Regardless of how adorable his dimples may be beneath the frames of his glasses or how hot he looks with his tight polo stretched across his impressive expanse of chest, he still strikes me as a bit odd. What the hell. Never know unless you try it. Might as well give the fella a date. There’s no harm in a free meal and a good story.
Eh, I like dick too much for the whole lesbian thing. I think I need to start performing thorough background checks and social checks on any male who even glances in my direction. However, the lip ring doesn't seem like such a bad idea...
It’s that train of thought and that particular episode of reminiscence that lead me into my favorite tattoo parlor that just so happens to be the place of employment of my best friend to have another hole poked into my body. If her schedule allows, I think I'll invest in some new ink while I'm here. I need some serious distraction to draw my mind from the thoughts of the train wreck of a date that followed that first conversation with Chris. What the hell was I thinking??
Back to the present...
Jaime is more than accommodating when I ask if she has time to sling out a small piece for me. "Girl, I've got nothing going on for three more hours. What are you calling small this time?" she asks with one of her doubly pierced, perfectly arched eyebrows raised in question. "Your legs are looking nice but your shoulders are looking kind of bare these days. What'll it be, pretty lady?" she asks as she walks circles around me while examining various areas of my body to find the area for her next canvas.
After a moment of contemplation and my explanation of the idea that’s been floating around in my mind lately, I feel the certain giddiness that comes with the knowledge that I'll soon be getting some much needed meditation that seems to only result from that certain, highly therapeutic gun buzzing across my skin, marking its path with the colors that will remain with me until the day I’m turned to ash. Being from a highly religious family, I've gotten a lot of grief from my older relatives since I came to Christmas dinner sporting my first tattoo shortly after my eighteenth birthday- a black and green two-headed dragon with each of its heads resting behind an ear, twin necks stretching from one earlobe to the other before joining in the middle and disappearing beneath the collar of my shirt. I thought that my grandmother would have a coronary right there at the table. Ten years and thousands of dollars later, she's still alive and I'm gloriously decorated from my neck to my toes and they have finally stopped complaining about my choice of bodily décor. I browse the books covering the tasteful glass and steel coffee tables and scattered about the lobby of the shop and the hundreds of framed work hanging on the walls. I see nothing that I must have on my body before my current idea gets put onto my skin so I go for another grouping of meaningful lines to keep with me forever. Making my eighth Chinese symbol, "memory" will soon be on the right side of my collarbone, barely concealed by the collar of a tee shirt.
Prepped and stenciled, I lay on the table and close my eyes as I hear Jaime start her gun and the familiar buzz fills the air, effectively setting my zone within easy reach. As the cluster of needles makes contact with my skin, I take off into the corners of my mind. Reality is merely an inconvenience to which I'll return in an hour or so.
Before I realize that time had slipped away from me, I feel a cool sensation of my overly sensitized skin being wiped clean of the excess ink surrounding my latest acquisition. "Check it out," Jaime points toward the large mirror with the thick, extravagantly carved frame hanging on the wall behind me. I move to the mirror and focus, an enormous grin spreading across my face and tears flooding freely down my cheeks. "You've outdone yourself this time, Jaime. How long have I been in here? There's no way you did all of that in an hour’s time!"
"You were zoned out for about two and a half hours. You looked like you needed the break when you came in the door. You only grumble to yourself like that when you've either had a bad date or a bad lay. Or both," she explained with a snicker. "No extra charge. The additional work is all on me." Tears continue to cascade down my face at an alarming rate with a renewed fierceness; I see an amazing piece of work that is more than worthy of a magazine spotlight staring back at me.
Twin cherry blossoms frame the symbol on the top and bottom diagonals. Purple markings symbolize the single word that has helped me get through my toughest times and makes the best times even easier.
Memories. All of those memories.
Please allow me to back up and explain for a moment.
