Authors: Jeanne Bannon
My legs throb and my chest feels like it’s going to explode by the time I make it to the road and climb aboard the 64B westbound.
The same sense of disbelief I felt the day before settles over me as I sit in shocked silence. The bumpy bus ride lulls me into a place of comfort. Maybe I should have asked Charlie to come with me, I think, but know deep down this is something I have to do on my own.
After twenty minutes, the bus pulls into the parking lot of the Bridgewood Mall and I get off, sleepy and strangely calm. I pretend Gran’s with me and even speak out loud as if she’s at my side. A few sidelong glances are thrown my way by passers-by, but it doesn’t matter. The sense of Gran’s presence gives me strength.
Up ahead, the silver and navy U-Nique Tattoos and Piercings sign looms. Before today, I would have been nervous to go in, but right now, in this very moment, I’m more than ready.
I’m greeted by a skinny blond man with pin straight shoulder-length hair only a woman should be allowed to have. He’s wearing a white wife-beater, no doubt to show off his two full sleeves of tattoos. He’s a younger version of Brett Michaels. But instead of a bandana, he’s wearing a black leather cowboy hat.
“
I know I should have an appointment,” I say, “but this is kind of an emergency.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “That’s the first time I’ve heard that.” He’s tall and blue-eyed and really cute.
“
I need a tattoo. Can you do it?”
“
Of course. It’s perfect timing. Nobody’s here.” He makes a sweeping gesture around the room. “First, I’m gonna need picture ID. You have to be eighteen or have written parental consent if you’re under the age of majority.” He speaks as if he’s memorized a script.
I throw my shoulders back and hold my head high as I reach into my purse. “My grandmother is treating me to a tattoo for my eighteenth birthday. I want a very small two-color one on my wrist. I’m sorry I don’t have ID on me, but I do have this.” I hold out the wad of bills Gran gave me just days ago.
He eyes the money greedily.
“
There’s two hundred and fifty dollars here. I wouldn’t think a tattoo the size I want would cost more than a hundred.”
His blue eyes dart from side-to-side. He snatches the bills and quickly pockets them. “Okay, come on. But if your parents get mad and come down here, I’m denying everything. Got that?” He looks concerned, but his voice is grinning.
“
My parents are probably your best customers,” I say matter-of-factly.
A smile sweeps across his face. “Is that right? Well then, I guess they won’t mind that you’re following the family tradition.” He ushers me to the back of the store.
The walls are lined with picture after picture of scary looking people with tattoos and piercings. Charlie would be more comfortable here than I am. There are no other customers but there is a burly dude reading what looks like a magazine on tattoos.
“
That’s Billy, he’s my business partner.”
Billy doesn’t look up, only offers a grunt as we pass.
“
Name’s Ben, by the way.”
“
Lola.”
“
Pleasure to meet you, Lola. Sounds like you’ve got a pretty liberal family.”
I smile and nod.
You don’t know the half of it
.
“
On your wrist you say?”
“
Yes, very small on the inside of my left wrist. About this big.” I hold up my forefinger and thumb an inch apart.
“
No prob. A tatt that size won’t take long at all.”
We enter a small room and Ben closes the door behind us. There’s a cushioned table in the center, like you’d find in a doctor’s office. One wall is painted bright red and the others are yellow. Black lacquered shelves hold various knick-knacks, many of which are figurines of skulls of various shapes and sizes.
“
Hop on.” Ben pats the table.
I slide my butt onto it, swing my legs up and lie back.
He’s holding a photo album. “Do you already know what you want or do you wanna look at our tattoo gallery?”
“
I know exactly what I want.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Thankfully, I’m home before the rest of my family and have time to change into a long sleeved top. Ben wrapped my tender left wrist in gauze, which I am to keep on overnight. He gave me a small tube of antibacterial cream to rub on every day for a week and instructed me not to get my “fresh ink” wet. Although I feel kinda cool and can’t wait to show it off to Charlie, I think this one tiny tattoo will be my first and last work of body art.
It’s the last gift I will ever receive from Grandma Rose and it comforts me to know it’ll last a lifetime. I smile. “Thanks Gran,” I say to the air around me. “You will always be a part of my life. I will never forget you and I’ll always love you.”
I text Charlie and tell her about Grandma Rose and my tattoo. She’d already heard I’d fainted after first period and figured it must have been because of something bad. Apparently, I was the talk of the school for the entire afternoon.
Even though I knew she’d be trying to reach me, I’d needed to be out of touch for a while and had turned off my phone. Worrying Charlie was not what I’d intended, and thankfully, she understood. She offers to come over, but I tell her it’s probably best if she doesn’t since I don’t know when my family will be home. Charlie would be uncomfortable in such a highly emotional atmosphere, so sparing her the agony is the least I can do.
I make a cup of tea and this simple act makes tears bloom in my eyes. Will every task, no matter how small, remind me of Grandma Rose for the rest of my life? Will the pain of her loss follow me ’til the day I die?
I curl up on the couch and turn on the TV as a distraction. If only I could turn
off
my mind. Every time I close my eyes, I see her, my beautiful grandmother, lying in that hospital bed, so tiny and pale. The inevitable advice will be that I should be grateful she lived a long life. She went quickly, without much suffering, they’ll say, but that’s such bullshit. None of that matters. It wouldn’t matter if she were a hundred and eighty; I’d miss her because she took with her my sense of safety in this world. Now, all I feel is fear and anxiety at the fragility of life. I miss her so much my heart actually aches.
The low rumble of the garage door opening alerts me to the fact my family is home. A moment later, the door from the garage to the house opens, and soft voices in conversation spill into the room.
“
Lola?” Mom calls.
“
In here.”
She runs to me and holds out her arms. I bend to her embrace and allow myself to be mothered.
