to Pulse as sacred, unifi ed ground. Several of these individuals were
photographed by Carrie Moran, UCF librarian and president of the
school’s Pride Faculty and Staff Association, for an upcoming exhibit at
the campus art gallery titled Resilience: Remembering Pulse. anticipating gender affi rming surgery. At one of my intake labs, a
phlebotomist commented on my “new tattoo” before realizing it was
broaching on being a year old. “Such vivid, pretty colors,” she said. “It
looks like you just got it done. You must be taking good care.”
While neither Franco nor myself are featured in this exhibit, we iden-
tify with this resilience and feel a camaraderie with Orlandoans who
have been inked. Since our college days, we’ve independently moved
farther and farther out in opposite directions from the radius of Orlan-
do. Just as Pulse was our fi gurative middle ground in our roller coaster
friendship, it was also our literal middle meeting ground. Alderman’s summary of Katrina tattoos mirrors much of the murmur
following Pulse: “Given that the recovery from Katrina has been so-
cially and geographically uneven depending on race, ethnicity, in-
come, and neighborhood, the legacy [of Katrina] ten years later may
mean that these tattoos mark stories, memories, and trauma that are
still rather fresh and emotionally charged for many.”
“The tattoo was a way for me to contribute, even a little, to help our
community rebuild,” he told me. “There’s a sense of feeling like I have
to do something or give my life meaning because I was left alive of it
all in the general sense. The feeling that there were and are people out
there who hate us so much that they’ll commit these heinous acts.
That a place meant as a safe space, meant as a place where you can
truly be yourself, can get ripped away in the span of one night.” Comparing my tattoo today to a picture I took the day I had it inked,
the similarity is striking. Some part of me has entertained the super-
natural prospect that the tattoo might actually still be fresh. Some days
the hurt really does feel fresh.
A year out, the healing process is setting in and the trauma is be-
ginning to reverse metastasis. Slowly. Irregularly. Not without risk of
being distorted, discolored, distended, or otherwise further damaged.
There have been frequent discussions of scar care and optional scar
removal during the several consults and appointments I’ve sat through
Orlando Arts & Culture, v. 2.6
Franco commiserates. “The tattoo is permanent much like the scars
left by the shooting will be. It’s a constant reminder, but one that
doesn’t fi ll me with anxiety. It’s one that shows that we’re a bunch of
cockroach motherfuckers and we aren’t going anywhere.”
Pulse Vigil at Dr Phillips Center for Performing Arts,
Photos by Jason Fronczek
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