Perfect Collision

by Lina Andersson

  “Yeah,” Vi said in her usual quiet way. While balancing Travis on her hip, she rooted around in the huge, military green bag hanging over her shoulder. She soon handed Eliza a blue plastic folder. “I gotta go, Eliza.”

  “Will you be back?”

  “Yeah,” she nodded and then left.

  This time he didn’t check out her ass; it seemed suicidal with Bear sitting next to him. Instead he looked down at the picture Eliza took from folder.

  “What is that?”

  “She paints pictures for me. More grownup versions of fairytales. This is The Little Mermaid saving the prince from drowning.”

  He took a closer look. It was a woman, underwater, holding a man just above the surface. It was all done in different shades of blue, and it was absolutely amazing.

  He remembered the pictures hanging on the walls in Eliza’s room. He’d noticed some of them were from classic fairytales, just a bit more haunting than normally. More Grimm than Disney, and they were good.

  “Did Vi do all your pictures?”

  “Yes. She’s trying to learn how to paint in color.”

  As far as he could tell, there was no ‘learning’ about it. The girl could paint in color.

  Later that night, he noticed Vi on the couch with her black sketchbook in her lap, and he argued with himself for a while whether he should leave her alone or not. He decided it was worth a shot and went over to talk to her. When he got closer, she closed her sketchbook and put it into her bag, just like she’d done the last time. Apparently she still wasn’t big on showing her art, but he sat down next to her anyway.

  “It was great. The picture you gave to Eliza,” he clarified when he noticed her looking a bit confused.

  “Thanks.”

  He laughed. “You’re better at taking compliments now.”

  “A little,” she mumbled while looking down at her hands resting in her lap.

  “It’s really nice of you. She loves fairytales.”

  “I know.” She smiled a little. “I need the practice, and she likes the pictures. It’s a good trade. I would’ve kept them in my drawers.”

  He was pretty sure it was the longest sentence she’d ever said to him, and he wanted to keep her talking.

  “What do you wanna do with it? Painting, I mean.”

  “I’ve been thinking about art school,” she said with a shrug, “but I don’t know.”

  “I think you’d do good.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t know. It’s just… drawing. I mean, I like to do it, but I wish I could do more with it. I’ve been thinking about trying sculptures, but I don’t know about that either. When you do that stuff, all kinds of art, you have to, like, talk to people and explain it. And it’s so narrow.”

  “Narrow?”

  He was amazed; apparently asking about art was the way to get her talking. And she surprised him, because she seemed very mature for her age. Even if she stuttered and seemed embarrassed, she’d really thought about this and had good reasoning.

  “Well, if you do art you end up in a niche. I like painting people, like portraits, which is pretty boring as far as art goes. But I like doing other things, too, that’s completely different from portraits. It’s not that common to do different types of art. So, I don’t know. I just like to paint, different styles, and not talk about it.” She cleared her throat. “I’m not good at talking to people.”

  “Could do ink. Not like you need to explain much. Just do one and let the happy customer leave. And you’d get to do different types of art.” It was just something he said, but she stiffened next to him and turned around to look at him with big eyes, as if she’d just thought about something. So, he continued, “Could ask around here, got some good artists coming to the club. One of them might let you start as an apprentice.”

  That’s when she smiled, and he was taken aback. The girl had the most amazing fucking smile!

  “I’ll do that. That’s a great idea! Thank you!”

  She got up, still with a wide smile on her lips, and he said the only thing he could think of.

  “Can thank me by giving me free ink.”

  “Sure!” And she was still smiling! “I’ll do that. Might need some practice first.”

  “Yeah, get some practice and get back to me. You’ll do great, I’ve seen your paintings.”

  When she leaned down, he caught a whiff of her hair, then she planted a kiss on his cheek, and his brain short-circuited. By the time he snapped out of it, she was gone and Bear stood in front of him instead. And Bear was not smiling.

  “What was that about?”

