Home
Permanent Ink
“Drink this. Relax”
“No. I am relaxed.”
I refused as my friend Tammy slid a shot of whiskey across her filthy
kitchen table. The glass crashed
into a plate containing an unrecognizable morsel of decaying food.
“Come on, Mel,” Tammy pled.
“I drank everyday when I was pregnant with Jeff.
It’s the only thing that got me through that miserable condition and
Jeff’s fine!” Tammy pat her ten
year old son on the back and a chunk of pot from the joint he was rolling
toppled into the tray in front of him. It
disappeared into a pile of seeds and stems.
Memories of my own father sitting around the coffee table
snorting lines of white powder on a mirror and my Mom lighting incense on our
mantel to cover the smell of pot smoke clouded my mind.
“Fuck that!” I
shook my head. “I’m done with it all.”
I wasn’t going to raise my kid like Tammy raised Jeff and
I sure wasn’t going to risk having a retarded baby by getting high.
I had just started a new job and found a small place to live.
I was only two months pregnant and saving for a crib.
Tammy was the perpetual party girl.
She got high every morning when most people were still eating donuts and
coffee. She excused her drug use by
calling it self-medication. The
euphoric uselessness pot, crank, fry or alcohol delivered kept her alive.
Her brown hair hung like burnt straw.
Her breasts sagged in her thin white tank top and the kitchen table
vibrated as she fidgeted her skinny bruised legs.
Tammy’s house wavered somewhere between a runaway refuge
and a night club the morning after. Scantily
clad bodies melted into the holey sofa and took up any space they could steal
from the cigarette smoke fog. Tammy
always kept the curtains closed and a yellow nicotine tint on the walls.
All of the light bulbs sat burnt out except for the one above the
neglected stove and one in the bathroom. On
that particular day only Tammy, Jeff, and a close friend of mine named Chris
joined me in the house.
“Good job, babe.” Tammy congratulated Jeff.
“You finally rolled a nice one.”
She offered a giggle that evolved into a deep chest cough.
She slipped one end of the pinner between her lips then set the Zig Zag
paper on fire with her Zippo lighter. Tammy’s
cheeks hollowed as she puffed hard.
I left the table and stepped over a few empty beer boxes to
make my way to Chris on the couch. The floor was sticky and I stepped on
something crunchy in the living room.
Chris was a self-taught guitar artist who thought love was
his anti-depressant. He was a small-framed guy with long brown oily hair and a
vacant look on his face. A few
months ago, after days of locking himself in Tammy’s bathroom with nothing but
his guitar and two bottles of Jack Daniel’s, he emerged and declared himself over
his last girlfriend. This was a
regular occurrence. He could
probably tell me how many tiles were in that bathroom. Chris was a great guy,
but very confused. His ailment, or
so it seemed to me after several months of knowing him, was exactly what he
thought was the medication -- he loved way too much and way too fast.
“You got inked, huh?”
I pointed to the white bandage taped to his scrawny bare back.
I could spot a fresh tattoo a mile away.
Most of the tattoo shops used bandages with absorbent cotton on one side
and plastic on the other. They look
exactly like the thing you find in raw meat packages, used to absorb blood.
“Yeah.” His blue eyes lit up. “A friend of yours did it for me today. Ned!” Chris
reached into his Levi’s and pulled out a lighter then started packing brand
new smokes.
Bits of glass ran through my veins.
I hadn’t seen Ned in a while. I
figured he had dropped dead in an alley somewhere or skipped town.
Either way, I hoped I wouldn’t collide with him again.
Ned was the father of my baby but he didn’t know it.
We met in an underground club. He
was judging a ladies’ tattoo contest. I
was sporting an extremely short top and hip-hugger shorts.
I figured if the snake tattoo that wrapped around my tiny waist didn’t
win, maybe showing some skin would.
I stood on that stage flipping my long blonde hair from
side to side and turning slowly to display the entire tattoo.
