A block away, they reached Lucy’s second destination: a tattoo parlor. They stopped outside a small storefront with purple neon lighting. The inside looked clean but small. Lucy could see the joy drop out of Evan’s face when he noticed where they’d stopped. He let go of her hand.
“Lucy, I don’t want to get a tattoo,” he said.
“Sure you do. It’s art, you love art. Come on, let’s go.” Lucy gave Evan a playful shove, but he wasn’t budging.
“Look, I told you I was on board fully tonight,” Evan said. “It’s your night. I want to have fun, I want to do memorable stuff, and I want to make you happy. But isn’t there anything else we can do?”
“This is supposed to be adventurous, though,” Lucy said, resigned. “What’s more memorable or adventurous than getting tattoos?”
Evan looked in the window, and Lucy could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to justify getting the hell out of there.
“And I suppose you want me to design something?” Evan asked. “My art changes every few months. I guarantee a year from now I’ll be repulsed by anything I come up with on the spot here.”
“Relax, no, you don’t have to design anything. I have something in mind. Hear me out?”
There was a lone person working inside, and Lucy could see her patiently watching them debate the tattoos. Evan signaled for Lucy to carry on.
“Remember Christmas?” Evan smiled. He remembered Christmas. “Not that. Though that was nice, too. But remember when we were sitting on the couch, and your grandmother said you were going to get a tattoo for her? And I said I’d get one, too?”
Evan remembered.
“Ta-daaa,” Lucy sang, presenting the tattoo parlor. “So even though I know you would totally do this for me, it’s also for your grandmother. And besides, I’m getting one, too, so we can have matching tattoos.”
“You’re really getting a tattoo for my grandmother?” Evan asked.
“Yup. But mine won’t be on my face, like yours will.”
Lucy could see Evan starting to agree with her logic. After all, he was an honest, stand-up guy—and he would do anything for his grandma. Lucy thought very highly of her herself.
When Lucy had come out of the bathroom after playing Zombies, she was embarrassed at how much time she’d spent in there crying and afraid of how Evan’s mom and Gram would react. Maybe they’d tell her to go home, or maybe they’d call her dad. Instead, she had come out of the bathroom to find lunch being made in the kitchen.
“You’re just in time,” Gram had told Lucy. “You missed Evan and Barbara already, but I waited because you should have company while you eat.” Lucy had looked out the window at the snow falling while Gram made her a sandwich. It was pretty obvious that she was just trying to get her to open up, and Lucy was okay with that. She was tired of not talking. Lucy started by telling her how the game had reminded her of the game nights the Owenses had had every couple of weeks on Sunday nights, with all of their extended family over. And it wasn’t long before she was spilling her guts. “It reminded me of when we were kids,” Lucy said. “The last thing I looked forward to before going to school on Mondays was game nights over here.” Lucy still felt awkward, like Gram must have been judging her quietly. Not because Gram was a bad person but because Lucy had just been sobbing in their bathroom for twenty minutes. “That was what felt weird, though,” she continued. “For a minute it was like reliving some childhood memory or something. But then I remembered it’s only a memory for me. Evan still has these regular game nights. I’m just not a part of them anymore.”
“It’s a shame you’re so far away most of the year,” Gram said. “We miss you here, Evan especially.”
“We ended up in such different places,” Lucy said with an uncomfortable laugh, getting depressed again. Evan had his home and his family, good grades, and a promising future, and Lucy had a broken home, neglect, and a bunch of dead ends to travel. Evan was happy and she was not. Lucy’s negative thoughts had been gaining steam but were disrupted by Gram’s laughter, which seemed bizarrely out of place.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” Gram said, “but, where you ended? You haven’t even begun yet!”
“Oh,” Lucy said, feeling like a kid. “You know what I mean, though.”
“No, I don’t,” Gram said. “Where you’ve ended implies that you think this is it, that was life. Or like there’s some kind of line you walk, and you took this path and Evan took that one.”
“Basically, I guess,” Lucy said.
