Page 15 of Electric Touch

Apollo is insufferable when we meet up. Against my better judgment, I let his enthusiasm leach into my mood. He called ahead to Conal, telling him we’re on our way. I ask Apollo a million questions about the safety of tattooing and Conal’s health and safety practices, he answers patiently because he knows that is what I need. Which is why we have remained best friends for so long.

The tattoo parlour is in Chinatown. We take the F Train to East Broadway and I research while we travel. Apollo grins at me, he knows damn fine and well I will learn everything about this place. The people who work there and their qualifications.

At Ink Dragon Tattoo, we’re greeted warmly. Everyone knows Apollo. Conal is around forty, with long hair, which is tied up in a man bun and has sideburns that reach his jaw. He is friendly and puts me at ease as Apollo shows him the drawing. A lady with piercings all over her face gets me a drink, and we chat about the artwork on the walls, while Conal gets ready for me.

When I get in the chair, there is a noticeable tremor in my hands.

“Tell me something fun about you, Tia,” Conal says as he gets on the chair behind me.

I decided to put the tattoo at the top of my spine between my shoulder blades. The chair supports my chest with a rest for my arms. Apollo is beside me with a grin on his face.

“Fun?” I glance over my shoulder.

“Yeah, you strike me as the quirky type, someone with a story.”

“You must have me confused with someone else,” I disagree.

“Oh, come on, Tia. You’re fun. There are lots of interesting things about you.”

“I’m going to put the stencil on you now,” Conal says. They talk about the things Apollo finds amusing about me while he does.

“A terrible dancer, huh?” Conal laughs. “I get that. I have two left feet. So what kind of music do you like to dance badly to?”

I appreciate him taking my mind off things. Between him and Apollo, and getting up to check the design is right, I relax.

“I’m gonna get started now, Tia. You’ll feel a scratching sensation, but it’s normal. If it gets too much at any point, tell me. I’ll keep you up to speed on where I’m at and what’s happening.”

I wonder if Apollo prepped Conal on my quirks. The first scratch hurts, I won’t lie. After a minute or two, knowing the pain I’ve envisioned is not as bad in reality, I relax, and I have fun. When we take a break, the shop has emptied as the night draws in. We chat a bit about the area, the history of the shop and Conal’s Irish heritage, which prompts Apollo to talk about Galen, the Irish folk singer who fathered me.

“My grandpa was into folk music. What was his band called?” Conal asks.

“Leannán. It’s the Irish word for lover.”

“It was perfect for your mom,” Apollo says, and goes into the history of my parents’ meeting.

“Well, I don’t know much about Ireland, but I can ask my grandpa for you. If you want me to?” Conal wipes excess ink away, then sprays an antiseptic solution to clean the tattoo.

My eyes meet Apollo’s. I’ve never considered looking for my father, not once. Despite mama’s tales, she doesn’t want to either. I tell Conal it’s fine, I’m not interested in looking him up.

“No problem. If you change your mind, let me know,” he snaps off his gloves. “You’re all done.”

“It’s finished?” I ask in surprise.

Apollo snaps another photograph. He’s been documenting it all. I get up, my legs a little wobbly after sitting still so long. Conal grabs a second mirror so he can show me the tattoo in the reflection. I sweep my hair over my shoulder and Conal raises the mirror, tilting it to get the right angle. When I see the finished work, my breath catches in my throat. I blink as I stare at the perfection of the tattoo. He has managed to get the detail in the feathers and the delicate lines of the tulip from Apollo’s drawing. I can hardly believe it’s real.

“You good?” Apollo stands beside me, taking my hand.

“It’s beautiful,” I croak, squeezing his hand. “Thank you,” I say to Conal. He tips an imaginary hat to me. “I’m speechless.” I turn back to look at the tattoo.

“That’s a first,” Apollo quips and I nudge him, tears filling my eyes. “Aw, come here,” he says, drawing me into his arms. He’s careful not to touch the tattoo. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispers in my ear. I nod against his chest.

We pay and head out of the shop. I haven’t said much and Apollo doesn’t push me into talking.

“How about we see if Sash wants to meet us for some drinks?” He suggests.

Oddly, I don’t want to be alone so I agree and he texts her to come meet us. We head to a local dive bar we’ve been going to for years. It’s a place you wouldn’t associate with a professor and a tech genius, with its graffitied walls, cheap booze and loud punk rock music. We often frequent it and know the bartenders on a first name basis. It isn’t pretentious, doesn’t try to be anything other than a fun dive bar. I joke about feeling more at home now I have a tattoo.

“I’m telling you, Tia, you’ll get the bug.”

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