I arched my back slightly to showcase my heart shaped ass.
When I turned and faced the judges, Ned and I locked eyes. A jolt of
electricity shot through my body and I stood almost traumatized by his
inflicting gaze. Everyone else in the club disappeared for a split second.
Ned was a tall muscular built man. He kept his hair short, almost shaved. He had a square jaw and a cleft chin. He looked like he pealed himself off a Calvin Klein
billboard, except for his sleeves of tattoos.
I won, taking home a $350.00 cash prize and Ned.
We spent the next three years as non-committal lovers.
We kept each other close, like best buddies who sleep together, but we
also dated other people. We spent a lot of time hanging out at the tattoo shop
together and smoking pot on the balcony of his apartment.
One night we even toasted with shots of Southern Comfort to a perfect
relationship, void of jealousy. He tattooed me two other times, a Celtic design
around my ankle and a demonic clown on my leg.
Two months ago, I passed out my number to a hot guy at the
tattoo shop. He kissed me and Ned
threw him out. We had just shot-up
our first hit of jealousy.
That night Ned told me he loved me.
He said to commit or get the hell out of his life.
My face grew so hot I thought it would burst into flames.
The rest of me went numb. He
blew the perfect relationship by saying that word “love”. I refused him and
he disappeared.
Rumors spread that Ned was in trouble. He pissed off the
wrong guy.
His tattoo apprentice just got a note that read, “Keep
the shop running. Don’t know when
I’ll be back. Ned.”
I figured the real reason he left was me, not a glamorous story of some mysteriously angry guy wanting to kill him. It was just like Ned to make up something dramatic.
“So Ned’s back?” I asked propping my feet on the newspaper cluttered
coffee table, trying to mask my uneasiness.
“He said to give you a message.”
“Oh really?” What would he say? Go to hell? Keep
away from me you crazy bitch?
“He said he
owes you some art.”
Well, I thought that was a pretty generic message.
I balanced on the edge of relief and disappointment.
The front door swung open and sunlight cut through the
swirling pot smoke.
“Flush it!” yelled Tammy’s boyfriend, Lou, as he
leapt into the living room, “Now, Tammy!”
“What the fuck, Lou!” Tammy jumped, grabbed the tray of
pot and almost ran into Lou as they sprinted to the bedroom.
Chris and I didn’t hesitate. We stood up and headed for the door as if it were instinct. We both knew Lou was dealing and wasn’t careful about who he sold to. Neither of us wanted to stick around long enough to discover what the excitement was about. I felt like a mouse smelling a cat in tall grass.
We opened the front door and stepped into the sunlight but
before we even shut the door behind us, two patrol cars flew into the front yard
and four uniformed officers jumped out, guns in hand. Chris and I were kissing
dirt with cops on our backs within moments.
I sat in a police car as they dragged Tammy, Lou and poor scared Jeff out of the house. I kept thinking it was just my luck to get busted now that I was genuinely trying to change. My stomach felt like I swallowed a brick. I rested my head against the cold window.
A few hours later, I found myself trapped in a frigid
concrete room at the city jail. I
shared the holding cell with one other soul, an old black woman with gray hair.
I assumed she was a hooker, based on her outfit. She was wearing black
spandex pants, a T-Shirt cut short, and flip-flop shoes.
She sat in the fetal position on the floor.
Rocking back and forth slowly, she mumbled something inaudible.
I sat on a bench protruding from the wall, handcuffed to one of the
supporting poles. Why I was
handcuffed and not the crazy hooker, I’ll never know.
A loud buzz pierced the brightly lit room; I supposed it
was someone entering a secure door in the hallway outside.
The hooker jerked her head up.
“I’m not going yet!” she yelled, staring at me with
glassy eyes. “He ain’t
come for me! My sister. He came for
her. Now she’s free. But you leave me alone!”
I stared, trying to breathe quietly and move slowly.