“
Oh, honey, are you okay? Daddy told me what happened.”
Eva walks past with Dad carrying bags into the kitchen. Tears glisten in her usually emotionless eyes.
“
I’m fine.”
“
Where were you?” she asks, breaking our embrace.
“
I had something to do. Are
you
okay?”
Mom nods unconvincingly. “We were at the funeral home… making arrangements.”
My stomach tightens and bile threatens to rise. I turn away and start for the kitchen.
“
Lola.” Mom stops me in my tracks. “The wake is tomorrow and the funeral the day after. She wanted to be cremated.”
My blood drains to my feet. The idea of Gran being put into the cold, hard ground is bad enough, but the thought of her being burned is just too much. “Thanks for that little tidbit, Mom. I’m not going. I can’t,
I won’t
see Gran in a coffin.” My lips compress into an unyielding line as I watch my mother’s expression turn from sad to hurt. “And how could you let Grandma Rose be burned? It’s barbaric.”
I leave her and walk into the kitchen where Eva and Dad have spread out Italian take-out on the table.
Eva holds out a plate for me.
“
No thanks. Not hungry.”
She gives it to Mom who’s followed me in. Mom takes it and plunks it down roughly on the counter where its clank grabs our attention. With the kitchen suddenly quiet, she seizes my wrist and turns me roughly to face her. “Don’t you…”
My scream stops her. I yank my arm away, my shriek trails into a moan and I cradle my throbbing left wrist against my chest.
Mom jumps. “What’s wrong? Did you hurt yourself when you fainted?” She moves in closer for a look. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I have an audience of three as Mom gently takes my left hand and pushes up my sleeve.
“
It’s okay. I’m fine,” I reply. I’d been an ass and I know it. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”
Dad and Eva look bewildered, having missed the little exchange in the living room, but instead of delving into that minefield, Dad points to my gauze-wrapped wrist and says, “You did hurt yourself. Why didn’t you tell us?”
I take a deep trembling breath and hold my head high. “I’m not hurt. I got a tattoo this afternoon.”
“
What?” Dad almost screams.
Eva smiles. “Lemme see.”
“
You didn’t ask our permission,” Mom chimes in. “You’re too young for a tattoo.”
“
Don’t be hypocrites,” I say with narrowed eyes. “You and Dad are covered in ink. Even Eva has one.”
“
Two,” she corrects.
“
Two,” I repeat.
My eyes rove from tattoo to tattoo as I eye my mother. There’s the flower at the base of her neck, her name in Japanese characters on her own left wrist and the horseshoe on her right ankle, put there for good luck for when she goes to the casino or bingo. And there are more undercover. I’m frequently treated to the huge multi-colored butterfly at the top of her ass crack when she sits in her low-cut jeans; that one’s the most cringe-worthy.
“
Heidi, she’s right. We don’t have a leg to stand on here,” Dad says, a sheepish grin on his face. “Look at us for Christ’s sake. We’re her role models. It was bound to happen sooner or later and I suppose she needed something to help her through her grief.” He pushes a sleeve up. The familiar colorful sleeve of tats greets me. Despite my bottomless well of embarrassment at dear ole Dad’s multitude of tattoos, Dad just wouldn’t be Dad without them. And I suppose they make Mom who she is too.
Mom sighs and relents. “Okay, we’re all under a lot of stress here.” She clears her throat and looks as if she’s steeling herself for the unveiling. “Let’s see it.”
Gingerly, I unwrap the gauze, and as I unroll each layer my heart quickens. I hold out my new body art for all to see.
“
A rose,” Mom whispers. “It’s beautiful.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dinner is peaceful and even kinda fun. Mom and Dad tell Eva and me the stories behind some of their tattoos. I’d heard a few before, but my interest has blossomed now because I finally feel a part of the in-crowd, a part of my family and all it took was one tiny tattoo. I wonder if Grandma Rose, in all her wisdom, suspected this might happen and I can’t help but smile at the thought.
“
This one here,” Dad says rolling up his pant leg and pointing to a black and white dog on the back of his calf. “This is the first dog I ever owned. She was a Boston Terrier and her name was Lila.”
“
Lila?” I say. “That’s pretty close to my name.”
Dad cocks a brow and eyes Mom. “Should we tell her?”
“
Why not?” Mom answers with a giggle.
“
Well, we named you after the dog,” Dad says with a grin and a husky chuckle.
“
I didn’t really want to,” Mom adds quickly, “so we came up with a compromise and changed the ‘i’ to an ‘o’. Besides, Lola’s a cool, sexy name.”
Yeah, and one that doesn’t fit me, I’m tempted to say. I look more like a Jane or an Anne, or some other non-descript blend into the background kind of name.
Eva howls with laughter and bits of chewed food escape before she can clamp a hand over her mouth.
I don’t know how to take this bit of news – kinda-sorta named after a dog. Could I really expect anything else from my weirdo parents? Mom and Dad have always marched to the beat of an insane drummer.
“
How did Eva get her name?” I ask, hoping for a story more embarrassing than mine.
This brings another conspiratorial look from my parents. Eva sits in rapt attention and I wonder why we’ve never heard these stories before.
“
We really had no idea what to call her,” says Mom.
“
So we came up with three names and put them in a hat,” Dad continues.
“
I guess you knew you were having a girl then,” I ask.
“
No, actually we only had boy names picked because a psychic told us we were going to have a son. We didn’t name Eva until she was three days old,” Mom explains, “that’s why we did the hat thing. We weren’t prepared for a girl and had to come up with something fast. Anyway, the three names we decided on were Minerva, after the Roman goddess, Artemis who was a Greek goddess and of course Eva.”
“
Why Eva?” I ask. “It doesn’t go with those other names.”