by Sarah Delany
I lean my head back and draw in three big breaths to center myself. Today is going to be a shit day no matter what but if I can lessen my parents pain, it will help me through. With a new focus, I wash up and change my clothes. The fact we are going to Quinn’s grave has left me with not much of an appetite so I sip on a black coffee instead. Without caffeine, I don’t think I’d have energy to do anything. It’s what has kept me going for so long. Placing my empty cup in the sink, I turn around to find Mum and Dad at the kitchen table, waiting patiently for me.
“I need to do something quickly then we can go,” I tell them. They nod and I wander down the hall to the back door. Sitting down in the yard, I find a bunch of the small flowers Quinn loved. I pick a couple handfuls worth and raise my gaze to the blue sky above. Is she up there watching over me? Can she feel how much I miss her? With a loud exhale I gather myself and walk back inside to my parents.
“Mum, have you got any red ribbon for these?” I ask, showing Mum the daisies I hold in my hands. She notices what I’m holding and her lips tilt upwards. We all knew how obsessed with daisies Quinn was.
“I’ll have a look. Does it have to be red though?” she asks, curious why I asked for that particular colour.
“Yes, if you have it please,” I say, remembering why Quinn chose the red door. I’m hoping the red ribbon will offer her some protection wherever she is now. It may not mean anything but I hope she can feel my small gesture.
Mum disappears into her room and comes back a few minutes later carrying a perfectly coloured red ribbon roll. She cuts two strips off the end and takes one handful of daisies at a time, tying a bow around each bunch.
Taking the bundles carefully back from her I say, “Okay, I’m ready to go now.”
The three of us pile into the car and sit in silence. All of us, lost in our own thoughts on the drive to the cemetery. Once we arrive, we walk together to our destination. I hear rustling and I glance to where the noise is and see Dad is carrying a plastic bag, while I carefully carry my daisy bundles.
Our feet all stop walking at once as we look down at her grave.
“Happy birthday baby,” I hear Mum sob. She can’t contain her tears any longer and I let my own tears caress my face. I move to Mum’s side and place my arm around her shoulders to offer her comfort. I need human contact. We stare at the white cross with Quinn’s name across it. There’s still no proper headstone yet but my parents tell me you wait to do that later on. It tugs on my heart and I feel as if this grief will never end. There will always be something bringing us back to the fact she’s not here with us anymore.
I loosen my grip on Mum and bend down. With shaking hands, I place my two daisy bundles next to the white cross.
“Happy birthday, Quinny,” I whisper, hoping she can hear me. I stay in my crouched position, staring at her name with thoughts rushing at me. The rustling from Dad’s bag grabs my attention and then he’s bent down next to me holding out a bright, colourful, plastic windmill. He holds out another to Mum and he keeps one for himself.
“I thought if we put these here, she might be able to feel us with her when the wind blows,” he says quietly. I look at my dad, who has aged so much lately, and put my hand on his shoulder, giving him a squeeze.
“She would have loved them,” I tell him, because it’s the truth. She loved bright colourful things. She always wore the brightest colours. I can’t remember a time where I ever saw her wear black. I push my one down into the dirt in front of the cross as Dad pushes his down on the left of it. Mum bends down and I help her push her one into the space on the right. There we stand, three little windmills all standing tall and blowing around Quinn.
We slowly stand and Dad rustles in his bag again, pulling out some plastic sunflowers.
He lays them down behind the cross and I hear him whisper, “So the sun is always with you. Happy birthday baby girl,” before he comes to stand next to Mum taking her hand in his. Mum rests her head on his shoulder and we stand there silently again, lost in our own thoughts. I’m so absorbed by my thoughts when Dad touches my shoulder, I jolt from the contact. “Are you ready to go son?” he asks, and I nod.
I turn back to the small white cross one last time and whisper, “I love you Quinn,” and let my feet follow after my parents, leading me away from her. The drive back to the house is as silent as it was on the way to the grave.