  “Oh… Uh… I suggested she could become a tattoo artist. Since…” he cleared his throat. “She’s good at painting, and… Fuck! Man, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. We were talking, and I just threw it out there.”

  “Nah.” He looked after Violet. “That’s actually a good idea. She hasn’t been sure about what she wants to do with her art.”

  Bear turned back to him again, and it was his turn to give Mac a huge smile. He could sort of see the similarities between the smiles. Although Vi’s smile was less hairy and a lot nicer.

  “Fuck man,” Bear continued with a chuckle. “Think you just saved us a lot of grief. Owe you one.”

  Mac remained in some sort of shock for a while. Her smile and just… all of it. But he realized he might’ve helped her a little, and it was a pretty good feeling.

  -o0o—

  Sami, Bear’s favorite tattoo artist, was sitting opposite him at a run-down bar not far from Wicked Ink, the tattoo shop Sami owned.

  He didn’t look like a tattoo artist. If he’d been in a suit and tie he might even pass as a business man or an ambulance-chasing lawyer. Basically, with his light brown hair, normal build, and constant bored expression, he looked like an average Joe. But Sami wasn’t just Bear’s favorite artist, he was his friend and rumored to be one of the best trainers. Bear wanted Vi to have the best.

  Since the Christmas party at the clubhouse, all she’d talked about was tattooing, and for the first time she seemed hopeful. As if there was something that would allow her to make a living out of her art.

  School was hell for her, and she was so worried about her future, that there wouldn’t be anything she’d be able to do. Ella’s ramblings about how she had to shape up if she wanted to become something weren’t helping.

  He knew she felt the divorce was her fault, which it wasn’t—not at all. She was a really small problem in a marriage full of big problems.

  Just after the separation, Vi’d tried some meds to treat the ADD. The main reason she hadn’t tried it sooner was that Ella’d been dead against it. But it had been a bust. Vi hadn’t liked them or how they made her feel. As far as she was concerned, they didn’t help. There had been some bad side effects, too. They’d given it nine months, and then she refused to keep trying, and he wasn’t going to force her. It had been hard on her; she’d put a lot of hope on those pills helping her.

  All he wanted was for her to feel good about herself. Tattooing seemed to be something she thought could work for her with all the little quirks that were her. This was hope, and he was going to make it happen.

  “Seriously, Bear,” Sami said with a tired voice. “I’m not sure it’s even legal. She’s sixteen.”

  “I checked. There are no laws against her inking, and definitely no laws against her working at a shop or learning about it. Only laws about getting tattoos and health codes for the shops.”

  “She’s sixteen. She could change her mind in a heartbeat. I know what girls that age are like.”

  “Sami, all I’m asking for is that you give her a shot. Look at her sketches and pictures and give her a chance.”

  Sami still looked bothered.

  “I’ll pay you,” Bear tried and Sami’s expression changed from bothered to offended.

  “I know artists do that, but I don’t. If I take on an apprentice, it’s because I think he or she can become something—not because I need money!
”

  “Fine!” He pushed the sketchbooks he’d taken from Vi’s room across the table. “But I’m not leaving until you’ve looked at these.”

  With a sigh, Sami took them and opened the sketchbook lying on top of the pile. The nonchalance in his flips through the pages slowly disappeared. Soon he was leaning forward, studying the drawings closely. He looked at Bear.

  “She’s good at portraits. Got a real talent for capturing a person.”

  “I know,” he said and held his breath. “So?”

  “I’m giving her two months,” Sami said after a few more pages. “She needs to prove she’s serious, and if she starts acting all teenage girl on me—”

  “She won’t! She’s shy, doesn’t talk much. She’ll follow your lead, I promise. She’s a really nice girl.”

  “Okay,” Sami nodded and kept flipping through the pages. “You weren’t kidding. She’s good.”

  “Yeah, she is.”

  “Drawing and tattooing are not the same, not even close, and she needs to understand that.”

  “I’ll talk to her.”

  “And this isn’t going to be a one-year apprenticeship, I’m gonna demand years from her. Also, I’m not paying her. She won’t get a cent until I let her take on clients of her own.”