“Listen. From someone who knows, okay? There are so many bends in that path that you couldn’t possibly even know about.” Lucy thought this was some kind of Kids say the darnedest things speech. “Life throws so many curveballs, the tiniest little decision can change everything. And it’s not always your decision, either. You just never know.”
Lucy sat quietly, unsure what to say. She thought Gram was right but didn’t like being lectured to.
“I’m seventy now, and I’ve been living with my daughter and her husband since I was sixty-five. Lucy, believe me when I tell you this is not where I had planned to be. I still had some good years left with my husband, Evan’s grandpa, when he was taken away from me. I could have ended up in our house, living alone, or I could have ended up in a retirement home, or you could say I ended up here, but I don’t feel like anything has ended. It’s just all a part of my journey. And I don’t believe it will end here on Earth. I like to think I’ll meet my husband again, and that maybe he’s gotten a tattoo for me since he left, and maybe when I see him again I’ll be light enough and he’ll be young enough to sweep me off my feet. But I don’t think for one second that our paths won’t cross again.”
Gram had known exactly what was bothering Lucy. That’s why Lucy really wanted to get that tattoo for her.
“I’d only do this for you,” Evan said as they entered the building.
“And your gram,” Lucy said.
“And my gram.” Evan’s words filled Lucy with warm feelings. They reminded her of Evan stealing his dad’s car—she knew he was telling the truth; he really wouldn’t do this for anyone else.
The employee-slash-artist working was named Leslie. She was in her late twenties and heavily tattooed. Leslie showed them around, and they looked through books of designs. She had designed several herself, and Evan and Lucy picked one of her designs. It was elegant and nondescript, and wouldn’t cost them any future jobs.
Evan went first, since Lucy was afraid if it hurt she’d scare Evan out of it, and then only she would have his grandmother’s name on her. And that would be weird. Evan had it done on his arm. Lucy had jokingly insisted he get it on his lower back so everyone could see what a bad boy he was whenever he bent over. He had no desire to get any other tattoos, so he wanted it somewhere out of the way. The upper-arm muscle seemed like the best spot.
“God, this is so permanent,” Lucy said. “Isn’t it exciting?”
“It’s certainly something. Definitely permanent,” Evan said. He looked tense and a little light-headed.
“Well, I’ll tell you, it’s a sweet thing you’re getting put on your arm,” Leslie said. “Tattoos can be a powerful statement. Your grandmother will know you love her, that’s for sure.”
“It is powerful art,” Evan said, looking at his bare arm flesh, for the last time, Lucy thought, riding a high from the excitement. “I’ll be looking at it for the rest of my life, so I’d better like it, right?”
“Or you could be the drunk college boy that came in here last night to get a ridiculous tattoo of Garfield taking a bong hit,” Leslie said matter-of-factly.
“I’m going to get that one next,” Lucy said.
Lucy had hers placed on her ankle. It was easy to hide, and easy to show off, and hurt more than she’d expected. It was worth it, though. Lucy knew now that even if the rest of the night fell apart, they’d be forever linked in some way, to this one happy spot in time.
“Only a year ago we were both ner
ds,” Evan said. “And now I have a tattoo.”
“How does it feel?” Leslie asked.
“I don’t know. I feel like Popeye,” he told her with a smile, and Lucy rolled her eyes. “I feel like going into a bar. And getting into a fight.”
“Good. Because that’s plan number three: bar fight.” Lucy made a fist.
“Seriously?” Evan said, and froze in his tracks.
“So gullible tonight,” Lucy said.
Lucy insisted that the next part of her plan was the best part and that Evan would love it. This part wasn’t actually part of her plan, but she was feeling impulsive after the tattoo success. It was her night, and spontaneity went hand-in-hand with adventure. She also wanted one last highlight before the third part of her plan, and before she said anything about her summer. She grabbed Evan’s hand and pulled him along to a Starbucks across the street. They darted through the flow of traffic going each way, and a driver honked at them for making him brake. Evan and Lucy looked at each other and laughed. Lucy used the Starbucks gift card Gram gave her, and she and Evan ordered their coffee. Gram did say to take a boy out for coffee, after all. They got their order and sat down in comfy chairs in a quiet corner. It wasn’t busy, but it wasn’t empty, either. Lucy pulled her chair close to Evan’s. They took off their hats and gloves, drank their coffee, and warmed up.
