Reinventing Rachel

by Alison Strobel

  “But did you believe any of the words? I don’t know much about the rosary, but I know that Mary and Jesus and the Lord’s Prayer all figure into it. Did you—do you—believe in Jesus and Mary and the words of the Lord’s Prayer?”

  “Well, yes and no. I believe Jesus existed, and he certainly must have had a mother if he did. And given the kind of man Jesus was, his mother must have been pretty amazing, too. You could do a lot worse than to look to them for inspiration.”

  “But the Lord’s Prayer—‘Our Father, who is in heaven’ and all that—those are specifically Christian beliefs. How could you pray those words and also pray to Buddha and Zeus or whoever?”

  Ruby Jean laughed. “Well, Buddha wasn’t a god, so people don’t pray to him. But I know what you’re saying.” She thought a minute. “I guess I just see it all as different manifestations of the same entity, or life force, or whatever. Christians call it the Trinity, Muslims call it Allah, Native Americans call it the Great Spirit, and so on. They’re all just synonyms, really. And depending on my mood, or the situation at hand, one spiritual tradition feels more ‘right’ and makes more sense to turn to than the others.”

  Rachel opened her mouth to ask another question and found she had nothing to say. She knew the responses she would normally give—she was well armed with Christian apologetics. But now, without solid faith in Christianity, she had no basis from which to evaluate Ruby Jean’s beliefs. She filled the gap with another long sip from her drink. “I’m stumped, honestly,” she said finally.

  Ruby Jean chuckled. “It’s a very different approach than what you were raised with; I’m not surprised it doesn’t make sense to you. But, for the most part, it’s worked for me for forty years. I just feel people get very insular and exclusionary when they start making absolute assertions about their beliefs. It makes more sense to me to acknowledge that we’re all looking for the divine and have our own way of connecting with it.” She cocked her head, staring Rachel down. “So, if I may ask—since moving to Chicago, what has your spiritual life been like?”

  It didn’t take long for Rachel to come up with an answer. “I haven’t had one. I haven’t prayed, I haven’t gone to church, I haven’t read my Bible. Not a day went by in California when I didn’t do at least one of those things, if not all three. But since I’ve been here …” She shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “And have you noticed the absence of those things?”

  The answer that came to her was a surprise. “You know, I think I have. I just haven’t let myself think about it much. It’s all too confusing. I mean, if those things were … I don’t know … vital? True? Right? I don’t know what word to use for them. But whatever it is, if they were that, then I guess I feel like things would have turned out differently. I wouldn’t have been completely screwed over by the most important people in my life.”

  Ruby Jean rubbed her thumbs through the condensation on her glass. “In the Baha’i faith, suffering is believed to be either the consequence of your own actions or a test sent by God to perfect you. If you take the position of the victim, rather than the position of a student being challenged, then you can miss the lesson that suffering can teach you. Buddhism teaches that suffering is the result of desire, and that eradicating desire will eradicate suffering. Both Hinduism and Buddhism include doctrines of karma—the belief that ‘what goes around comes around,’ essentially.”

  Rachel frowned. “I’m confused. If you were me, which one would you look to in order to make sense of what had happened?”

  Ruby Jean shrugged. “Depends on what had happened and what I felt needed to happen in order to make up for it or help me feel better.”

  “So … you don’t have some hard-and-fast rule saying that you’ll go to Buddhist beliefs when X happens, or Catholic beliefs when Y happens—you just go wherever you think feels right?”

  Ruby Jean beamed at her, as though she’d just deciphered the spiritual Rosetta stone. “Exactly.”

  Rachel ruminated on this for a moment, trying to make herself think the same way Ruby Jean did. But all she kept coming back to was how illogical it all sounded. She didn’t want to come off like some religious snob, but at the same time she couldn’t shake the belief that the tenets of a religion should make logical sense. And to say all religions were true when so many of them directly contradicted each other just didn’t fit that belief. “I guess it’s hard for me to make sense of that. Hope that doesn’t offend you.…”

  “No offense taken.” Ruby Jean took another sip, then said, “I don’t expect you to think my approach to spirituality makes sense. It goes completely against your upbringing. I get that, so you don’t have to worry. But let me ask you this: You say you’ve missed all those things you used to do—praying, reading your Bible, going to church. But is your life—your everyday existence—any different without it? You may miss the ritual of it, but is there a gaping hole in your life where those things should be? Or has it been business as usual, minus the trappings of Christianity?”

