a huge fight. However, at that very moment, everything clicked. Everything came together. No words could possibly be taken from the English language to describe it.
In comparison, a tattoo is also a picture. It is a picture that a person will carry along with themselves for the rest of their life. It is a picture that carries more than just “a fox” or “a hound.” It has the memories and the relationship tied with it. It brings real meaning to that cliché that “ A picture is worth a thousand words.”
My friendship with Jack has gone back to when we were five years old. We went to the same grade school, Our Lady of Mount Carmel in Cleveland, Ohio. We were both accepted at Saint Ignatius High School. We had decided that we would join the football team since we played football during grade school for another school since our school did not have one. Once things started going underway with the season, we both fell into being the starting Defensive Left and Right End. Since we had known each other for so long, it was easy for us to pick up onto each other’s physical cues. At some points, we could just look at each other and we would know what we needed to do. Going after the quarterback and half back could never be easier. As time progressed, it almost became basic instincts in our attempts to get a sack or a tackle. The beautiful thing about our relationship was that the field reflected real life. We would be in school and sometimes never see each other but we always know where we “were.” We always knew that if we needed each other, we could talk to each other and be there for each other. If something was ever bringing me down, he instinctively knew that he needed to “stalk” in the background, ready to help at any moment. The same could be said for me. I was always prepared. We were then labeled “The Fox and the Hound.” We both hunted after our prey but together we were one unit, a pack. At the end of our senior year, we decided that we would get a tattoo resembling our nicknames to show our relationship and to be reminded of it every time once we graduated from college. Once we reached our adulthood and ready to tackle the world. The tattoo would be a physical image of our natural instincts, our spiritual and real relationship. I personally feel that if we didn’t get this tattoo, we would be incomplete, that our friendship would not be completed and almost not what it could fully be. In They who do not grieve, that ideology really hit home for me. The way that the grandmother is almost incomplete or almost not finished really reflected how I feel towards my friendship. Even though Jack and I are the best of friends and nothing will ever change that, it won’t be more if we don’t get this tattoo together. It would not seal that door from my childhood into my adulthood. As I get closer to that day, I see the journey I have been traveling. At that moment, when I look into the mirror and see the hound, stalking, creeping across my back, I will see 22 years flash before eyes and I will know then that I am an adult and that this is my world to take with Jack, my family, and everyone else in my life.