And ending with the fact that I’d once had everything a kid could wish for.
Left turns, swerves, sudden drops, and dips. Life could be absolutely unpredictable, and that unpredictability could be equally cruel and equally wonderful, and . . . there was absolutely not a damn thing anyone could do about it.
Sighing, I turned the key, the engine starting with a soft growl.
A simple movement of my hand to put the transmission in gear, a quick glance to check for traffic, and I was heading home.
Back to my not-so-wild plans and my deep soaking tub.
Back to eking out my smaller and more realistic dreams.
Back to my quiet life.
But as I drove, I couldn’t keep from wondering why my quiet life didn’t seem quite so fulfilling anymore.
“Too much work,” I told myself as I navigated the streets, looking for a place to park. “I’ve been working too much. I just need to take next weekend off, download a good book, and recharge.”
There. A plan.
I was good at plans.
Except . . . I didn’t think this one was going to solve anything.
Least of all, the itchy feeling in my heart that was telling me I needed more than pipes and a place to live and a new car.
Luckily, I was excellent at ignoring my heart.
Four
Garret
“Ow,” the big bulky dude cried as he was sitting in front of me. “Ow. Ow.”
Considering I’d just done the exact same tattoo on his wife—aw, cute, matching tats . . . and yes, I was fully aware that I was salty because of Lorna—I didn’t have much sympathy for the body builder type.
The tattoo, a conglomeration of nerdy things the couple loved, was pretty cool, if I did say so myself. And I supposed I did say so myself, since I’d designed it. But the point was that the piece wasn’t overly large or being put on a particularly sensitive spot. It was going on the inside of the forearm, which was a great place for a first tattoo.
Also—this should be noted for the room at large—his wife hadn’t made a peep.
In fact, I think her exact comment had been something along the lines of it hurting less than a Brazilian.
Heh.
But this was the part of my job that I loved. The people.
Getting to hear the stories, the reasons behind why clients chose an image to be permanently etched on their body. Some, like this couple, had created a story, ten years of marriage and mutual interests on their arms. Others just wanted something pretty or that looked cool. Both were completely fine.
I got some creative license because I was the person painting it into their skin with needles, but the client’s preference trumped all.
Because it was their body, and it was permanent.
Delia liked to tease that she was the smarter one because anyone could take out a piercing if she screwed up.
At least until I pointed out that piercings still left a scar.
Now . . . she still gave us all shit.
All of that, the work, the stories, the comradery in the shop were making me smile more than the dude in front of me.
He, frankly, was becoming a little annoying.
I’d begun with a small needle, a thin line, and had gotten about a third of the outline complete. We still had color and shading.
So basically, we hadn’t seen anything yet.
“Ow!”
The wife giggled.
I lifted the needle well away from the guy’s arm and met her gaze. “You might want to get something to eat,” I told her. “This is going to take a while.”
She bit her lip, but I saw the edges of her mouth curve up. “I’ll grab a coffee and be back.”
“What?” the dude in front of me said.
And I guessed it was the Californian in me that kept calling Jeff, “dude,” but it wasn’t intentional. Everyone was a dude, regardless of gender, age, or personality.
“Tally don’t go—”
She kissed him on top of the head. “Just remember that I pushed out two babies and regularly get my hair yanked out of my hoo-hah for your pleasure before you start complaining.”
Okay, now I was laughing.
And so were Jeff and Tally.
“You want anything, Garret?” Tally asked.
“I’m good,” I said, “thanks.”
She smiled and turned to go. “Hey! What about me?” Jeff called.
“I’ve been with you for more than fifteen years, baby. I know what you want to drink.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.” She waved. “I’ll be back in a few, and maybe by then you’ll have found your man cred.”
“It hurts,” Jeff whined.
She pointed in the direction of her vagina. “Two babies.”
Jeff wisely shut up.
“You know you don’t have to do this, right?” I asked once she’d walked far enough away to be out of earshot.
“I do,” Jeff muttered. “It was my idea.”
I snorted.
He groaned. “I know. Who would have known she’d be so tough?”
“Most of the time the women are.” I picked up the gun. “You ready?”
Jeff sighed. “As I’ll ever be.”
“Can you tell me more about that board game you mentioned earlier?” I asked, not giving a shit about the game except for its usefulness in potentially distracting Jeff from what I was doing. “Is it a deck-building game or—”
My board game knowledge came strictly from clients both past and present. While I’d grown up playing the classics—Monopoly, Life, Rummikub, Uno, etc.—with my family, I didn’t have much time—or a group of willing players—to make much of it currently. Luckily, I’d found each person I tattooed often had their own pool of information they were experts in, and I managed to absorb a sliver of it during each hours-long session.
A recent one had launched a game on Kickstarter that had apparently become popular enough to be carried in big box stores.
Hence, me pulling out a term like deck-building.
Even if I didn’t quite understand what it meant.
Either way, it had the desired result. Jeff started waxing poetic about the game—not deck-building, apparently—and though his jaw did tighten slightly, he was distracted enough by the game and its various attributes to not start ow-ing again.
I worked quickly and got through the majority of the outline by the time he’d spelled out the rules.
Tally came back with coffee and pastries, and they began discussing a different game, giving me the opportunity to switch needles and start on the color. Before long, I got lost in the piece, filling in colors, adding shadows and details.
There wasn’t any sense of time or others.
I didn’t feel my aching back. My eyes didn’t get tired. My hands didn’t shake.
In fact, it wasn’t until I’d nearly finished that I realized how long I’d been working without a break. I blinked bleary eyes. “You good?” I asked, feeling a little guilty for not having offered Jeff a break. I’d been working for a few hours, and I usually liked to give clients a chance to stretch every hour or so.
Otherwise they got antsy.
“I’m fine,” he said, his face no longer pale. “It’s looking awesome.”
It was looking awesome.