I felt pretty vulnerable handcuffed to a bench with a psycho bitch
yelling craziness at me. I didn’t want to say a word.
Her voice softened a bit, “That big bird grabbed Lita,
dug his talon into her back and flew. Lucky
Lita. I never get so lucky.
Only tricks and smack for me. Smack
all the time. Smack. Smack. Smack.” She
clawed her back with long plastic pink fingernails.
“What’s the matter with you?” She asked me. “You
too quiet white girl.”
She stared at me without blinking. I hoped she wouldn’t notice I wasn’t planning to answer.
After a few seconds, I realized she would stare at me until I spoke.
“What bird?” Phlegm stuck in my throat muffled my
voice. I coughed.
“Where did he take her?”
“You’ll see him. I
can see the specks in your eyes and he will too. Then he’ll come for you. Smack!”
She cackled like a witch. “You’ll
be free of this, like Lita, But not me, just smack!”
Another buzz and I jumped, yanking on my cuffs.
Then, the door to our holding cell opened.
“Miss Canton, come with me.” It was an out-of-uniform cop. He took off my cuffs. I followed as he shut the door, stifling the hooker’s shrill bird-like screeches.
***
I looked at the tiled floor all the way out of the city
jail. It was dark. They offered me
a ride but I wanted to leave their company quick. I walked to the closest place I knew; the only place, besides
jail, I ever visited down town. Ned’s Ink Shop was five blocks away.
It was a cold, lonely five blocks full of stray cats,
honking cars and dark buildings. Jail sucked and that was only a taste of it.
I kept thinking about that hooker and her bird story.
I’ve never thought about a bird stealing me away to freedom.
I’ve fantasized about being a bird soaring in a puffy cloud sky between
two mountains with a blue river slicing the meadow between them.
Birds are freedom, she was right about that.
Poor crazy lady, what the hell was she on?
Probably heroin. Whores always like heroin.
I reached Ned’s Ink Shop and was half relieved, because
my feet hurt, and half petrified to see Ned again.
The familiar scent of Green Soap, a cleansing substance
great for removing ink, hit me when I walked into Ned’s shop.
Ned was sitting on a stool next to a client.
I could hear the hum of his tattoo gun over cluttered heavy metal playing
on his stereo. His client was a young girl lying on her stomach on a weight
bench, topless. Ned was tattooing her lower back.
His eyes were so focused he didn’t even look to see who walked in. I
faked a cough. When he looked up
and saw me standing by the door, he moved his combat boot from the foot pedal,
which ran the tattoo gun. The humming stopped.
“Mel!” He laid the gun down on a dust-covered desk near
his stool and came to greet me with a hug. He had shaved his head again and I
could feel my long hair getting caught between the stubble.
I swallowed a cotton ball in my throat and managed to
whisper, “I heard you were back.”
“Yeah, been back for a couple of days.”
He said, his voice shaking like it did the first time we met. “It’s
good to see you, Mel.”
“Umm. Do you mind if I hang out here for a while?”
I asked, “I’ve had a really shitty day.”
“Sure. I’ll
be done with her in a sec.” He
rubbed his head and I could tell he was curious, “I’ll be right back.” Ned
went back to work. I sat on the seat of an old Ford pickup that was converted
into a couch.
I chipped the nail polish off my fingernails.
Desperate to look relaxed, I flipped casually through a tattoo magazine.
I came across a page of bird tattoos.
There was one of a giant black crow with a well-endowed naked woman in
his beak. It reminded me of Alfred
Hitchcock’s “The Birds” movie. I
wondered if this was the kind of bird that carried Lita away.
A couple of kids came in.
They were wearing black leather jackets with “Misfit” patches and
anarchy symbols.
“I’ll be with ya in a minute.” Ned called to them.