  Rachel knew the fact that she didn’t want to answer the question spoke volumes. “I think,” she said slowly, eyes focused on the amber bottle in Ruby Jean’s hand, “I think it’s just been business as usual.” The truth of it became clear once she admitted it aloud. And it scared her.

  But Ruby Jean seemed pleased. “Honesty with yourself is the first step in looking honestly at the world.”

  Rachel knew she meant it to be comforting. But in reality, it made her feel lost.

  o

  Rachel had no sooner walked in the door on Saturday afternoon when Daphne hustled her back out again to go to the north side for their tattoo date. “Let’s go, baby, let’s go!”

  “Someone’s excited.”

  “I know! Aren’t you?”

  “I’m nervous!”

  “Pauvre bébé,” Daphne cooed. “No fear now, it’s just pain—and pain always ends eventually.”

  “Gee, that’s comforting.”

  Rachel cast a sidelong glance at Daphne as she skittered along the sidewalk to the L station. “Have you been dipping into my coffee stash?”

  Daphne laughed. “No, why?”

  “You look like you’re hopped up on some serious caffeine.”

  “Nope, just excited.” She flashed a toothy grin at Rachel, then linked her arm through hers. “So what are you going to get—did you decide? I’m going for the laurel wreath.”

  Rachel shrugged. “All I came up with is a Celtic knot, but I’m not sold on it.”

  Daphne grabbed her arm. “I had an idea for you.… Wanna hear it?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Something that symbolizes freedom. Like—the freedom you have now to live your own life—freedom from the constraints you were living with, freedom from a totally crap relationship with Patrick, freedom to make your own decisions, your own way.”

  The idea resonated with Rachel, though not for the reasons Daphne apparently thought it would. “I like that. Though it would be more like ‘freedom, please’ than ‘freedom, yes I have it.’” She smiled. “It’s a great idea. What symbol could I use?”

  Daphne bobbed her head from side to side as she thought. “I don’t know.”

  Rachel laughed. “You’re a lot of help.”

  “Oh! I know! We’ll find a bookstore and see if we can find a Chinese dictionary, and you can get the Chinese calligraphy symbol for it!”

  Rachel mulled this over as they waited for a stoplight to change. She liked the idea of the Chinese symbol—no one could look at it and know right away what it meant. It would be her little secret. Though, that meant constantly being asked what it meant—and did she want to have to explain it all the time?

  But she definitely liked the idea of some kind of symbol, rather than just a random image like the Celtic knot idea had been. If she was going to get something permanently inked on her body, she at least wanted it to mean something. And freedom—well, wasn’t that why she’d moved in the first place, just like Daphne had
said?

  Rachel nodded as they crossed the street. “I think a Chinese symbol could totally work. I’ll do that.” Daphne clapped. “Where should I get it?”

  “Your wrist or your ankle—those would be my suggestions.”

  Her wrist seemed too exposed, but she liked the idea of having a constant reminder for the days when she was starting to doubt the wisdom of all this freedom. She’d been having a lot of those since her discussion with Ruby Jean. Plus, she could hide it with sleeves or a watch if she really wanted to. “Wrist it is.”

  They hopped the L and found seats in the back. Rachel tried not to think too much about the process that was awaiting her at DragonLady Tattoos, the parlor one of Daphne’s friends had recommended. It’s just pain—it won’t last forever, she chanted to herself as the train slid along the rails. A mantra with all sorts of application these days, though she had a hard time imagining a day when the memories of her dad and Patrick and Barbara wouldn’t hurt. We’ll just see if time really heals all wounds. She turned to Daphne. “So tell me what—” Rachel frowned. Daphne’s mouth was clenched shut and her jaw sliding back and forth as she stared out the window. “Oh my gosh, how can you do that? It makes my skin crawl.”