Once we enter the house, my dad says to my mum, “Honey, I’ve organised something for Tate today so he and I are going to head out for a bit.” He leans forward giving her a kiss on her cheek. She looks between us but I follow my dad’s lead and don’t say anything.
“Have fun,” she finally says, when she realises Dad isn’t going to tell her where we are going.
Dad and I walk back to the car and once he pulls out of the driveway, he says, “I didn’t tell your mother where we are going. I thought it might be better after the fact.” For that I’m grateful, because I know Mum would try to stop me.
“Thanks Dad,” I say sincerely, turning to face him.
He shifts his gaze quickly my way while maintaining his focus on the road and says, “It’s okay son. I understand why you want to do it. It’s a sweet gesture and I’m sure your mother will understand too. Plus it’ll be too late by then,” he says with a sad smile. It isn’t long before he’s pulling up in front of the tattoo and piercing parlour. “I’ve booked your appointment so all you have to do is tell them what you want and they’ll take it from there.”
We walk in and it isn’t like what I thought it would be. It’s bright and looks very hygienic. More like a doctor’s office than a tattoo parlour. We are greeted by a guy with arms covered in tattoos who looks to be in his late twenties. My dad does the talking and explains he booked an appointment for me over the phone.
“I’m Dave. You must be Tate?” he says, staring at me and I nod. I wonder how much my dad has said to him when he booked the appointment because he’s looking at me with a sad expression on his face. He confirms my suspicions when he says, “So you want to get a tribute for your sister?” I let out a sigh and nod. My emotions I can usually contain are creeping to the surface, today of all days, and it’s hard to keep them in. “And it’s your birthday today? Have you got an ID on you?”
“Yeah, I do.” I place my hand in my back pocket pulling out my wallet and showing him my ID. He’s happy with what he sees and nods.
“Have you got an idea of what you’d like to get done?” he asks, and I fill him in on my idea. He listens, nodding along. “Where would you like it and how big are you thinking?”
“On the side of my ribs,” I tell him, and I make a circle with my finger over my ribs to indicate the size.
He looks me in the eye and says, “That particular spot is going to hurt a lot.” I already knew this as I’d looked it up on the internet but the pain doesn’t bother me. Nothing can hurt me as bad as the pain I feel inside.
“It’s going to hurt no matter where I get it right?” I say, and he nods, seeing the determined look on my face.
“Okay then, if you guys can give me about half an hour or so, I’ll draw something up and then we can take it from there. I’ve had another appointment cancel so I’ve got time to get it all finished today,” he tells us, which I’m happy about. It’ll mean more to me if I can get it today, on our birthday.
“How about we go get some lunch?” my dad suggests. I nod and follow him down the street to the bakery, where we grab some sandwiches and donuts. We sit at the tables outside and eat quietly, not saying much at all. Once we finish, my dad goes back up and gets us a drink each. He hands me my fizzy drink and says, “Sip that while you are getting the tattoo. I’ve heard it helps to keep sugars up while you get it done.”
I take the drink and say, “Thanks Dad. It means a lot you are letting me get this done.”
“I wouldn’t forgive myself if I let you go to some do
dgy tattooist which you were likely to do if I said no. At least this way, I know it is getting done right,” he tells me. “Plus Quinn would have been horrified if you got a messed up tattoo for her,” he says, which pulls his lips up at the thought. I can’t help but smile myself because he’s right. She would have never let me live it down. She would have loved the fact I got one for her but she would have teased me relentlessly if it had turned out horrible.
We walk the few minutes back to the tattoo parlour and wait for Dave to finish up with his sketch. Once he’s done, he pops around the side of the front desk, takes a seat opposite me and hands me his drawing. Looking at the picture in front of me has my hand shaking. It’s better than I could have possibly imagined. My dad leans over to get a peek of it, his breath catches and he glances at my face. We stare at each other and as I see the tears in his eyes, I can feel my own eyes burning from the emotion I feel.
“It’s perfect,” I tell Dave, handing it back to him.