“You’re right, I like this part.”
“This isn’t the plan,” Lucy said.
“Are you going to tell me the plan?”
Lucy leaned in. “We make out like horny teenagers.” It wasn’t breaking into abandoned property, and it wasn’t permanently marking their bodies, it was kissing. But it got their hearts racing just the same. Lucy put down her coffee and initiated the making out, leaning over to Evan and grabbing his hair and pulling him in. They made out aggressively, and there was fear, arousal, and amusement as they tried not to laugh. They didn’t look up to see if anyone was watching, although Lucy couldn’t imagine they weren’t being stared at. She felt messy from kissing and at a peak high, giddy even.
“See?” Lucy asked, with her nose pressed against his. “Impulses can be good.”
“I think I like your impulses,” Evan said, blushing deeplyand not looking anywhere but at Lucy.
“Good. ’Cause you’re not going to like the next one.” And now Lucy was the one who looked nervous.
The wind whipped behind them as they walked through the cold back to where they had parked the car. Lucy considered ending the evening there, with warmth and cuddling and making out. She’d planned the evening out fully, though, and there was a purpose. She knew she had to see it through. This next step was going to be a hurdle, and if Evan could deal with it, she’d come out with everything she had to say. And she knew there was little chance of it flying with Evan, but it had to be done. She rarely felt fear for herself, but the idea of hurting Evan was killing her.
They reached the car, and Lucy opened the trunk and pulled out the portfolio with the large jam strip. She also took out a white bucket and a rolling pin.
“What are we doing with all that?” Evan asked with suspicion in his voice.
“Hold this” was all Lucy said, and she handed him the bucket, which was heavy.
Evan followed Lucy with hesitation, and they walked behind the building they’d parked to the side of. The back of it was lit sparsely—mostly it was dark, but it caught some of a streetlight, and the moon was bright enough that they could see where they were going. The wall they walked along was facing the waterfront, which ran alongside a highway and a frontage road. At this time of night, the streets on this side of the stores were mostly empty. There were roads on either side of the building that ran perpendicular to the frontage road.
“It’s called wheatpasting,” Lucy said. “We’re going to paste our cartoon to the building.”
Evan was, predictably, against it. “That’s graffiti,” he said in an angry whisper. “It’s illegal!”
It was, but it was also fairly common, more so where Lucy lived. The point of her night was to immortalize the winterwhen she and Evan began their romance. Whether the romance continued past the winter or ended right here, she wanted it to last in some form. She wanted it to live on in art. Through their tattoos, through their cartoon, through Aelysthia. The comic was her art and Evan’s, it was their personalities and ideas in one big, silly comic. And she couldn’t force some company to publish it anywhere, but she could make it seen. No one had to know it was theirs. And Evan was secret enough about his art that he wouldn’t get pegged. This was for them.
“The tattoos aren’t memorable enough? Jesus, the things are going to be on us for the rest of our lives. Now we need to poster-bomb a building to show we exist?”
“Yeah, basically,” Lucy said, upset. “They’ll take it down eventually. It’s not a big deal. I mean it is, to me.”
“Anything else,” Evan said. “We’ll go somewhere warm again and make out. I’ve been very accommodating. I’m making this one request.”
“Ev, please,” Lucy said. “I always wanted to do this, but I never had anything good to do it with. And it’s especially meaningful if you’re a part of it. It’s meaningful and memorable. I put a lot of thought into this.”
Evan paced back and forth. A car drove by on the frontage road and the headlights shone on them, causing Evan to panic more. The night cold was unbearable and the wind stung. Lucy waited patiently, until Evan stopped pacing and faced her.
“You look cute with your hat pulled down. And your red cheeks,” he said, and Lucy smiled. “Do I have to actually do it? I mean, can I be the lookout or something?”
