Page 16 of Time for Change

Nodding, I offer her a pleasant smile, which I’m sure is laced with the anxiety I feel inside me. BJ disappears around the corner, leaving me to continue to browse the designs. I have one ear turned toward the front counter and listen as Amanda gives BJ’s client more post-tattoo care instructions.

“Are you ready?” BJ asks, returning just a few minutes later.

“I am,” I insist, heading in her direction and following her down a short hallway.

“Right this way,” she says, stopping in front of a small room and waving me inside. “Go ahead and have a seat in the chair.” When I do as instructed; she takes a seat in the stool and grabs her tablet. “Oh, wow, what a beautiful design. Is it yours?”

I nod. “It’s a compilation of a few ideas I found online.”

“It’s stunning,” she says, reaching for a sheet of transfer paper. “Do you have a location picked out?”

I point to the inside of my right wrist. “I was thinking here, facing me so I can see it.”

BJ smiles. “Love it. The inside of the wrist is pretty tender,” she informs me.

“I know, but I’m not too worried about it. I have a pretty high pain tolerance.”

“Okay,” she says. “Let’s talk size, and do you want any color? Amanda noted you were thinking just black outline?”

“I’d like it to fit here,” I tell her, making a partial circle with my thumb and index finger. “I don’t think that’s too big, do you?”

“Nope. I think it’s perfect. Give me a few minutes to get it drawn up.” She reaches for the paper and starts to outline my design. Since it’s small and not too intricate, it doesn’t take her long to have it ready. I try not to let myself get too worked up, but the wait is killing me. “Okay, tell me what you think,” she says, holding it up.

My eyes scan the design and I know it’s exactly as I drew it. “It’s perfect.” She even traced my handwritten words beneath the sun and moon.

“Great. Let’s get this started then.” I nod, as she cleans my wrist and places the design on my skin, carefully transferring the stencil. When she pulls back, she scrutinizes the placement. “What do you think?”

I don’t know why, but tears fill my eyes. It’s not like anything is even permanent yet, but here I am, about to cry at the image I’ve been dreaming about tattooing on my body.

“Are those happy tears?” she asks with a chuckle.

“Yes, sorry. I love it.”

“All right,” BJ replies, getting her tattoo gun and black ink set. “You ready for this?”

All I can do is nod.

A buzz fills the air as she starts her gun, and my nervousness reaches an all-time high. I can’t decide if I want to close my eyes and think of myself in some far-off place or watch her work. I opt to keep my eyes open at first, knowing I can always close them if it’s too much to witness.

The first touch of the needle to my skin is a burn, but it’s not anything I can’t handle. However, the longer she touches my wrist, the hotter it becomes. My breathing starts to become a little labored, and I find myself switching my focus from watching her work to just watching her.

BJ is completely focused on what she’s doing. Her long hair is pulled back to keep it from falling in her face or on me. Her features are very delicate, even with the intensity of her focus cast downward. She’s simply stunning, and I love how comfortable she is in her own skin.

“You doing okay up there?” she asks, glancing up and giving me a small grin.

“Yes,” I tell her a little tightly.

“The burn only lasts a short time, promise. Why don’t you tell me about your design? What does it represent?”

I take a deep, calming breath and close my eyes for a brief moment. “It represents freedom. Of refusing to stay down when your past did everything in its power to keep you there. Of finding your inner strength and overcoming the obstacles put in your path.” I glance down at the ink on my skin. “At rising up above the shit parents you were born to and making something of yourself in spite of them.”

My voice is barely a whisper by the time I’m done, and it's in that moment I realize she stopped working and is looking at me.

Her full lips curl up in the slightest smile. “I hear you, and I love the meaning behind it.” She holds up her glove-covered knuckles on her left hand. When I bump it with my own, she adds, “Us shitty-parent sisters have to stick together.”

My throat goes completely dry. “Yeah.”

She turns her attention back to my tattoo, reengaging the gun once more. Without looking my way, she says, “My parents were complete shit. My brother is only two years older than me and basically had to raise me. Dad went to prison at some point early on, leaving us with an absent mom, who disappeared after I graduated high school. But even with all that crap, my brother and I made something of ourselves. We clawed our way from the ashes.” She looks up and gives me another slight grin. “So I understand, probably better than most, what it’s like to want a piece of art on your body that represents your climb from the rubble.”

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