Tattoos: A Novel

by Denise Mathew

  I’d almost doubled my shifts in the past month. I knew I should have at least tried to explain to her why I was working more pro-bono hours than before. But that would have gone down bad because then I would have had to confess something that I wasn’t exactly ready to admit to myself.

  Despite my best intentions to keep out of the mix and not get emotionally involved with any patients on the ward, Marilee had somehow managed to bypass my fail safes. It was all I could do not to go in and see her even on my days off. For some reason I wanted to protect her, take her away from the pain, will the cancer away. The intensity of my feelings didn’t make sense. It wasn’t like she was the first person that I’d met with cancer, not by a long shot. The ward was filled with teenagers fighting for a chance at life and a future. Somehow Marilee was different.

  So much so, that I’d caved a few times and slipped into the hospital when I wasn’t exactly working. Those times I’d, for lack of a better word, spied on her, not willing to let her see that I was actually checking up on her. I reasoned that I was the friendly face in the midst of the trials that she was enduring every day. I knew there was more to it than that.

  And it hadn’t helped that she’d progressively gotten worse on the chemo treatments. I knew that people always got worse before they got better. I’d seen it enough times to know how it all went down. But for some reason seeing Marilee go down the path that so many before her had traveled, bothered me more. I tried to chock it up to her being alone so much.

  As far as I could see, her mother was a perpetual no show, and her father came and went so quickly that he may as well have not come at all. Yet as little as it was, in my opinion, Marilee seemed grateful for her father’s attention and the scraps of time he offered her. It ticked me off that they didn’t see what I did, that Marilee was starving for their love.

  “I’ll be fine Gran,” I said. I wrapped her in a tight embrace. She tried to stay irritated at me, holding her body stiff, but that lasted all of a few seconds. Her thin arms tightened around my waist then she pinched my cheeks the way she had done since forever. I knew we were good. I didn’t know how long the peace would last though. I’d resorted to lying to her, telling her that I was picking up extra shifts at Vinyl.

  Since I’d been a small kid I’d always promised I wouldn’t lie to her, but here I was doing just that. Not that my lies wouldn’t unravel when my sparse paycheck rolled in. I just hoped that I’d be able to scrape enough together to give Gran the share of the rent I insisted I pay every month. It wasn’t like Gran would ever be mad if I missed a month. It had happened before when I’d had unforeseen expenses like when I needed a new pair of Converses or a wheel for my bike. But now with Gran already giving me “the look” I’d be hard pressed to get out from beneath her hawk-eyed scrutiny.

  “You’d better be fine Jackson because I…”

  Her voice dropped away. She laid her hand over her heart as if bracing herself for the worst.

  “Like I said Gran, you worry too much,” I said.

  She shook her head as if I’d said the most absurd thing she’d ever heard. She sauntered back to the table and slid into the chair that she’d just left to ream me out. No matter how much I tried to comfort her, I saw the worry in her eyes. It didn’t help that she’d taken to reading playing cards and tea leaves. Two practices that she’d said she used to get more clarity on a tarot card reading.

  It meant that she was, as in her words, in a “high worry”. Seeing her like that stirred up a hornets nest of guilt in me. So far I’d managed to stuff the guilt into the depths of my soul. I had almost managed to forget about the past and what I’d put her through. How I’d made her sacrifice everything for me.

  She took a few tentative sips of tea. The way she was drinking the tea it was as if she didn’t really want to finish the cup and see what the leaves said. I snatched my leather jacket off the back of the chair. Just as I leaned over to give her a kiss goodbye she brought her focus to my face. But unlike the beady eye I’d expected to get, her eyes seemed clouded over, as if she were suddenly blind.

  “Gran…” I started to say.

  “We thought it was over but it’s not over, not yet. It’s coming again and this time I don’t know if I can save you,” she whispered in a voice so low that I had to strain to hear her. A violent shudder ran down my spine. I didn’t know what she was talking about, yet her words felt ominous. In that moment I more than believed that something bad was bound to happen.