They nodded and began looking at the flash, sheets full of
tattoo pictures that covered the walls. They
kept glancing in Ned’s direction and whispering things to each other. I
guessed they were either trying to catch a glimpse of the girl’s breasts or
detect pain in her face.
Soon Ned finished with the girl. She put her shirt on. He
gave her some instructions on caring for her new tattoo and sent her out the
door. He spoke briefly to the
browsing customers then sat next to me.
“So, you’ve had a shitty day huh? What’s up?” Ned asked a bit too bubbly for such a
tough-skinned guy.
“Jail. I
went to jail today. Chris and I
were at Tammy’s house and they got busted.”
“Shit! Are you in trouble?”
“No, they let me go cause I came up clean. They told me
not to leave town,” I explained. “Lou
had a pound of pot and a little bit of crank hidden in the walls of Tammy’s
house.”
“You came up clean?” He cocked his head to the side and
I noticed his lips curling into a sarcastic grin. “How’d ya manage that?”
“I am clean now.” I watched the two guys walk toward
the door.
They looked at Ned and said. “See you later.” Then began laughing as the heavy glass
door shut behind them.
Ignoring them, Ned asked me, “What made you decide to go
straight edge?”
I tried to take a deep breath and tell him but I choked.
I could feel my pulse quicken and I looked away.
“Can you tattoo me tonight?” I asked instead.
“Yeah, sure! I
owe you one. Let me clean my guns and change needles.” Ned’s shop was always cleaner than a hospital.
He wouldn’t even let anyone smoke. “What do you want?”
“A bird. Some
kind of a crazy ass bird, right between my shoulder blades.” I announced,
“You draw whatever you want. I
don’t want any wimpy-ass sparrows, or parrots though.
No patriotic eagles either.”
“What about a fucked up looking chicken?” He laughed.
“No, chickens don’t fly. I need something that can fly.
***
Ned and I left his shop the next morning. I
emerged with an owl on my back. His eyes were huge and haunting.
His wings tucked snug against his black body. He was perched on a dead tree branch that reached from one
side of my back to the other. The
owl was about the size of a beer can. You
could see talons curled around the branch.
It took Ned six lines of speed and about seven hours to complete.
Seven hours is a long time to be tattooed on, even when wasted.
I broke into a cold sweat and trembled through most of it this time,
since I was sober.
I still hadn’t told him about the baby. There never
seemed to be a good time. It wasn’t ideal when the morning sun was making its
appearance and Ned was coming down off speed either, so I drove Ned’s Trans Am
to his apartment silently listening to the Stone Temple Pilot’s “Big
Empty” on the radio.
Ned tapped his feet spastically. He kept biting his lip and picking at his face.
It was side effects of speed. I’d
never messed with it because everyone, even Ned, told me they’d kill me if I
did. I was already too thin and
speed makes you drop weight faster than any diet pill on the market.
“You know Mel, I went to the east coast.
There was an east coast tat convention, just one damn-big, party full of
tattooed people and tattoo artists. Everyone
was drinking like crazy. They had
contests there. Reminded me of when
we met. No one was hotter than you.
You would have kicked all their asses! I was going to take you too.
But damn you, you had to dump my sorry ass.”
I took my eyes off the road to look at Ned.
His eyes were wet and he stared at his boots.
He never even looked up, just kept talking. “On to bigger
and better things! I figured
that’s why you didn’t want to commit. You
know something bigger and better than me will come along soon and you don’t
want to be tied down with me when it does.
I guess I understand. But
for me there is no one bigger and better than you.
Damn me for thinking that.” Ned
kicked a CD case and it slid under his seat.
I couldn’t get a word in. my heart pounded through his
words. He’d never talked like that before. Another side effect of crank is
uncontrollable rambling. The only thing that shut him up was noticing we were
parked in front of his apartment building.
He opened the door, stepped out and made for his apartment.
“Hey, wait up!” I
called out.
He turned and faced me, scratched his head and looked
around in a daze. Then he smiled.
