A Tattoo For a Tree

There’s a picture of me floating around out there—by floating around I mean I have a copy of it and it’s on my ex-girlfriend’s Photobucket—carving initials into a tree. It was taken freshman year, when the relationship was very new. I was thinner and prettier back then; to look at it now is to stare into the face of a stranger who bears a slight brotherly resemblance.

It must have been taken sometime after Thanksgiving, because my hair is short. It seems to be an unwritten rule of college that Thanksgiving break is the weekend for guys to get a haircut, probably because that’s when they can strong-arm (read: “beg”) their parents into ponying up the money. You barely recognize your friends making their way to campus come Sunday night, and then you remember that your head, too, was keeping warmer a few days back.

I still remember that, despite my look of calm determination, I was freezing cold. My hands were white and nearly shaking as I dug into the bark. I had tried a small knife at first and, failing that, had used my roommate’s large flathead screwdriver. I returned to the room and said, “Jim, I need to borrow your screwdriver.” He responded with a simple “Okay” and handed it to me unflinchingly and without looking up from his computer. As I walked from the room, I wished that he asked more questions from time to time.

My hands were so chilled that I didn’t do a great job on the initials. We said we would go back in the spring to touch it up, but it was just one of those things that kept getting pushed further and further away until it didn’t happen. Even just going to visit our initials at the tree was something we never made time for and, ultimately, the jacket I wore when the picture was taken outlasted the relationship. Like our initials in the tree, I waited for time to slowly smooth the jagged edges.

They say it’s not good to carve things into bark, that it’s bad for the trees. The tree never really heals. Sure, eventually some bark encroaches the area, but ultimately the scar of your damage remains. It’s funny that so many couples carve their initials into trees such as we did, because what is a relationship except a scar you willingly give yourself? Like the tattoo you inflict upon the tree, your relationship is a badge that you wear, cling to, an announcement for the world that you’re happy and in love. Just as you have to cut through the bark for the words to show, so must you lower your guard and let that other person into your life. Similarly, just as it’s dangerous to strip the defenses from the tree, allowing diseases or parasites to destroy it from the inside, so can the vulnerability of relationships breed contempt, poison the love.

But sometimes the only way to let go is to lay down your guard and know that you have everything to lose. Have you ever felt the wind blow over a fresh cut on your skin? Even though you know the wind brings change, for a moment you feel hurt and open and free, and the wind swims right down into your very bones. I wonder if trees can feel it too.