Excerpt



1

My Tattoo (abbreviated)

A tattoo, now that would wake me up, I thought.

The coupon I won for a free tattoo sat on the dashboard of my trusty old Saturn for six weeks, out of sight, out of mind. But Id braked suddenly and it had fallen on the passenger seat next to me.

I was so tired. I just couldnt keep my eyelids from shutting. I could have stopped for a coffee, a Red Bull, a walk on the beach, or even called my husband, Ike, and asked him to come and get me. Those would have been the normal things to do.

But once the idea for a tattoo came to me, it became a mission: the only thing that would prevent me from falling asleep at the wheel as I drove the nine miles back home. I called the phone number on the coupon.

Ancient Art Tattoo, answered the voice. Yes, were open and Peggis available.

Peggi is a living reflection of her discipline. She practices in a small arcade off the main highway. Her studio was bright and clean, with seats to wait and magazines with titles like Prick to peruse.

Christina, welcome, you can look over here while I get ready, Peggi suggested as I wandered in. See if you can find something you like.

At fifty-seven, I was feeling a bit out of place. I rarely wear makeup or jewelry, my ears arent pierced, and Ive never even owned a pair of jeans. Hardly the tattoo stereotype! But I was as resolute as a smoker buying a pack of cigarettes.

I looked through a catalog of flowers, hearts, and snakes and glanced up at the wall behind the counter. A poster-sized Peggi displaying her body festooned with elaborate and colorful designs grabbed my attention. There were tattoos everywhere, from her toes to her neck line.

I peeked in the first booth and watched a bald, muscular tattooist, with multiple rings adorning each ear, intently needle the shoulder of a slender male customer whose lanky pony tail had been swept to the side.

Hell be with me forever, the man said as his late fathers face took shape on his exposed scapular.

Come on back, said Peggi. She wore an easy smile and pixie haircut that confidently matched her unique body artistry.

So what will it be? I could do a permanent eye liner if you like. That way youd never have to bother penciling your eye lids again.

Im a word person, Peggi. I want my tattoo to make a statement so when people ask me, I can teach them something important. Can you do, Think Clone, Think Cure for stem cell research?

Sure, where do you want it?

Somewhere visible, like my wrist. And can you do two little stick figures, one in a wheel chair and one walking with arms raised in celebration of being able to move again?

No problem, she said. By the way, how is your Parkinsons?

Okay, the medications are keeping it in check. But I saw a video of me performing recently. I just hate how I cant stop my mouth grimacing. Thats one of the side effects of the meds you know. That, and suddenly sending me into a sleepy stupor when I drive.

I sat as still as I could in Peggis chair for about an hour as she worked her craft. I watched her painstakingly create the design on a transfer and place the paper lightly on my skin. I nodded as she looked at me to confirm the location was just right.

I saw the ink stain from every needle prick gradually take form. I heard her soft slow breaths and saw her tongue escape the corner of her mouth as she concentrated, bending low over my wrist. I noted how the design of her own tattoos changed with every flex of her hand, extension of her arm.

Most of all, I marveled that I felt no pain.

The pony tail guy got ready to leave. Thanks, man, he said. This is perfect for Fathers Day.

Damn. Tomorrow was Fathers Day, the whole family would be around and I had forgotten about it. Id let Ike down again. More than thirty-five years married, a wonderful son and daughter, and Id been much too busy to think about mundane subjects like Fathers Day. People needed my help, after all.

Could you add something for me? I asked Peggi as she finished the final e in cure. Is there room to put my husband and my initials below? C & I, showing we are in it together.

She did everything, just the way I asked.

* * *

I was actually surprised, and frankly a little irritated, that nobody at home thought my tattoo was cool. They didnt seem to know what to say.

It isnt real, is it? asked Greg, hopefully.

Of course its real, indelibly etched in my skin for ever.

Its an early Fathers Day gift, I volunteered by way of explanation. Its for stem cell research, its an important statement. Surely you understand?

Kim pointed her finger towards my wrist. But she couldnt quite make herself touch it

Right, sighed Ike.

By now it was almost eight oclock. The dinner dishes were already washed up and leftovers were in the fridge. My kids, their spouses and their lovely little daughters left to go to their lodging nearby. Their dismay with my tattoos contribution to the day was poorly camouflaged by artificial smiles. Even more, I detected a weird combination of anger, embarrassment and pity. I didnt mind them being angry or embarrassed but the pity got to me.

Only my granddaughters kissed me goodnight.

I might as well go to bed too, I told Ike who was sitting on his corner of the couch where he watched TV every evening.

Right, he sighed again.

But all was not right.

And the night was far from over.