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The phrase “wear your heart in your sleeve” used to be just an expression. But then, one day, people started noticing these lines, or splashes of color, even whole pictures, that began to spread over their bodies. It wasn’t everyone, but it was most people and eventually they realized that some of their markings matched up with those on another person. Someone they were close to.
It didn’t take long to realize that these marks were more akin to a roadmap, laying out your relationships with other people as you went through life.
They say when you meet someone it leaves a mark. Well, it turns out that if you stay long enough, you would appear on their Map. It would maybe start small, or faint, but over time it would grow.
And that’s what happened the day Raelle met Abigail and Tally.
~.~
Fort Salem was one of the most prestigious private colleges in the country. At least, that’s what Raelle’s mother had told her when she said she’d be attending. Raelle had not wanted to go, had not wanted to be so far away from her parents, but Willa Collar was every bit as stubborn as her daughter, and was determined that Raelle have the same chance at a good education that she herself did.
So Raelle found herself on a plane to Boston, running her fingers along the marks on her legs: a caduceus staff on the left, and splashes of cool, dark colors on the right.
Usually, someone her age would have more of a Map. Something for the friends they had made by them, perhaps a bit faded as they said goodbye and moved away. But Raelle had only her parents.
And then she met her roommates.
Tally, she figured she could put up with. She hung a blanket around her lower bunk bed as a barrier and it (usually) kept the redhead out. She preferred quiet and the loud, rambunctious Tally Craven was anything but.
Abigail on the other hand… Raelle figured they would probably end up with marks from each other. Bruises, maybe.
They did not get along, not in the slightest. Abigail was the high and mighty, the upper class, the elite. And Raelle was the lower class, Southern drawl. And they were just too different, with entirely different goals (in the sense that Abigail had goals and Raelle did not).
The thing about Maps though: it’s not about if you like the people in your life, it’s about how much of an effect they have on you.
~.~
She found Abigail’s marks first.
She was getting out of the shower, drying off, when she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. She did a double take and stepped closer to the mirror, twisting as far as she could to see.
Her Map had spread to her back.
Angry lines, dark red, knotted and tangled had appeared dead center on her back, over her spine. They looked like fresh scars, twisting in a heap that would not go away no matter how hard Raelle scrubbed. Furious, she dressed quickly and flew out of the bathroom, only to find Abigail already waiting.
Tally had her by the arm, telling her not to do anything harsh, and that’s when Raelle saw it: the same red, angry, knotted lines wrapped around Abigail’s left hand.
They glared each other down, fists clenched, cutting words at the ready, before Tally simply dragged Raelle from the room.
They didn’t speak to each other for two weeks, until the day Petra arrived.
Abigail’s mother was harsh and demanding and for the first time, Raelle felt sorry for her. She began to understand why her pushy, pompous roommate was the way she was.
Petra departed, leaving Abigail sitting at her desk, ramrod straight, fists clenched against her knees as she tried to think of ways she could work harder because she clearly was not doing enough.
She remained tense until Raelle came and put a hand on her shoulder. Abigail stared at it, like she was considering breaking it. Then all at once the tension left her body and she slumped in her seat, exhausted. She put her left hand up on top of Raelle’s in wordless thanks.
They both watched as one of the angry, twisted knots unfurled itself.
~.~
The thing to remember is, people who come into your life can also leave.
Tally had a beautiful mosaic of vines and little leaves and bugs that began splayed across her neck and travelled in a line straight down to her navel. It was from her mother, who she had always been close to and had loved helping in their garden.
It was subtle at first. A few bugs disappeared; it didn’t quite reach her belly button anymore. But all three girls noticed when the colors began to change.
They didn’t fade, just became more muted. Less vibrant. And it wasn't a shock. Tally’s mother had never wanted her to go so far away, and they argued about it frequently.
With encouragement from Raelle and Abigail, Tally booked a flight home for a long weekend, to fix things with May Craven.
And while she was gone, they noticed the flowers.
Tiny little buds had appeared on each girl’s chest, right over their hearts. They stood side by side in the mirror (“Need a stool Collar?” “Fuck off.”), tracing over the little pink and yellow buds. They locked eyes for a long moment, and then shook their head and laughed, accepting that even people as stubborn as they were could not keep the unstoppable force of nature that was Tally Craven off their maps.
When Tally returned (shocked the room hadn’t been decimated in a knock down drag out), they saw that her Map had changed drastically (“Tal you don’t have to take your whole ass shirt off.” “Shush, look at this!”).
Where once she had a long vine stretched from neck to navel, she now had a small watercolor painting of a garden scene, just above her belly button. It was much smaller, and not as easily seen, but the colors were bright and steady, and Tally was happy.
And then she turned around.
A thick, maroon-colored line, like a rod, now reached from the base of her neck down to the base of her spine. Wisps of lines, the same color but not quite solid yet, had begun to sprout from it a little bit.
Abigail cracked a smile.
And her hands: a dark blue dot in the center of each, from which hundreds of razor thin lines (so thin it was hard to see that they were many colors) had begun to sprout, like a web.
Raelle kept her smile carefully hidden.
Later that night, she watched as one of the flowers on her chest bloomed, and felt the handful of knots on her back smooth into something else.
~.~
Sometimes, a person can enter your life so suddenly, make such an impression, click with you so well, that they don’t get a gradual appearance on your Map.
It’s more like a patch update.
~.~
Scylla had seen this girl before.
Had seen her walking across campus, usually alone, but more recently there had been two other (taller) girls with her. Had seen her in the gardens, pencil chewed between her teeth, absorbed in some assignment or other.
