My fingerprints have become long lost friends. Every once in a while I get to see them, but for the most part they are away on vacation. I think they are planning to emigrate any day now. Slowly worn down and glossed over, my grip is just not as it once was. Sometimes I just sit with my hands dangling limply in a bath of water trying to entice a mere wrinkle or two out. I don’t even always make the water warm… what have I become?
Just this past week I picked up my driver’s licence, and in so doing, I had to put my left thumbprint down in ink. When I lifted the appendage from the official paperwork there was only a single black spot left in its wake, blacker than a black hole. Embarrassment incarnate.
“Sorry I- I-….maybe my other thumb will work?”
In answer I am met with an uncaring and despondent stare. Seconds of silence drag on to eternity. This is awful. I begin awkwardly reaching an unsure right thumb towards the ink pad just as the official paperwork displaying my decrepit seal is whisked away to the BACKROOM.
“Next.”
I drove home in utter, humiliating silence.
“I should go bouldering, that usually cheers me up.”
And so, I went to the place with all the small edges to hang off of. Layers of skin are removed one at a time. Maybe my fingerprints are justified in wanting to relocate.