Lucy nodded.
“All right, let’s hurry up, then.”
Lucy really hadn’t thought he would go for it. She quickly opened the lid of the bucket, which contained a cheap wheatpaste that she’d made earlier in the day. She dipped the roller into it and started scrubbing the wall clumsily. She watched Evan walk briskly to the edge of the building with his hands in his pockets, looking around the edge. The wind blew one of the pages out of Lucy’s hands, so she set the others under the weight of the bucket and chased after it. When she caught it, she studied the wall and decided she should add another layer of the paste.
“Would it be faster if I rolled and you just stuck the art up?” Evan asked from the parking lot. Lucy nodded.
Evan rolled the wall efficiently, and Lucy spread the large paper out onto it and rubbed it into place. She had to hold the comic for a long minute for it to not get blown off, but once it was on, it was on. Evan started rolling more paste onto the wall as Lucy held the first piece down, and when he was done, she held up the second page. The wind was blocked by the building for a while, and it didn’t feel quite so cold. A slight flurry started, and with the moon shining, and the snow and the waterfront glittering, Lucy was again feeling a high. Things were working out.
“See, we make a good team,” Evan said, and Lucy smiled, glad he was coming around, too. They laid out each of the six pages the cartoon took up, three pages on top and three pages below.
“Not bad,” Lucy said, and felt a breathless thrill at it. She looked at Evan and grinned. “I can’t believe we did that.”
A bright light snapped on and the art installation was illuminated. The light came from the edge of the building. Evan and Lucy turned and saw that a man was holding a flashlight and walking toward them.
“Couple of artists,” the man said in a friendly tone. “Did one of you draw this?”
Lucy and Evan said nothing, waiting for more information from the man. “Well?” the man asked.
“We both did,” Lucy said very hesitantly.
“Pretty good,” he said, admiring the work. Lucy grabbed Evan’s hand and held her breath. The bucket was there, the roller, they’d probably even gotten the light-colored paste on themselves by this point. And Lucy knew she looked like someone who should be behind bars.
“Officer Dave Perkins,” the man said, pointing
the flashlight back at himself. He was wearing a policeman’s uniform. “Little cold to be hanging around outside, don’t you think?”
Lucy’s heart sank. So this is how it ends.
Lucy twiddled her thumbs nervously in the back of the police cruiser. Evan was silent. They weren’t even handcuffed—they weren’t actually being arrested. They were being taken to the station so their parents could be notified and come pick them up. It was a slap on the wrist. Lucy knew her dad would be disappointed or maybe annoyed, but Evan’s parents were going to blow it out of proportion. Evan had been turned to the dark side. Evil Lucy came and corruptedhim. She fidgeted in her seat, sighed, and finally asked Evan to say something, whatever. Let her have it. She didn’t even care at that point. What Evan did say, however, hit her like a punch to the gut.
“Thank God we got caught,” he said. “I hope they take that thing down.”
“What?” she said coldly. That thing was a symbol to Lucy. It was an even mix of Evan and Lucy, past and present, it was love and art and everything she’d been trying to get through to Evan.
Evan was angry, too; she could tell from his tone and speech pattern. “Can you imagine if it gets left up? People are going to know I did that, Lucy. They’ll figure it out. I do art for the school play. I mean, people know I’m an artist even if I don’t flaunt it all the time or anything. You get to skip town—there’s no risk for you—but that’s a big framed testament to my night of criminal debauchery.”
“Oh gawd,” Lucy said in an overly dramatic way, and slumped in her seat. “I give up. Go eat your cookies and cry about the evil succubus Lucy. I’ll never bother you again. Just run back to your safe little world.”
“Yeah, safe,” Evan said. “Like being home in bed, not riding in the back of a police cruiser. I think I will.” He turned to look out the window in a huff. They were driving through downtown, back the way they had come. There was a big space between them in the backseat. “I’ve been working my entire life to get into a good college and I could have just pissed it away.”
Winter Town Page 15