His bright smile shines at me as he says, “Great, shall we get started?” and I nod. He faces my dad and says, “It’ll take a couple hours at least so you can come back if you like?”
“Okay Tate, I’ll go find something to keep me occupied. I’ll see you soon.”
As Dad leaves, I follow Dave down to one of the rooms at the back of the shop and another tattooist comes up to the front desk to replace him there. He tells me to lie down and take my shirt off so he can prep my ribs. He does all he needs to and then places the sketch on my skin and has me stand to see if it’s in the right place. I lift up my arm to get a better view in the mirror and it causes an excitement to pulse through me. I can’t wait for it to be permanent.
Once we are both satisfied, he turns on the tattoo gun and it reminds me of the buzzing sound you hear at the dentist.
“You ready?” he asks and I nod. “Make sure you hold still,” he tells me and I prepare myself for the pain about to hit me. The first touch is a burning scratch and I know the next few hours will hurt but I’m willing to endure the pain so I can have a piece of Quinn with me always.
Two and a half hours later and I’m gritting my teeth like I have been for the last half an hour, when the pain became unbearable. My only focus was on Quinn and to get it all finished today.
It isn’t much longer when I hear Dave say, “Finished.” I can’t help but look down at it. “Have a look in the mirror,” he tells me, so I hop off the table and stand in front of the floor length mirror, inspecting my new body. The tears I’d managed to keep at bay, come flooding back as I look at it. The two big angel wings run lengthwise, down the side of my torso. A dainty, red ribbon runs across them with her name etched on it. And to top it off, instead of a halo above the wings, I asked him to make a daisy crown, exactly like the one I placed in her grave. To me, it is the perfect birthday present.
“Thank you so much,” I tell Dave, as I turn and hold out my hand to him with tears in my eyes.
“It was my pleasure,” he says. He gets me to stand still so he can put some cream on and wrap it up so I can get home. He informs me of my after care and what I need to do, to take care of it.
I walk out of the room to the front and see my dad waiting on the couch for me, reading a magazine. I raise my arm so he can get a look at my new artwork, and a smile takes over his face.
“It looks great,” he tells me, before his face drops and he says, “Let’s hope your mother isn’t too mad.”
“Thanks Dad,” I say again, meaning it. He nods and walks to the counter to pay for my birthday present while I put my t-shirt over my head. I slowly pull it over my torso so as not to hurt my already tender side.
“Okay son, let’s go face your mother,” he says. We walk out saying, ‘thanks again,’ and get in the car to go home and tell my mum what we’ve been up to.
As we enter the big red door, my dad grabs my elbow and whispers, “Let me do the talking.” I nod because if Mum is going to be pissed off, it’s better she yells at Dad than me. It is my birthday after all.
“Hi guys, how was your day?” Mum greets us, from the spot on the couch she currently sits in. I take her in and she looks so happy. I don’t want to burst her bubble right now but it’s like a band aid, better to rip it off and get it over with. Dad takes the seat next to her and takes her hand in his. Mum’s brows furrow as she glances between me and Dad, not knowing what is going on.
“So dear, we have something to tell you,” Dad starts with.
“Oooookay?” Mum draws out.
“I got Tate something for his birthday. It was the only thing he asked for. Now I hope you won’t be too angry when you see it,” he rushes out, and Mum looks at me with questioning eyes. Instead of saying anything, I pull my t-shirt carefully over my head, avoiding my ribs and turn sideways so she can get a better view of what we are talking about. She gasps, covering her mouth with her hand, closes her eyes and sits there breathing. I glance to Dad who lifts his hand in a sign for stop, meaning to give Mum a minute to compose herself. We both watch her draw three big deep breaths into her lungs before she opens her eyes, and I can see tears pooling in them.