“Sorry Mel.” He said.
I laughed. Ned started walking toward me when two figures
appeared from one of the stairwells.
I pulled the keys out of the ignition and stepped out.
I heard Ned yell. I snapped my head around to see the two guys who were hanging
around the shop last night pounding Ned. I thought my heart was going to burst.
I rushed to them. I wasn’t
sure what the hell I was going to do, but something.
By the time I got around the car, Ned was clutching his
stomach and blood poured out between his fingers. His eyes were huge. He
faltered to the ground. I rushed to
his side and felt searing pain as a knife, probably still hot with Ned’s
blood, pierced my side. My hand turned red as I fought them off.
Everything turned red.
***
A couple of days later I woke up in
a hospital room with Chris standing over me.
“Chris, what the hell?” I tried to sit up but pain
spread across my body. “Where’s
Ned.”
“There you are, Mel.” Chris stood up straight and ran
his fingers through his hair. “I was so worried.”
“Where’s Ned?” I asked again. The last thing I could remember was Ned’s dinner plate eyes
and his gaping mouth when he went down.
“Ned’s gone.” His
eyes watered and his gaze dropped.
“What? Who?”
“Mel, they’re having the funeral today.” Heat washed
over me. “You’ve been out for
two days.” Chris’s voice was soft and unusually high pitched. “Ned was in
some serious shit. Those guys
might’ve been hired to take him out. We
don’t know yet.”
I felt like jelly. I blinked a few times trying to snap
myself back into reality. Then a
horrible thought crossed my mind.
“My baby! Chris
I’m pregnant!”
“I know Mel, the doctors told me.” Chris shook his head
and bit his bottom lip. “You lost too much blood, Mel. We’re lucky you made it.”
I sobbed. Chris tried to hold me without getting tangled in
IV tubes. I think he was crying
too. How could my life have changed so quickly?
I drifted back into delirium and woke up in pain.
I looked out the window. It was dark.
Chris was still there.
I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep for a while longer.
I had to marinate in the news he told me earlier that day.
Ned was dead and I wasn’t pregnant anymore. I think I was in shock
because all I felt was numbness. I
kept thinking, damn what in the hell am I going to do with my life now?
“Chris,” I moaned.
He rushed over to me. “Mel? You ok?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I get you anything?”
“Tell the nurse I need more pain killers and don’t
forget to rub ointment on my new tattoo.”
“Okay, anything else?”
“When I get out of here Chris. I’m going to need a fat sack of weed and a strong drink.”
So much for the bird rescuing me and carrying me off to
freedom, I thought. I should have let Ned tattoo that fucked-up chicken instead
of the owl. At least, it would have
fit my character better.
***
A few months later, on a snowy December night, I sat on a bag full of stinking trash in an alley behind a drug dealer’s place. I could hear a stray cat in the dumpster looking for food. That cat knew how to survive. I on the other hand hadn’t eaten in days.
I sat there shivering and shaking, the warm bliss of heroin
fading away. I tried to gain
control of my stomach and my mind, when she appeared.
I’m sure she’d been walking towards me for some time and I didn’t
even notice.
She was wearing a torn gray sweater over those same black
spandex pants. Snowflakes were
getting trapped in her hair and melting. She
smiled a rotting toothed grin and grabbed my face, scratching my cheek with a
long plastic fingernail. She pulled
me so close to her I could smell her decaying road kill breath.
The whites of her eyes were yellow compared to the white snow at her
feet.
“Oh white girl,” she spoke in a very low and steady
tone. “Those specks are gone from your eyes.
Don’t you know he can’t see you now?
He’ll never fly for you. All
I see is myself.”
Headlights sliced through the alley.
I could see the vertical slant of the snowfall.
The old lady took off in the opposite direction, dragging one leg behind
her.
I fell face-first into my bile snow mixture. My addictions were as permanent as my tattoos.
Copyright ©2002 Shawna Chandler