  Daphne clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. Bad habit.”

  “I’ve never seen you do that.”

  “Yeah, I think it started when I quit my job.”

  Rachel nodded. “Nerves, maybe.”

  “Yeah, that’s probably it.”

  “How is the job these days?”

  Daphne sagged against the blue upholstery of the seat. “It sucks.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I mean, it’s a job, and it’s better than being unemployed, but I swear I lose more brain cells every day I’m there.”

  “Have you been looking for anything else?”

  “Not really. I should, I know.”

  “I’ll help you if you want.”

  Daphne snorted. “Yeah, in all your free time.”

  Rachel frowned. “I’m sorry. I know I’m not around a lot. I really do feel bad about that—we finally get to live together, and I’m hardly ever home.”

  “It’s all right.” Daphne shrugged, fingernails raking up and down her arm, and turned her gaze to the window. “You’ve got a life. You shouldn’t feel bad about that. I’m sorry I get so jealous sometimes.” She smiled a quirky, lopsided grin. “I didn’t think I’d ever be jealous of you for anything but your family.”

  “Ha, well, not much to be jealous of there anymore.”

  “They still love you, though.”

  Rachel’s heart hurt. “Yeah, you’re right.”

  “But seriously—I always felt so bad for you. All that church, all that clean living.” Her eyes sparkled with the mischievous look Rachel had so often seen. “I always figured once I converted you to the dark side I’d be your mentor, and now here you are with the hot boyfriend and the totally cool job and no need for a best girlfriend anymore.”

  The snarky undertone that edged Daphne’s words took Rachel by surprise. “What? Are you nuts? Of course I need you. You’re my best friend—you always have been. Guys have never gotten between us before. Why would they now?”

  “It’s not just guys.” Daphne’s voice hinted at irritation. “You’ve taken to your new life so well. You didn’t need help from me like I thought you would. And then, just when it seemed like we were finally on equal footing, my life blows up in my face, and I’m back to needing you again like I did when we were kids. I’m tired of being the needy one. I wanted you to need me for once.”

  “Oh, Daph.” Rachel’s heart ached. “I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel like I was better than you. I never thought that, and I never will. And believe me, I do need you. You’re the only person in my life who knows me inside and out. And any success I’ve had since moving out here has only been because of your support. Who else would I go to for advice about Jack? I have no idea what I’m doing in that relationship, seriously!” She laughed and was happy to see Daphne’s mouth pull into a small smile. “I’d be sunk without you, sister. Really.”

  Daphne leaned into Rachel for a brief moment, then sat up straight and rolled her head on her shoulders. “Okay, okay, okay, enough of this. Where are we, anyway? We need to change trains soon, I think.”

  The rest of their ride was uneventful, though Daphne’s mood continued to sink. By the time they found a bookstore she looked downright depressed. “You okay?” Rachel asked as they entered the chain store’s double doors.

  “Yeah, yeah. Gonna go to the bathroom, though. I’ll meet you at the Chinese dictionaries, okay?” She disappeared between the tall shelves, and Rachel was left to navigate the labyrinth alone.

  Her thoughts were distracted as she hunted for the right section. The fact that Daphne felt the way she did gnawed at her. But other than trying to reassure her and being careful to spend more time at home, she didn’t know what else to do. She remembered the statement she’d seen on Daphne’s desk and wondered if part of Daphne’s life “blowing up” in her face had to do with financial strain. She didn’t want to bring it up, but she wanted to be able to help if she could.

  She found the dictionaries, and then the symbol she wanted, before Daphne got back. She borrowed paper and a pen from a student hunkered down in the café and sketched out the calligraphy to bring to the parlor, then made her way to the bathroom just as Daphne was coming out.

  “Sorry, long line.” She nodded to the paper in Rachel’s hand. “Found it?”

  “Yeah, what do you think?”

  “Love it, love it!” Daphne’s mood seemed to have improved. “Okay, DragonLady, here we come.”