  “You make sure you button that jacket it’s cold outside,” Gran said, as if she hadn’t said anything before. Her eyes were clear now. Whatever trance she’d been in, had passed. Another shiver ran through me. Rather than ask her what had just happened I gave her a peck on the cheek. I was out the door before she had a chance to say anything else.

  I noticed the distinctive bite in the air that said that snow would fly soon. It meant that I’d have to start taking the bus on a regular basis, my bike tires weren’t equipped to maneuver through snow, they barely managed in heavy rain.

  When I approached the front of St. Martins I noticed that the garden had already died back. The trees were stark. The pretty window dressing of bright colors and lush foliage, that tried to hide that the place was filled with sick children, had been stripped away and the truth was revealed for all to see.

  As usual the foyer of the hospital looked like someone had vomited a rainbow in the space. There was so much vibrant color, meant to impart a happy and friendly ambience, but to me it had always seemed like it was just too much. I was sure people like Cindy would have eaten the decor up like Halloween candy, but for the older teens, stuck between adulthood and childhood, it was just plain wrong.

  Today the space was a little different because workers on ladders shockingly high, were in the process of decorating the hospital with red and green. It reminded me just how rapidly time was passing. It also made me remember that it was the absolute worst time to be ditching shifts at Vinyl. Christmas was just over a month and a half away and I had to pony up some money for gifts. One gift to be exact, a new bed for Gran. Gran’s arthritis had only gotten worse over the past few years and it didn’t help that she slept in a bed that was probably ten years older than me.

  Gran deserved so much better than she’d been given in life, a real home, not a cockroach infested dump, a car to take her wherever she wanted to go and the comfort of having money in the bank. I couldn’t give her any of that right then, but maybe I could manage a comfortable bed.

  I made my way to the third floor, changed into my coveralls and pushed my cart down the hall. I checked in with other patients as I walked to 312. It was a feat that took all my willpower not to tear down the hall to see Marilee. I more than needed to check that she was okay. I hated to admit it, if I was being truthful, I was ensuring that she was still alive.

  As I approached her room I noticed that the curtain was partially open and that there were two people sitting in chairs at her bedside. It took me a moment to recognize the woman as Marilee’s mother. I’d only seen her a handful of times during the duration of Marilee’s treatment. Marilee’s father, Harold was with her.

  I positioned myself in a space that wasn’t visible from Marilee’s room, but where I could watch them. A part of me felt voyeuristic, but the other half of me wanted to be there if she needed me. After just a few moments I’d gleaned that she and her mother were at odds. Marilee, gaunt, with dark circles ringing her startling blue eyes, sat propped in the bed, a soft pink scarf wrapped around her bald head. I could tell she’d put some makeup on. But she was so ashen that any color that the blush supplied appeared artificial. I’d never seen her wear makeup before now. I assumed she’d applied it for her mother’s benefit.

  Luanne was coiffed and puffed and in my opinion everything that Marilee wasn’t. Where Marilee was a natural beauty, if now muted by the ravishes of cancer, her mother was a painted Barbie doll complete with the clothes to match. Her hair was platinum blonde and fell in coil
ing curls around her smooth cheeks, that were too pink. Her trout pout lips were bubblegum pink and slick with gloss, and looked like she’d had one too many trips to the plastic surgeon. Dressed in a v-neck t-shirt that matched her lips and cheeks, Luanne’s altered cleavage threatened to spill out with any sudden move. Black mile high stilettos, sharp as daggers coordinated with her mini-micro skirt that barely covered her thighs. A black fur stole that I was sure was real, was draped over one shoulder as if she were posing for a photo shoot.

  Marilee’s father, a slight man, whose diminutive size was more noticeable when he was at Luanne’s side, was dressed in black wool dress pants, a stiff white cotton shirt, straight from the cleaners and shiny loafers. His charcoal suit coat hung neatly from the back of the chair he sat in. Out of habit, he pushed his bulky framed glasses up the bridge of his nose several times as if they were constantly slipping, though as far as I could see they hadn’t moved.