My grandmother suffers from the devastating effects of Alzheimer's disease. I have watched her slowly wither away over the course of my teenage years and now I am her sole responsible party when it comes to all of her financial and medical necessities and decisions. I have stayed by her side throughout the entirety of my life, but even more so since we received her heartbreaking diagnosis. Even once she was placed in a nursing home, I was with her every chance I had. With me running the store, it gets hard to be there every day, especially when it comes time for inventory or if we have a big sale going. I try my damnedest, though. That sweet little loud-mouthed lady was there for me when my mother passed away of uterine cancer at the young age of 40; she held me close and dried my tears, pushing me to hold myself together and push forward when all I wanted to do was give up. Not only is she my rock, she’s the sunshine in my life when the storm starts to take over. Cherry blossoms are her absolute favorite flower and she has always told me that I am her beautiful blossom, always calling me Cherry for as long as I can remember.
Though she has recently she started forgetting names and even some faces, she has never once forgotten mine. Cherry is always there and sporting a smile for her, bringing her favorite snacks and some pictures to brighten her day. Once she lost her ability to walk, it worried me. I knew that she has always been a very independent lady and would end up falling if we didn't find someone to be with her around the clock. In-home nurses and aids did what they could during the day but, since I lived with her, we didn’t qualify for financial assistance and we simply couldn't afford to hire someone to be there at night. I hardly slept; I worried too much to be able to rest peacefully. I was terrified that she would try to get up during the night and fall as she was getting out of bed, so I made the most difficult decision I've ever made- I admitted my dear sweet Granny to the quaint little nursing home across town. It took her a few weeks to adjust to being somewhere besides the home that my Poppy built when they were newlyweds but she has fallen in nicely with a group of ladies who are also victims of Alzheimer's and they’ve formed their own little posse. We call them the Golden Girls and they are nearly inseparable. Each of them has their own little quirk that sets them apart from the others but they are clearly meant to be in each other’s lives. They complement each other’s personalities wonderfully and pick up where the others lack. It’s truly a beautiful relationship between some of the most amazing women I’ve ever met.
The earth shattering loss of Granny being at home caused me to sink into an awful depression. I lost touch with reality, barely managing to run on autopilot and function on a minimal level for the majority of the six months after she was admitted into Shady Acres before finally snapping back to myself when I noticed that I was losing money at the shop because my presence was scarce and I wasn't as closely invested in business as I should have been. Being handed to me by Granny on my twenty-third birthday, the shop was the biggest material tie to her that I have ever had and will ever have. My newest acquisition will be my constant reminder that, regardless of how far gone Granny becomes, she will always know her Cherry and will always love me dearly. The memories that we've made together before she got sick help to keep her somewhat tethered to reality on her bad days and give us some pretty interesting conversation on her best days.
I touch the swollen skin and will myself to stop crying. She wouldn't want me to cry over her. Her optimism and unique way of seeing the down times of life have helped shape me into the woman I am today, and for that, I’m more than grateful. Wiping the final
salty drops from my cheeks, I turn to Jaime and wrap her in a rib-crushing hug that comes from the deepest recesses of my soul. She coughs out a small laugh and momentarily returns my embrace before croaking, "You're welcome. I hate to ruin the moment but you're kind of cutting off my air supply and I need to remain alive if you wish to keep getting quality ink at the special prices I only offer to you. Plus, funerals are too damn expensive and I haven't taken out a life insurance policy yet. It'll come out of your pocket, woman!"
"Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! You know how emotional I get when it comes to Granny. It's like you read my mind, Jaime. You need a crystal ball in the back room to help with these psychic tendencies you seem to have developed over the years. I think you should do that on the side. I can see it now... The sign out front will read 'MADAM LOUISE'S TATTOOS, PIERCINGS, AND PSYCHIC READINGS," I laugh while gesturing with an open hand as if a large sign were stretched across the top of the wall in front of us. The young, strikingly beautiful, and incredibly talented walking mosaic standing before me actually blushes at my compliment but still manages to laugh at the hilarity of my compliment. That's a first. Though Jaime is quite humble regarding her work, seeing the heat rise into her cheeks is a rare occurrence. Well, before now, it’s never happened in my presence. She fiddles with one of her stretched lobes that sports a stone plug as she examines an imaginary spot on her skin tight red jeans. Over the twelve years I've known her, I've picked up on the fact that this is a subtle nervous habit of hers. She doesn't like being thrown into the spotlight. She nearly fainted when she gave the valedictorian speech at our high school graduation, but managed to survive by gripping the podium and hanging on for dear life until she wobbled back to her seat. Of course, she also thanks the few swigs of vodka that she had behind the bleachers from a classmate's flask before we marched onto the field. She swears to this day that she just "had a feeling" that she shouldn't wear heels that particular day. Good call.
