Page 16 of If Only You Hurt

I’m sitting in a chair while the tattoo artist preps his station. I came in with Grant about an hour ago, and within a few minutes, he was drawing my thoughts onto paper. His design is flawless. I came up with intertwined peonies that will sit on the right side of my ribcage. Grant said it’s perfect for me. He brought a chair right next to me, and he’s telling me all about his trip to Chile, which is coming up soon. I leave for college tomorrow, and shortly after I get settled, Grant will be on his next adventure. The fact he’s taking this time to let me hold his hand, as I pretty much use my skin as a canvas, means the world to me.

My smile feels cemented on my face until I feel the first pinch from the needle. The artist asked me if I was ready, but I guess it hurts more than I gave it credit for. I squeeze Grant’s hand like it’s going to take away the pain, but the more that needle glides against my skin, the more I want to pull away and forget about this plan. But I know from where he is, he’s not even close to done. So, I have to bear the pain for the outcome I want.

Once finished, which felt like a lifetime of me sitting there and breathing through my nose to steady my breaths, I’m told I’m all done. It’s not a huge tattoo, but it’s large enough that anyone looking at it will see what it's supposed to be, my favorite flower. I’m looking in the mirror, moving my body from one side to the other to see the beautiful work of art from all angles.

That’s when I see Grant in the reflection of the mirror stand up and remove his shirt behind me. I’m gawking at his torso, too focused on how incredibly delectable Grant is, when it dawns on me he’s taking a seat in the chair I just got tortured in. I swing my body around, my mouth opening, but no words coming out.

I finally speak, “What are you doing?” My best friend is lying there with a sexy smirk across his face.

“What does it look like, Bean? I’m getting a tattoo.” The artist seems to be in on this little secret, and he’s wiping down his station, sanitizing it for Grant to be his next victim.

My eyes widen. “What tattoo are you getting?” Grant doesn’t even answer aside from pointing at my tattoo. I look down at my ribcage, covered with that plastic they use to reduce infection, then look back at him.

“You’re getting a matching tattoo?” I say, my voice a bit pitchy from surprise.

“Well, we’ve shared everything else together, why not one more first?” The moment he says it, the tattoo artist, Jared, looks up at him and arches a brow. Grant has the audacity to nod and then throws a wink my way. I feel my cheeks flame from embarrassment. Jared gives Grant a smile, like he knows exactly what all our firsts mean.

“I didn’t invite you here to make you feel obligated to get a tattoo, Grant.” Jared is cleaning Grant’s skin on the same part of his body as my tattoo is on mine. Grant’s version is a little larger than mine; however, the artwork itself is the exact replica of mine.

I take a seat next to him in the chair, the same seat Grant was just sitting in supporting me, and grab his hand. Once he’s ready, Jared begins, and I see the moment the needle makes contact with Grant’s skin, he squeezes my hand. I bring his hand to my lips and lightly kiss his knuckles.

I try to distract Grant with stories from Artie dating our mutual friend, Eugene. This summer has been one of finding love, Artie’s words, not mine. I also talk about declaring a major and how nervous I am to make such a big decision at the end of this school year.

Once done, Grant stands and looks at his reflection in the mirror. He’s pensive at first, and I worry he regrets what he’s done. He can’t go back now, but I also don’t want him to hate looking at it.

“Aside from being with you, Laney, this is my most treasured possession.” He looks at the tattoo a little more, then turns to Jared. “Great job, man. It’s perfect, just like my Laney here.”

We finish up at the tattoo parlor and make our way to dinner. We were getting our tattoos for the majority of the day, and now we’re both starving. I can't help but put this moment in my heart next to all the treasured memories I’ve stored in all my years with my best friend.

Chapter Seven

GRANT

Fall 2012

“So I’ll wait to hear from you, then?” I ask Laney as she’s rushing to class.

“Yes, I’ll call once I’m home. I hope you have a great day until then. Love you.”

“Love you, Bean.” I miss her, and I’ve only been away from her for about six weeks. I can’t keep doing this. That’s why when she calls me later, I’m going to confess I love her beyond friendship. I can’t continue to act like what we have is just friendship between us. I think I’m ready to lay all my feelings out there and hope she feels the same. I already loved Laney as more than a friend back when we crossed this line at prom, but now it’s snowballed into something larger.

I hang up with her and start to get my things unpacked. I got here late last night but then slept in this morning. I was exhausted. Once Laney left for school weeks ago, I stayed in New York to soak up some time with friends and my family. Many of the friends I made while living in New York are no longer in the city. They’ve all dispersed to schools across the country. But most were back this summer, so we got to catch up. It was nice to hang out and relax before starting a new leg of travel around the world for me. Next up is Brazil. That’s a place I’ve been itching to step foot in but haven’t had the means until now.

I have a friend who is studying abroad in Rio, and he comes from a pretty well-off family. He saw my work on my social media platforms and asked me to come visit, even offering a place for me to stay, free of charge. I couldn’t pass it up, and while there, he said he has a paid gig for me to do. He’s made friends with some locals, and they’re looking for someone to capture some images of their surfing gear being worn by surfers in the area. Because I know how to surf and I love pictures taken with the ocean element mixed in, my friend threw out my name.

It’s surreal to know I’ll be going back to a country my ancestors migrated from decades ago. I feel privileged that they took that leap into a new life somewhere completely different for a better future. If that hadn’t happened, it’s hard to say if I would even exist.

Once I’m done pulling everything out of my suitcase, I make my way out onto the streets of the little city I’m staying in. Chile has some incredible views, and once the sun starts to set, I think the shots I can capture will be quite incredible. Too bad I still struggle with my Spanish speaking abilities, so for right now, simple terms are all I have to lean on. I took French in high school, thinking it would come in handy; however, I haven’t spoken a word of it since I graduated. Figures.

I walk around, taking in the scenery and the people around me, and the smells of the little bodegas I pass start to pull me in different directions.

I find what looks like a hole-in-the-wall restaurant that serves every type of empanada possible. Once I figure out which ones I want, I put in my order and make my way to find a seat. A lot of travel involves embedding oneself in the culture, and so much of that happens with the food. There’s a story behind the meal, and I’ve learned to embrace that wherever I go.

I sit at the makeshift bar they have set up, looking up at a soccer game, I mean futebol match, when breaking news comes up. I can’t understand much of what’s being written in the bottom scroll, but I can tell something happened in the United States. The violence seems to be constant in my home country.

I look outside, distracted by the locals walking around the streets. My internal clock is off from traveling, so I’m just getting these empanadas, then I’ll find a spot to park my ass to take in the surroundings. Hopefully, Laney will call while I’m out, and I can show her the views. Plus, what’s more romantic than confessing your feelings to the love of your life while sitting outside with a Chilean sunset as the backdrop?

Once my food is ready, I take it to-go and dig in the moment I find a grassy area to sit. The moment I take in the green grass surrounding me, I think of my favorite green eyes. For as long as I can remember, her gaze has pulled me into a trance. I rub the area where I share the same tattoo as her, feeling a pull toward my Bean. I hope she made it to class on time.

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