And now, she could see her on the playing field, partaking in a soccer scrimmage with some friends. And it was fairly hot out so…
Scylla thought her Map was beautiful.
There was a dark shape on her back, maroon in color, that on closer inspection Scylla could see was a series of thick and thin lines, jagged and criss-crossing over themselves in a complex pattern to form an upside down triangle shape (Scylla thought it looked kind of like a shield). More lines jutted out from it like little lightning bolts, spreading across her lower back and curling over her sides.
It complimented the strong lines across the redhead's back.
There was a sunburst across her chest (Scylla was looking respectfully), of beautiful yellows and oranges and reds. And on the left side, right over her heart, was a stunning bloom of flowers, bright and colorful and happy. The vines they sprouted reached across her collarbones and shoulders, curling around her neck to her back, like a shawl (or a hug). And it matched the sunset hug trawling along her other friend’s shoulders too.
Scylla thought the girl was beautiful also.
Pale blonde hair, bright blue eyes, even brighter smile (Scylla always had a weakness for dimples), and she looked happy out there, running with her small group of friends. And she looked happy every time she glanced over a Scylla, who was being intentionally obvious about her staring.
After the scrimmage was over, the girl came over with two bottles of water and sat next to her (“Hey, we both look thirsty”) with a wink.
She was beautiful and sharp and witty and stubborn, and her name was Raelle. They talked and flirted and Raelle made her laugh until she couldn’t breathe.
Long before the two girls with lines like multi-colored webs crawling up their hands and wrists came to drag Raelle away (“Let’s go , Shitbird, flirt on your own time.”), Scylla could feel her Map changing for only the second time in her life. Something started in the dead center of her chest, and began to grow.
And as she was being dragged off, Raelle felt a twinge in her left palm and smiled as a shape began to form.
~.~
If you have added to someone’s Map, they can sometimes tell if yours has changed drastically. Something can affect you so much, it changes the marks you’ve left on others.
Or maybe it’s just the strong bond between people who love each other.
~.~
When the lines that now weaved up over their forearms suddenly went dull and jagged, Tally and Abigail ditched their classes and went running for their dorm.
Scylla was already there, kneeling on the floor, the bird skull on her chest- once covered in vibrant, multi-colored hues- was dark and grey. She was bent over Raelle, hands reaching out but slapped away.
Raelle was on her knees, screaming, tears flowing down her face, one fist bloodied from pounding the floor.
The other hand was wrapped around her left shin, where a dull, lifeless image could barely be seen.
~.~
Death affects the Map in a special way. The mark is frozen, in whatever state it was in, and goes dark. It might get hazy, might turn grey, an image of flowers may wilt, for example.
But even death’s mark is not permanent.
~.~
Raelle’s marks on her loved ones didn’t stay dark long. It was just a reaction, a sudden change on the girl that rocked her entire being. By the time they were at the funeral, the web of lines shone bright again as Tally wrapped a warm arm around her sister’s shoulders, and Abigail placed a strong, steady hand against her back.
Later that night, in Raelle’s childhood bedroom, Scylla let Raelle trace over the image left on her left rib cage: a silhouette of two people, heads bent together, encased in a warm, soft halo of light.
The hues splashed over the bird skull on Scylla’s chest gradually brightened again, and dark blue vines began to sprout from it.
Though the caduceus staff remained mostly dark, the outline eventually became sharp again, and bits of gold creeped back in.
~.~
A Map is ever-changing. People come and go, sometimes in a blink, sometimes in decades, sometimes never until their time is up. A Map can change by the year, by the day, or in a lifetime. Marks that fade are no less important than the ones that remain vibrant.
There is no ‘finished’ either. No one point where a relationship is maxed out or stagnant and the mark stops changing. There is no singular tipping point from enemy to sister, or stranger to lover, or friend to forgotten. It’s called the Wheel of Time for a reason: it moves slow, but steady, ever turning, ever changing.
The Map doesn’t change you, you shape it. Nothing is predetermined. Nothing stays the same.
~.~
Raelle stared nervously down at her left hand. The bit of her Map that lived there had remained comfortingly stable for many years now, but she knew it was time for it to change again.
The “S” stared back at her, dark blue and reassuring. It had come a long way since it first appeared, a simple letter scored into her palm. It had grown, surrounded now by wisps and floating stars of every shade of blue, racing around the back of her hand and up.
It had been scratched, once or twice. The ‘S’ cracked, the blue faded, the stars fell off, over the years when they would fight, or break apart (never for long) before crashing back together.
But it was whole now and had been for a long, long time, and it was ready to change again.
So when Scylla came home some time later, tired from a long day, Raelle didn’t waste any time.
She pulled her into the living room, near the window, and started stumbling her way through the words she had been practicing for days (years).
The tears in Scylla’s eyes made her stutter and falter, but she pushed through.
-
(Getting down on one knee is harder when your girlfriend is clutching your shoulder for support.)
-
Later, after the celebration was over, and Tally and Abigail had left, and her dad had been called, Raelle curled up with Scylla on the couch, smiling and kissing each other softly, as their Maps changed again.
~.~
Your Map is your guide, and it reads you out to the world:
Iron bars, a Shield, on your back, holding you up and protecting you from the world.
A shawl around your shoulders, a warm hug when you feel alone.
A web crawling up your palms, wrists, arms, sinking into your veins, like healing hands.
A Map is a gift, showing you everything you have, and everything you give, and everything you lose but still hold close.
It’s not a warning, or a punishment, or a predetermined course.
It changes by the day, the year, the lifetime.
It is never complete.
And neither are you.