I have a tattoo. It’s on my back, near my right shoulder blade. I got it several years ago during a very crazy night with my friends. While three of them were getting their belly buttons pierced, I wanted to join them in doing something edgy and momentous and thought (erroneously, as it turns out) that a tattoo would be less painful. I dimly remember looking at a poster of Chinese characters and choosing two that seemed meaningful. The first one was “to seek” and the second was “heaven.” (My friend Claudia tells me that I have no way of knowing this, and probably the two characters are “midlife” and “crisis” and the guy who gave me the tattoo is still laughing about it).

            A few weeks later, I was driving Jake and his friends Luke and Nick someplace. It was hot, so I was wearing a tank top. From the back seat, Luke said, “Wow. I didn’t know you had a tattoo, Mrs. Hurwitz.”

            “Yeah,” I said, feeling pretty cool.

            “Is that Chinese writing?” Nick asked.

            “Uh huh.”

            “What does it say?” asked Luke.

            “To seek heaven,” I said.

            After a brief silence, Nick spoke. “Who’s Kevin?”