“Let me get a closer look,” she sadly says. My mum has never liked tattoos. I know this because her father would drill it into her any chance he got. In turn, she had drilled it into me and Quinn. Piercings she didn’t mind but when it came to tattoos, she always said it was a no-go zone because they were permanent. I step closer to her and raise my arm so she can get a better view. It still has the covering on it so I carefully take it off, revealing the art work to her and the tears she was trying to hold back, rush forward and spill over in a downpour. “Aww Tate,” she says, reaching out a finger to touch it but knows she can’t because it’s still fresh, so her finger traces the air instead. With a sadness in her eyes I wish she didn’t have, she says, “Quinn would have loved it. I think it’s perfect.”
My jaw drops, eyes bulge and I say, “I thought for sure I was in for a lecture. Dad too, for taking me.” She looks between us and leans back on the couch.
“It’s done now, a lecture isn’t going to change that. I know how hard today is so if this is the worst that comes from it, that’s fine,” she says, although she does turn to Dad and I see a glare of anger shoot his way. She will probably yell at him in private.
“Thanks Mum,” I say, leaning down and giving her a kiss on the cheek. “I’m going to get cleaned up,” I tell them, as I walk down to the bathroom to give them time alone. It was a good choice as I can hear Mum quietly berating Dad for taking me to get it. I chuckle to myself because I knew Mum wouldn’t be able to stop herself yelling at one of us. I’m glad she chose Dad to yell at.
I close the door behind me and inspect my new tattoo in the mirror. I’m happy it turned out as great as it has. I smile to myself and catch it in the mirror. The expression looks so foreign on me. I don’t remember the last time I saw my smiling reflection. I take a deep breath and release it, staring at the tattoo. For some reason it feels easier to breathe now. I think having Quinn permanently etched on my skin is the reason. Now she will always be with me no matter where I go.
“Happy birthday, Quinny,” I whisper into the air, hoping she can hear me.
-- Tamsyn --
My week has gone fast. The life lesson classes are a lot of fun and make me look forward to going to school now. It could also have to do with the fact me and Tate talk on the phone most nights. If we aren’t talking then we are usually texting while doing homework or something. He was a bit off this week, his mind is distracted but I’m not sure why. I was hoping he would confide in me but he hasn’t yet. I’m sure he will in his own time.
I haven’t seen JP since he dropped me at school but he had a furrow in his brow when he looked at me this morning. I have no idea what that is about either. It isn’t until lunch, a few things make more sense. JP catches up to me in the line to get my food. We walk together to the do
or, leading outside to our bench. He tugs on my arm before I walk through it, stopping me.
“Tamsyn, can I talk to you for a minute?” he says, worried.
“Yeah sure, everything okay?” I ask, with raised brows.
“Have you been talking to Tate lately?” he asks. There goes the little furrow in his brow again. So it’s Tate causing it.
“Yeah I have,” I admit. I hadn’t told the guys me and Tate were talking again but they must have noticed the change in me. I have been a lot happier lately, which is hard to hide.
“Did you know it was his birthday today?” he asks, and my heart slams into my throat.
“No I didn’t.” It explains why he’s been a bit off all week.
“You understand this means it’s Quinn’s birthday too, right?” he quietly says.
“Shit.” That hadn’t quite clicked into place. My hands shake at the thought of Tate going through today. I was a mess on my dad’s birthday. His birthday was the day Tate said he met me at the dock. The day I can’t remember. To top it off, it’s his own birthday and he has to go through this day without the person he probably wants there, more than anyone in the world. My own birthday is coming up soon and I’m not looking forward to spending it without my dad. It’ll be the first one without him. “Have you talked to him today?” I ask JP, but he shakes his head.
“I texted him happy birthday this morning but he never replied.” I can see the worry dripping off JP. He loves Tate like a brother so it must be hard for him to not be able to be there for him, especially today.
“I’ll try to text him too,” I say, and JP nods as we carry on outside to meet the others. The rest of my day is spent distracted by thoughts of Tate and wondering how he is. I didn’t want to text him at school in case he replied so I waited until I got home, so I could be there for him if he needed me.
It’s another Friday night I’m spending holed up in my room, with Netflix to keep me company. As soon as I’m settled under the covers, I dial him hoping he answers.