  Harold seemed interested in what Marilee was saying, her mother fidgeted in her chair. Her eyes darting from her manicure, to the ceiling to the wall, anywhere it seemed was better than to actually look at her daughter. Witnessing the way she was ignoring Marilee pissed me off more than I expected. My hands fisted and it was all I could do not to go in the room, if nothing else, just to be there for Marilee.

  Luanne continued to ignore Marilee. Harold spoke in a tone too low for me to hear. Before he finished speaking, Marilee’s face twisted with a mix of grief and anger. Once again I wanted to rush into the room. I grabbed my dust broom and edged closer to the door, running it over the same spot several times as I tried to figure out what he’d said to upset Marilee. The fact that Luanne didn’t seem in the least bit affected by Marilee’s change in mood, infuriated me. How could anyone be so heartless, especially not a mother?

  Marilee’s voice rose, shrill and high. I froze in mid-swipe.

  “I understand why I needed to be admitted for the first round of chemo, but I don’t need to be here between cycles. I know I’m still weak and…” Her voice went low, as if it was taking all she had in her just to speak. Witnessing her pain felt like someone had ripped my heart from my chest. Why couldn’t they see how difficult it was for her, why didn’t they seem to care?

  Luanne tugged a pink tissue out of her purse. I noticed her fingernail polish matched her tissue perfectly. Right then calling her shallow would have been generous. Almost without my bidding I moved even closer, until I was standing right at the doorway. It would only take one casual look my way and they would have seen me. I didn’t care. I couldn’t wrap my head around the concept that Harold and Luanne, an overstuffed shirt and an antique teenager, were actually saying that their daughter wasn’t welcome in her own home between chemo cycles.

  “It’s better if you stay here until your next cycle, then, after it’s over if you feel well enough you can come home for day trips…” Harold said, pushing his glasses up one more time. An expression of regret crossed his face. I knew even in that glimpse, that it wasn’t what he wanted and that his hand was being forced. Unremitting anger threatened to undo me. I was just a hairsbreadth away from intervening. What kind of a bitch could be so cruel to her daughter, especially now in her darkest hour. Before I had a chance to barge in, Marilee sat straight up in bed. In that instant she’d shed her frailness and she was fire and ice, as if she’d dug deep into her reserves.

  “Day trips,” she yelled.

  Harold threw his hands up as if to stop the volcano that was erupting before his very eyes. Luanne twisted her tissues in her slender fingers, refusing to look at Marilee.

  “Mom, say something…say anything, you can’t just sit there as if it’s as easy as canceling a massage. This matters…”

  For the first time Luanne’s eyes met Marilee’s. The look of contempt that Luanne shot Marilee’s way made me want to shake her, make her understand that now, more than ever before Marilee needed some level of normality.

  “Be reasonable Marilyn, the people here are trained to take care of you…” Luanne said as if scolding a misbehaved child in the mall.

  How did she not get it? How could someone be so self-absorbed that they couldn’t see that Marilee was hanging by a thread. Sure she was strong, probably stronger than most, but she wasn’t made of steel. She was still human.

  Tears streamed down Marilee’s face. In less than a second all the fight drained from her. She laid back against her pillows.

  “It’s because I’m damaged now, like a broken down car and until I’m perfect, with a full head of hair and…”

  Marilee’s voice broke. She closed her eyes. Her lips trembled. She clutched and unclutched her quilt as if she’d given up. Harold showed what seemed like genuine remorse, but he didn’t say a single word. In my opinion staying silent was just as bad as not caring, like Marilee’s mother obviously didn’t.

  Luanne dabbed at her nose a few times as fresh tears cut tracks through her makeup. Anyone with a brain could see it was all an act. She didn’t give two shits about Marilee, but she wasn’t against milking as much sympathy as she could from the whole situation. Luanne was what Gran called an energy vampire, who sucked all the good out of people, leaving them feeling hollow and not sure why they felt so crappy.

  Hatred, hot and ripe spewed up in me. I knew I’d probably never work there again, but I couldn’t let them do it to her anymore.

  “You can’t do that to her, you miserable excuses for human beings,” I shouted, moving over the threshold of the door in a few seconds.