  “I’ll tell her. Listen—” He wasn’t sure how to explain the next part to Sami. “She’s not a typical teenage girl. She’s calm, really calm… she…” He wasn’t sure if he should tell Sami or if it would just make it worse.

  “Something I should know?” Sami asked.

  “She’s… she’s got ADD.”

  “That hyperactivity shit?”

  “No! No, it’s similar, the same focus problems, but without the hyperactivity. And if it’s something she likes doing she can focus for hours. It’s called hyper-focus, and she won’t stop unless you force her to. It won’t be a problem, but it means she’s really, really calm and her mood is… freakishly even. She doesn’t get pissed, hardly ever, and she doesn’t really get happy either. I mean, she get’s happy, she just doesn’t show it much. Unless she’s really happy.”

  He never knew how to explain Vi to people, and he didn’t like doing it, but he figured Sami should know if he was going to be her teacher.

  “A teenage girl with an even mood?” Sami mumbled and closed the sketchbook. “That’s something new.”

  “But you’ll give her a shot?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “I won’t tell anyone about the ADD, but I appreciate you telling me.”

  “It’s more since people sometimes think she’s bored when she’s not. I don’t want you to think she’s bored, she won’t be, it just won’t be obvious that she likes what she’s doing unless she tells you.—and she doesn’t talk much.”

  “That’s good to know.” He emptied his beer. “Take her by the shop tomorrow, let her meet everyone.”

  “I will.”

  He shook Sami’s hand and then sat down with a relieved sigh. He’d done it! He had no hesitations about Vi keeping her end of the bargain. She knew what was at stake, and she’d do her very best at all times. He hadn’t been shitting Sami, when something held her interest she could go on for hours. That’s what happened when she was drawing, and he knew she’d be the same about tattooing. She’d do fine.

  Momentum: You Ready?

  -o0o—

  I HAD CLEANED AND prepared everything at Sami’s work station, and I was watching Joe work. He was doing some serious lining on a girl’s back.

  I couldn’t believe it when Dad told me I’d been accepted as Sami’s apprentice, and that he’d agreed to give me a shot after seeing my art. I knew Sami hadn’t really liked the idea, because he thought I was too young, but Dad’d convinced him. I’d made sure it was the non-violent sort of convincing.

  I’d been working for two months. So far, I was mostly breaking down and preparing work stations. It was a lot to think about; a lot of health and safety codes.

  On my first day, Trixie, the shop manager, had pointed at the work station she wanted me to break down, and said that I should imagine anything covered in plastic wrap as being covered in blood. If I touched it, my hand was contaminated, and I couldn’t touch anything clean with that hand.

  She’d taught me to use one hand as the clean hand, and the other as the contaminated one. She kept saying that word, ‘contaminated’; it made it sound like I was spreading a disease—which I possibly was.

  Sami was pretty rough on me, but not really in a bad way. I understood why. He didn’t want to spend a long time training someone who dropped the entire thing to become a model in New York, or something equally stupid. I think he’d gotten it, though, that I wanted this, and he’d been a lot nicer lately. I’d even dared to ask him why he had a girl’s name. Turned out it was Finnish, and in Finland, it was most definitely a man’s name.

  The first thing Sami’d told me was that drawing and tattooing were two completely different things, but he thought I had an eye for composing images and colors. He taught me a lot about tattoo history. He said I needed to know where inking came from and its history, because that made me understand the deeper meaning behind the different styles of tattoos. Old School, black and gray, ornamental, Japanese, realistic—and that was just a few of them. He taught me all of them, along with what defined them and how they were done.

  Terminology was another thing, both the official and the slightly less official. Like ‘virgin skin,’ someone who getting their first tattoo. None of the guys liked working on those, both because they were scared of the pain, and also because they were by far the pickiest and least cooperative customers.

  Finally, the tattoo machine. I already knew each and every part of it and how to take it apart, clean it, and the theory of how to adjust it. The different types of machines and needles; there was a lot more to them than I’d ever imagined.