  They entered the shop and approached the counter near the front. A woman with more ink than Rachel had ever seen on one person was carefully drawing on tracing paper but stopped and looked up as they stepped closer.

  “Hey ladies. You both getting tats today?”

  “Yes,” they answered together and traded smiles.

  “Got pictures or you need sketches made?” Rachel put her paper on the glass counter and Daphne pulled a photocopied picture from her pocket. The woman asked them about sizing and where the images would be placed, then stood up straight and pulled down two more sheets of tracing paper. “Give me a minute to prep these, okay?”

  They nodded and retreated to a bench in the waiting area, neither of them speaking, though Daphne’s knee bounced rapidly as her eyes locked onto another customer sitting at one of the stations whose arm was being decorated with a twining vine. Rachel was glad to know that Daphne was more nervous than she was admitting. Rachel stared too until the sight of the needle made her ill and she had to look away. The drone of the tattoo in progress was harder to ignore.

  Ten long minutes passed before the woman finished her job. “Okay, ladies. These are done.” She looked over to the main part of the shop and hollered, “Mikey, you up?”

  “Yeah, hold on.” A young, skinny man with a shaved head appeared from behind a beaded curtain at the far end of the shop. The woman pointed to the station where he sat down. “One of you can go to Mikey’s station; the other can go to mine. I’ll be right over, just wanna finish this other sketch.”

  Rachel’s nerves zinged as she wiped sweaty palms on her skirt and followed Daphne deeper into the shop. No turning back now. Daphne perched herself on the edge of the chair at Mikey’s station and introduced herself when he reached out to shake her hand. In typical Daphne style she had him engaged in conversation before Rachel had even gotten herself comfortable on the chair at the woman’s station. She watched with fascination as he began to prep Daphne’s back, but ripped her gaze away when the woman approached.

  “I’m Shaundra, by the way.”

  “Hi—I’m Rachel.”

  “Nice to meet you, Rachel.” She sat on a wheelie stool and pulled herself over to a tray that contained a number of frightening looking objects. “This is your first tat?”

  “Ye
ah.”

  Shaundra gave her a kind smile. “I kinda thought so.” She set the tracing paper on the tray and pulled on a pair of rubber gloves. “So where we putting this?”

  “My wrist.”

  “All righty, just rest your arm here. then.” Rachel put her arm up on the armrest and took a deep breath.

  “Nervous?”

  “Yeah, just a little.”

  Shaundra chuckled as she shaved Rachel’s wrist smooth, then rubbed a deodorant stick over the area. “This will make the transfer darker so I can see it better.” She carefully laid the transfer paper against her skin and pressed it down, then peeled it away. “How does that look?”

  “Hm, nice—maybe we can just leave it at that.”

  She laughed. “Having second thoughts?”

  Rachel took another deep breath. “No, it’s all good. Go for it.”

  Shaundra began to prep her instruments. “This is a small one; it really should take less than twenty minutes. Trust me, you’ll be fine.”

  Her tone wasn’t mocking or patronizing, and Rachel appreciated her understanding. “Thanks.”

  She shuffled various implements on the little table beside the chair, then said, “Okay, last piece of prep before we start. This is just petroleum jelly; I’m going to smear a little on the design so the needle moves more smoothly.”

  Rachel tried not to shudder from the cold of the jelly—or from the thought of the needle—as Shaundra’s fingers gently applied the ointment. She closed her eyes and began to breathe slowly and deeply. You can do this. You can so do this. Women give birth without pain meds all the time; you can withstand twenty minutes of a needle. Just keep breathing.

  “Okay, gonna start in a second here. It’ll feel sort of like scratching on your skin, but a bit hot. Something like that, anyway. Just keep breathing. Holding your breath will just make it worse.” The needle whirred to life, and Rachel clenched her teeth. “Okay, here we go.”

  A hot scratch. Sure. Times twenty. Rachel forced the air in and out through her nose and pushed her mind to concentrate on absolutely anything else but what was happening. She ran through lyrics of songs, even allowing herself to mentally sing through Christian tunes from CDs she’d chucked back in California—anything to keep her mind occupied.