  “Who are you?” Harold said, jumping to his feet. His inability to recognize me despite the fact that we’d crossed paths more times than I could count, was so typical of people like him, guys with money. His ignorance of who I was only served to stoke my anger.

  “I’m Jax, and I suggest you and your skinny ass wife get the hell out of here before I smash…” I caught myself just before I threatened to hit him. It was one thing to lose my job, but quite another to get pulled in on threats to do bodily harm.

  Marilee’s eyes popped wide. She stared at me, a hint of a smirk pulled at the corner of her mouth. It was all I needed to continue with my tirade.

  “I always thought that money was a good thing, but the way you guys are buying people off so you don’t have to actually take responsibility for your daughter, who in my opinion has every right to want to be in her own home to recover, makes me sick. Despite the fact that you two jack wads live there too,” I said moving to Marilee’s side.

  Instinctively my hand found hers. The contact of our skin, mine warm and overheated and hers abnormally cool, gave me even more fodder for the already raging fire of my temper.

  Luanne popped out of her chair with the grace of a jaguar moving in for the kill. She immediately dropped the wounded mother act. Her eyes glittered with unspeakable rage.

  “How dare you toss such vile accusations at us, you’re nothing more than a cleaner, one who should know his place,” she spat.

  Her eyes sparked with venom that might have scared someone who hadn’t gone through the shit I’d lived through. I just grinned and met her glare with one of my own. It was an unspoken challenge that said no matter what she did, she wouldn’t break me. I opened my mouth to speak but before I could respond, Marilee, to my complete surprise, cut in.

  “Oh shut up Mom, your lapdog Harold might buy your fake high society snobbery but no one else does. Jax might be a cleaner but at least he does honest work and doesn’t use sex as a tool to get whatever he wants from a sugar daddy. You’re no better than a painted ho, the only difference is that you have a piece of paper that calls it a marriage, not prostituting your body,” Marilee hissed, regaining some of the fire I’d seen before. I squeezed her fingers in unspoken support.

  Harold staggered back as if he’d been physically hit. Luanne stiffened, clearly shocked by Marilee’s outburst. But rather than say anything she spun around and walked out of the room. The click of her heels seemed loud in the silence that followed.

&n
bsp; Harold trailed behind his wife and only when she was no longer visible did he turn to face us. He sucked in a ragged breath and set his gaze on Marilee, as if I wasn’t even in the room anymore.

  “I know you’re dealing with a lot right now but what you just said was cruel and spiteful…”

  He shook his head and sighed. “What’s happened to you Marilyn? You used to be so sweet and kind and…”

  Then, without warning I was in his sights like a deer in a hunters’ scope. The look he gave me showed me that he wasn’t the push over I’d thought he’d been, there was power in his stare. I was surprised at how the weight of it actually managed to make me feel a little uncomfortable. It was almost amusing that he’d picked now, when his dimwit wife had been insulted, to actually grow a pair, certainly not when Marilee was being tossed to people he could pay to take care of his problem. It made me wish he’d shown even a tenth of that authority with his overbearing wife.

  “I understand, you thought you were helping Marilyn with your comments, but it was extremely inappropriate. I hope this kind of thing doesn’t happen again because if it does I’ll be forced to report you,” he said in a business like tone.

  I nodded in response. Not that I was actually promising to hold my tongue. If circumstances warranted it and Marilee needed my support, I would say or do whatever it took. But there was no point in mentioning that now. He was right, I’d been completely out of line. He was doing me a solid by not reporting me. Truth be told, even though there was no paycheck at the end of the day, the concept of not working on the ward and more importantly not seeing Marilee every day, was inconceivable.

  With his piece said, Harold left. Marilee locked on the empty doorway for a few seconds before she spoke.

  “She’s right, I am sick and ugly. Sometimes I don’t know if I have the strength to get through this…” She cast her eyes my way. The suffering in her expression made me feel as if something had cracked inside me. Before I could respond she spoke again, and her words left me so cold that I instantly felt encased in ice.