Going Under the Needle

I could feel my heart beating faster and faster in my chest as we drove up the familiar road. I recognized some of the landmarks from when we made my appointment. A church over here, an apartment building over there, and directly across from the parlor, a strip joint. I chuckled a little under my breath when it crossed my mind that I might be experiencing a similar feeling a new stripper might have before she goes out for her first dance. A mixed feeling of anticipation and terror.

I had been waiting for this day to come for many years now. Twelve years to be exact. One day when I was about four years old, Mom came home and showed me her new tattoo, added directly beneath another one. The original tattoo was a unicorn head just below her collarbone that I had always admired, but now the head was resting on a small blue cloud, which bore some very familiar letters. A. L. E. C. I. A. Alecia.

“That’s my name.” I smiled and pointed at my Mom’s new piece of art.

She smiled back, “Yes, that is your name. I got it so that you will always be close to my heart.” I paused for a moment.

“Mommy, when am I going to get a tattoo?”

Without hesitation she responded, “I’m going to get you one for your sixteenth birthday.” And this is how it all began.

The celebration of my sixteenth year drew closer and the appointment was made. I had already chosen what I wanted, a musical heart made up from a treble clef and a bass clef. It was personal, appropriate, and could easily be hidden if I needed to apply for a job that frowns upon this type of personal expression. With the picture in hand, I walked up to the artistically stained doors of Kreative Kaos tattoo parlor. The soft tinkling of a bell announced our arrival as I opened the door. Taking a seat on the plush leather sofa, I eyed a number of photo albums that were strewn on the glass coffee table while Mom chatted with her friend behind the counter. The walls were completely covered with colourful sample work that led to every nook and cranny of the place. Laminated samples followed you into the four rooms that provided the main services of a tattoo parlor, and even were present when you walked into the brightly-lit bathroom. I flipped through the stiff pages of the strewn albums and admired the pieces of art marked on the newly reddened areas of flesh.

I found myself watching the second hand tick around the dime store clock hung on the wall. Somewhere along the line, someone had decided to make life interesting and flipped the clock upside down. It was surprisingly easy to read and I think that it added more personality to the already busy room. The soft calling of my name brought me out of my focused stupor. It was time.

I’m not afraid of pain, in fact I have a pretty high tolerance of it, but knowing that pain is certain continued to keep my heart racing. Jason, the tattoo artist, wet a cloth and marked the design on the right calf. The water was a little colder than I would have wanted but this reminded me too much of temporary tattoos that my mind was otherwise occupied.

The loaded needle touched my exposed calf and I was surprised. I had expected a searing, scraping pain similar to the feeling of falling and cutting yourself on concrete, but that was not the case. It hardly hurt at all. A minute passed, then two, then three. Still the same diluted pain. My heart rate slowly decreased back to normal after the shock had been overcome. I pulled my eyes away from Jason’s work and began to examine the room around me and liked what I saw.

Mom always said that I had an old soul. My ipod is filled with eight gigabytes of 80’s classics mixed in with the odd Toybox song. But this room was my personal heaven. Pink Floyd and The Doors posters littered along the walls underneath the other tattoo samples. There were Brick In The Wall figurines on shelves mounted on the walls. I was so caught up in the atmosphere and the constant buzzing made by the mechanized needle that I had completely forgotten about the pain. I was being pulled out of the pain by the buzzing which was drowning my mind to be pulled back into it again when I lost my focus.

The buzzing suddenly stopped. Jason took the now room temperature soaked cloth to wipe my calf. He looked up with a questioning but expectant face, which urged me to look down. It was beautiful. I loved it more than I thought I would. It’s intricate design and simple colours surpassed my every expectation. This perfect heart that was now on my leg represented my past, present, and my future in music. Every time I look down and admire Jason’s work, I’m looking at a piece of myself that I can never lose.

Although, I could have gone without the persistent itching that surfaced three days later.