My name means tanner—no hidden meaning. Laying around in the tannery. Doing the same things over and over. And over. And over. My name is a rusty red, just barely interesting enough to keep attention. It’s the dark room you wake up to in the morning. It just exists.

My name is the dull hum of an AC unit. It’s bored. It’s tired. It’s the soft hiss of TV static. The one quiet room in a loud house. The soft yellow glow of a light bulb. It serves its purpose, but not much else.

It’s the bark of a beech tree, smooth and plain. It’s a sunrise on an overcast day. The number 6. A simple number. The tide of a calm beach. Rain gently falling on leaves. White noise.

There’s no emotion behind my name. It’s simply a means of getting attention. Like a knock on my door. “Is anyone there?” Yes, I’m here. What do you want?

I don’t know the meaning behind my name. I don’t think there is one. But that’s the beauty of it, I get to make my own meaning. I won’t be that bland tanner. I will be Tanner. Me. 

I am going to bring light to my dark name. I’ll add personality. Sun breaking through the clouds. A warm fire on a cold day. An oasis. Yeah, I think I can save it.