Naomi sought a bruja to cast a spell; her name was Flor and she was a neighborhood witch who served the locals with Santeria. Naomi was there for a standard service, on behalf of jilted lovers everywhere. She wanted her ex to remember her, forever. He had broken up with her abruptly just two months before; rumor had it that he had eyes for Julissa who lived a few blocks over. Flor had asked her to bring a deeply personal item of his, something to channel him with. She decided on a worn pair of socks he had left one night at her place. He had been in a rush to get to work and slipped into his Jordan’s barefoot. They dated for just under a year, experiencing a myriad of shared emotions along the way. The breakup came suddenly and unannounced. She was left equally stunned and livid. After everything they had been through together, it didn’t seem logical or just. Flor had Naomi sit on the floor of her living room, at the edge of a throw rug. A young boy, no older than twelve, lit candles around the room, then retreated to a far corner where he could silently observe. Flor closed her eyes and embraced the socks. “What is it you desire,” la bruja asked.
“That he remember me,” Naomi stated simply.
“That is all?”
“That’s all.”
“He will remember you forever,” Flor said, somewhat lost in a trance-like state. “He will be unable to forget due to the marks made on his body.”
“Marks? What kind of marks?”
“Just picture reminders of you across his skin, with ink.”
“Like tattoos,” Naomi asked with a sliver of hope.
“Something like that.”
“But it won’t hurt him at all, physically?”
“Do you want it to?”
“No. Don’t hurt him, But make him remember.”
Raul first noticed the faint outline of a design etched across his skin upon exiting the shower one morning. It was splayed across the right side of his chest, just above the nipple. It was small: three inches tall and two inches across, but undeniable. He ran his fingers over the apparent blemish to find it smooth and otherwise unmolested. There was no pain, and the area in fact felt somewhat numb. As the morning wore on, however, it grew in, darker and bolder, more well-defined. By noon it had become the perfectly distinguishable silhouette of a pine cone. Immediately, its significance had not been lost on him. It had been a year before, to the day, that they had arranged for their first date. “Meet me under the pineapple,” he’d said, “On Fed. Hill. We can go from there.” “It’s not a pineapple, dork,” Naomi teased. “It’s a pine cone. Italians believe it brings good fortune and luck.” “Then it’s the perfect spot to meet,” he countered. They’d first met at the coffee shop where she worked evenings as a barista; he would duck in nightly for his to-go dose of caffeine before heading off to his overnight security shift in a secluded warehouse that stored computer parts. It took two full weeks of casual conversation and passing flirtations for him to ask her out. He tried to ignore the anomaly now emblazoned across his chest; it was a growth of some sort, he told himself. It will fade. Besides, it didn’t hurt and remained perfectly flush against the flesh. It certainly didn’t seem cancerous, or urgent, or life-threatening.
Three days later, however, a second abnormality would slowly emerge, this one on the opposite side, over his heart. Just like the other, it faded in slowly and filled in as the day played out. It was the same diameter as the other, only this one developed into something more detailed, resembling the depiction of a single sloth, lethargic while clinging to a tree. Again, Raul was transported to a singular moment in his past, in their shared past. It was the morning after the night that they had first made love. They slept in late and she made him bacon with scrambled eggs for breakfast. They both had the day off work and he suggested that they take a trip to the Roger Williams Park Zoo. At the sloth enclosure, Naomi couldn’t stop giggling and almost choked on her Del’s. “What is it,” he asked.
“They’re like us last night,” she confessed, “The way they move is all slow and deliberate.” She went on laughing. Raul couldn’t help but join her in the overt jubilance; it was infectious. Besides, the resemblance was kind of uncanny. He couldn’t recall ever feeling anything like that serenity from the night before. There was no pretense to it, or anxiety-laden second-guessing. It flowed organically, with the pacing and rhythm of an impromptu ballet. She was radiant in a way he’d only reserved for his innermost desires and unspoken ideals. In fact, that’s what he found most intimidating about her. It was apparent in their outings that she drew the eye and attention of everyone.
And she blossomed in the limelight, basking in all of the adoration heaped her way. His affection for her only grew, but he could read between the lines; she would tire of him eventually. He was deeply introverted and socially awkward. A preemptive breakup seemed best, for both of them. He had heard the rumors about Julissa, linking her to him. None of it was true: neighborhood lore cooked up by the incessantly bored. At the appearance of the second tattoo, Raul could stand the uncertainty no longer and scheduled an appointment with a dermatologist. Dr. Schwartz was a kindly woman in her sixties, well respected in the field with an established, and bustling private practice. She was happy to pencil in Raul after his vivid phone description of what seemed like hives appearing across his chest. The claim that these abnormalities formed perfect picture designs sounded absurd. “These both appeared in the last week,” she confirmed once he was seated in the examination room. “That’s right.”
“And they don’t hurt at all?”
“No.”
“Okay. Let’s go ahead and get that shirt off so we can have a look.” Raul watched her intently for some sort of exaggerated reaction. Her initial look of utter confusion was quickly replaced by one of annoyance. “Is this some sort of joke to you? A waste of my time?” Raul looked down at his chest; the pine cone and sloth sat there, as vibrant as the first days.
“What are you talking about?”
“There’s nothing there, son,” she stated bluntly.
A sudden concern crossed her face. “Bear in mind, there are certain street drugs out there that can cause you to see things that aren’t really there. If you’re on something, you can tell me.”
“I am not on drugs,” Raul offered feebly as he slipped back into his t-shirt. Before she could say anything further, he was walking briskly towards the exit, amid her passionate pleas to stay, and at least settle the bill. Back outside, in the driving summer rain, he squinted at the drops and resigned to the fact that he was losing his grip on reality. He caught sight of a random RIPTA bus, rumbling down the street. It was the number 20, Elmwood Avenue route, traveling south; it would take him directly by Naomi’s street. Unflinchingly, he sprinted for the nearest RIPTA kiosk while counting out the two dollar fare in change from his pockets. •