DING!
The old timey bell, polished to perfection, hanging above the door greets the latest customer.
Thank you, God, for sending this fine piece of man into the shop at this particular moment to finish clearing the remaining fog from my mind! This man is gorgeous from the toes of his shiny black shoes to the very top of his short, neatly styled dirty blonde hair. If sex could take human form, this would be him standing in front of me. Though he carries himself with a smooth confidence, I can see a bit of uncertainty and trepidation hiding in his bright green eyes. I've never seen someone who is such a contradiction in himself! Outwardly, he looks powerful and commanding. Once you take the time to watch for the moment that he lets down his guard, that split second of indecision reveals a whole new person. I manage to glimpse all of this within the first few seconds of him being within the confinements of Jaime's shop. Obviously, it’s his first time being here because Jaime doesn’t greet him with her customary greeting that is reserved for her usual clients. What is such a fine, professional specimen of a man doing in an ink parlor? But good grief, that suit does wonders for his physique. Too bad I don't have X-ray vision...
God, I hope this fine ass man doesn't catch me gawking. Am I drooling?
I turn back to Jaime and motion to the door with my eyes. I feel like a teenager again. The woman would have to be blind as hell to not see the man that just strolled through the glass paned door. Jaime begins giggling quietly behind her hand and, as I join her, the feeling of a renewed adolescence intensifies. I have to get out of here before I combust as a result of the sudden heat that has overtaken me.
After a brief discussion regarding our plans for the upcoming weekend and a promise to call her before work in the morning, I hand her some bills and head back to my shop for the evening. I have to exit the charged area and head out into the slightly cooler night air on a held breath so that I can breathe freely without inhaling his delicious scent.
About the time I make it to the stop sign at the end of the road and am about to turn out onto the highway, I remember my original purpose for going to see Jaime. And, here I am, without a lip ring. Oh well. It gives me another excuse to make another trip to see her again in the near future.
As if I need an excuse...
Though we close the shop at seven, I usually end up staying for a few hours afterward to restock and organize the slight disarray that's always left behind on a productive day. The guys must have been swamped today because it looks like Sharknado has made its way through the small shop; instead of a tumbleweed, a balled up piece of paper rolls out of my office, propelled by the fan that runs year round? Did they throw a party in here? The bookshelves are far from their usual meticulously organized state and there are a few books lying around on tables in the sitting areas. I’m far from being an organized individual but a place of business is no place for disarray so I leave the clutter and confusion at the door. There are a few loose papers scattered here and there in the hallway heading to the office and the bare bulb near the ceiling in the back room makes the usually warm and homey shop seem lonely and desolate. I immediately think of Granny and feel horrible for not making it by there this evening. I know that I was just there for breakfast this morning and I took her a milkshake from the local burger joint at lunch but I'm almost always there for supper. A tear slides down my cheek. Granny has always been around for me when I need her and I've let her down.
I hurriedly straighten the shop back to its usual pristine condition, finish the closing paperwork, and head across town after locking up and setting the alarm.
Granny.
I narrowly beat the two red lights on the main street through town and turn into the parking lot of Shady Acres just as the sun disappears beneath the horizon, leaving amazing streaks of brilliant colors to blaze across the sky. Fall evenings are becoming shorter and I love it. Business slows down in the evenings and it makes for glorious time to tend to all of my extra business toward the end of normal shop hours (and after I enjoy my ritual of eating supper with Granny). Pushing my way through the inner glass doors of the antechamber, I instantly spot Granny sitting over to my right with her posse surrounding her. When she sees me, she squeals like a young girl, throws both hands up in the air, and shouts "Look, girls! There's my Cherry! I knew she wouldn't forget about me today! Hi, baby! You must have had a busy day at the shop. It's awful late and I was starting to worry about you. Is everything okay?" Her beautiful face wrinkles between her brows with concern as she examines me from head to toe. The other three ladies follow suit with their cheerful greetings and then their careful scrutiny to find the fault in my demeanor or appearance.