  I took every chance to watch the others work. In the beginning I’d been worried they’d think I was in the way or that they’d be annoyed, but they weren’t. The way they all saw it, it was just proof I was serious, so I’d stopped apologizing.

  The more time I spent at the shop, the more I loved it. I realized I’d been right about it; it really was a way to make living art, to make people happy and more proud about themselves. Sometimes even helping them in their grief and loss. I was fascinated by how much a tattoo could mean to a person. Much more than any other art I could ever give someone. What I personally liked most was that I wouldn’t have to settle for one type of art. I’d be doing so many different types—and it was thanks to Mac.

  I’d been to the clubhouse to thank him, and he’d just repeated I could thank him by giving him free ink later. I was so going to do that if he let me!

  I sat and watched Joe work for a while and then went over to Chris. He was the youngest artist working at the shop, and he’d been really cool with me. He was pretty hot: 50s hairdo, short beard, and he often wore clothes like slacks, short-sleeved shirt, and a vest showing off his muscular arms full of ink. Girls always wanted to get their tattoos from him, especially the ones who wanted something small at their lower back. He hated doing those tattoos.

  I liked him, because if I was sitting next to him, he talked to me and explained what he was doing and the different types of techniques. He always used expressions like ‘pound that fucking ink into the skin like it’s begging for it,’ which made the customers stare at him—or the girls giggle.

  He was doing an ornamental tattoo on a guy’s arm; that was his specialty. He’d told me that even if all black might look easy, it was really important to get them right on the body, make them followed the natural lines and fit the shape of the body. That way they looked best and didn’t look distorted when the person moved. He also always brought up the importance of negative space. ‘Negative space’ was probably the most common phrase coming out of his mouth. Along with ‘it’s not just where you put the ink, it’s where you’re not putting it, too.’

  “See how I’m
packing color here, kid,” he mumbled and leaned slightly to the side to make sure I could see what he was doing. “Need to get it in there, the more you pack, the more even it’ll come out.”

  I wasn’t getting paid, not one cent, but I didn’t care. I did whatever they told me to do, and when I wasn’t cleaning or doing errands—like getting them food or something—I watched. I watched every chance I got, and I couldn’t get enough of it.

  When Joe was done with his customer, he called for me, and I left Chris’s side to go and break down Joe’s station.

  Trixie sat down on a chair to watch me work, probably waiting for a customer. Besides being the shop manager, she was a piercer. She was in her forties, full of ink and piercings, and really, really cool. Possibly the coolest woman I’d ever met, and I’d met some cool women. I liked her. I liked all of them, but I liked her the best.

  “You ready?” she asked me with a big smile when I was done.

  “Ready for what?”

  “Your first customer.”

  I stared at her, and the next second Sami walked into the shop holding something in his arms. It looked like a piece of meat.

  “JB, meet your first customer,” he said and dropped it on a table. “This is Julius, and you need to treat him with care.”

  I looked between Sami, Trixie, and Joe. I thought I’d been wrong, but it really was the side of a pig—with the skin still on it.

  “Like a customer?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Same professionalism,” Sami said in a serious voice. “I’m not kidding you, same care to details and health codes.”

  “Okay,” I said and looked at the dead piece of pig lying on the table. “So, should I pretend Julius tells me what tattoo he wants?”

  “Kid, you’re doing a cherry blossom,” Sami laughed. “That’s always the first tattoo here at Wicked Ink.”

  “First tattoo at most places,” Joe said in a tired voice. “Or a butterfly. You’re gonna do a lot of cherry blossoms and butterflies.”

  “Don’t forget the dolphins,” Trixie added.

  Then I fucking did it! They were all talking and teasing, but I shut them out. It was a bit like in school, but instead of closing my eyes to focus on what the teacher was saying, I closed my ears and focused on the ink. And despite it being a raw dinner I was working on, it still felt so awesome to work that tattoo machine. I felt disappointed once the flower was done, and I looked up at Sami.