"Hello, hello! Want some candy? You know that I’ve got my stash handy if you get a hankering for something sweet," Margie winks over the top of her glasses. She finds her candy stash hilarious because she’s a diabetic and loves watching the nurses wonder why her sugar is high.
"How ya been, sugar? We missed you at supper. You need to eat so you don’t dry up and blow away!"
"Well, lookie here! Inkie finally made it! What's shakin', baby cakes? You doing okay? You’re kind of pale this evening."
I love all of these ladies like the kooky old aunts that I never had. They pick on me because of my tattoos, but they've all admitted in confidence that they think that they're "cool as shit," in the words of Pearl. That woman swears that she's never missed a church service since she was thirteen years old but she cusses like a sailor once she gets behind closed doors and out of earshot of the public. She says that she has an image to uphold and that her peers would look at her differently if they knew that she cusses more than the old veterans who live at the home. Out of Granny's three constant comrades, I think that Pearl may be my favorite. I speak to each of the other residents and am quickly back to being under the ever watchful eye of Granny. Her expression has relaxed but I can tell that she is still watching my every move, looking for any little thing out of the ordinary.
She doesn't miss a thing when it comes to me, even in her old age and taking into consider
ation the state of her impaired mind. "You have a fresh bandage beneath your shirt collar. Let me see what Jaime did to you this time, child." Even though she doesn't approve and nearly always voices said displeasure, she is always curious to see my new tattoos. I pull aside my shirt collar and I see the tears forming in her crystal blue eyes.
"My Cherry," she breathes as she reaches out to gingerly lay a hand over the clear plastic covering. Without knowing the exact meaning of the symbol in the middle, she still understands that this piece is for her.
We spend the remainder of the evening laughing and discussing book business. Granny still has the business side of her mind fully intact, even though she is beginning to lose some of the most basic bodily functions. I remember the nurses telling me a month or so ago that she's been incontinent more frequently in recent weeks and is needing a bit more help with getting to and from her bed and chair. This breaks my heart because, through my extensive research and the immensely helpful information offered by the various medical professionals that aid in Granny's care, I know that her disease is progressing bit by bit. Even though I know that the end result of an Alzheimer's diagnosis is always the same, it's so hard to accept that my rock isn't going to be around forever. Thankfully, Granny's progression has been relatively slow compared to some of her peers. Regardless of her condition, she always insists on going to the funerals of her fellow residents and seeing that they are laid to rest properly and with plenty of loved ones around, including herself.
"Cherry, I wish I could stay up longer and yack on into the night like we used to do, but I'm getting pretty tired. I just can't keep up with you the way I did twenty years ago," Granny says with a sad little smile. Our goodbyes are always the hardest part of any encounter because we both know that tomorrow will be drastically different from today and she may not be as happy and cheerful as she has been today and that it could turn out to be one of her dreaded bad days. We are blessed with mostly good days but there have been a handful of bad ones thrown in the mix. Every so often, I'll get a call from a frantic nurse and will have to make a flying trip across town to calm Granny. Sometimes she thinks that Pappy is still alive and that the staff is keeping her from getting to him. She has even become violent some of the nurses when they tried to reason with her. It's truly heartbreaking to watch her grieve time and time again when I have to break it to her that he's been gone since 1995. I've tried going along with her beliefs but I've found that most of the time, in the end, it's easier to gently remind her that he's been gone for quite some time and sit with her through her grieving. "Goodnight, Granny. I'll be by first thing in the morning before I head to work. I think that Jerry and Stephen have been opening the shop long enough to be able to hold down the fort for an hour or so. I love you and I'll see you in the morning," I reassure Granny as I give her a hug and a peck on the forehead before heading back out to my car.
Claiming Olivia II Page 7