Living Backwards (11 page)

“I don’t know, Luke,” I sighed. “While some may say I’m emotionally unavailable, I like to say I’m just selective with the company I choose to keep.”

“Emotionally unavailable?” he asked arching his eyebrow. “That’s pretty deep, Cross. You’re depressing the shit out of me, you know that?”

“Relax,” I replied, reaching for the knob on the car radio. He was right. I’d depressed myself, and I just didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

“Oh, am I boring you, unavailable one?” he questioned sarcastically.

“Is it ‘that time of the month’, Luke?” I clutched my chest, feigning sympathy. “Midol works wonders for those pesky mood swings.”

“You’re a pain in the ass, Cross. Play your music. Don’t let me interrupt,” he added, signaling to the radio with a sweep of his hand.

“Thank you,” I replied dramatically. “Jeez.”

We listened quietly while I tried unsuccessfully to shake the funny feeling I had left over from his question. When he pulled into the parking lot of Ink Credible Art, I was relieved that we had reached our destination.

I followed Luke up the rickety steps into the small building. Inside, the walls were lined with squares each showcasing a variety of Seth’s available artwork. There were flowers, butterflies, fairies and wild animals, tribal bands and zodiac signs. I couldn’t understand how anyone could choose something so permanent and meaningful. It wasn’t like buying a pair of murderously skinny jeans. It became a part of who you were.

“Luke, man, back so soon?” I turned towards the voice and saw a massive, California redwood-sized man standing behind the counter. His arms were completely covered with designs that seemed to flow together seamlessly.

“Seth, hey, this is my friend, Jillian,” Luke began, motioning to me. “She’s having an identity problem.”

Ain’t that the truth.

I reached out to shake his hand without thinking. It didn’t occur to me that seventeen-year-old girls probably didn’t shake hands. I know I looked like a complete idiot, but there really wasn’t any turning back. Seth looked at me suspiciously, grasping my hand to shake it anyway.

So far, batting a thousand.

“I figured while we were here, you could add that artwork we talked about,” Luke proposed, reaching into his pocket and extracting a folded up piece of paper.

“So you decided to add the flames?” Seth asked eagerly. “I knew you would. It’ll enhance it, trust me. Let me go find Dice. He can help Miss Jillian here and we can discuss ink.”

He disappeared into the back room, and I turned to face Luke who was inspecting the artwork on the wall.

“You’re getting work done today? You could have mentioned that at some point,” I remarked, feeling slightly irritated.

“I could have,” he responded casually. He was acting strangely, and I hoped he wasn’t still mad about my little stunt in the car.

Seth returned with another giant hulk of a man, this one with long, scraggly hair and only a few scattered tattoos on his massive arms. He introduced himself as Seth’s brother Dice, and this time I resisted the urge to shake anyone’s hand.

“Why don’t you come out back with me so we can get started while Seth gets Luke set up,” he suggested, motioning me over to the door in the back of the studio. I looked over to Luke who was already showing Seth the crumpled up paper from his pocket. He didn’t seem alarmed by Dice’s suggestion, so as uncomfortable as I was, I followed him into the back office.

Can you get killed by a crazy stranger when you’re a possibly comatose time traveler? I wasn’t sure how this works.

“So,” he began, taking a seat in front of a massive computer system, “you want some identification? Drinking’s bad for you, you know,” he commented with a wink.

“Yeah, well, not drinking’s worse,” I retorted, annoyed that Luke sent me off alone with the giant, creepy tattoo guy.

“So how’d a moody bastard like Chambers land a sweet little thing like you?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder and smiling.

“He
is
a moody bastard, isn’t he?” I laughed. “No, Luke and I aren’t together. He’s just helping me out.”

“Well, isn’t that lucky for me,” he added, turning back to the screen. He was creepy, but seemed harmless. I watched as he pulled up a photo of a Washington State license on the screen. With a few brush strokes, he removed the name, date of birth, height and weight. I oohed and aahed where I felt necessary, and pretended I didn’t see the art department at work do this stuff on a daily basis.

“So, what did you say your name was again?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Once I started thinking of names, I knew I had to pay homage to the patron saint of time travel. I just needed to tweak it a bit.

“Marcy,” I replied. “Marcy McFly.”

“Alright, Marcy McFly,” he repeated, chuckling as he typed. “Go on over to that chair in the corner, and let’s take some photos.”

Looking behind me, I noticed a small chair placed in front of a blue backdrop. Taking a seat I suddenly felt the urge to check my hair in a mirror. I never took a good license picture.

“All right, say ‘Moody Bastard’,” Dice instructed from behind the tripod.

“Moody Bastard,” I repeated with a smile. After the flash, Dice grabbed the clunky camera and attached it to a dock on his PC. I glanced over at the desk as I listened to the whirling sound of the computer downloading the pictures. Along with his lamination equipment, I saw a beautiful hard covered copy of
The
Book of Kells
on his desk. My great grandparents were from Ireland, so I recognized the book immediately. I used to flip through the pages as a little girl, admiring the beautiful Celtic knot designs.

“You’re researching Celtic knots,” I remarked, opening the book.

“You know them?” he asked, grabbing the tiny photograph from the printer.

“I’ve always loved them. My grandmother always wore Celtic jewelry.” My mom still had most of it in her jewelry box at home; silver brooches adorned with colored stones looping in a fluid, continuous pattern. I always thought she looked regal when she wore one.

“Take a look at the pages I have jammed in the back.”

I found a few sheets of thin tracing paper inserted into the back cover. Each sheet was covered with beautiful, curvy designs. Luke had raved about Seth’s ability, but it was clear that Dice was pretty good, as well. One page was filled with traditional Celtic knots, each with its own significance. To help identify it, he marked the meaning underneath each drawing. He drew a beautiful trinity and wrote “Spirit, Mind, Body” beneath the sketch. There was an interwoven knot with no discernible beginning and end. The word “Eternity” was written below. Finally, there was a horizontal loopy knot with “Strength” written below the design. Each of the three had similar variations to choose from.

When I flipped to the next page, I noticed the designs became more detailed and intricate. Each knot morphed into an animal shape—an eagle, a fox, a horse, and butterfly, all beautifully designed with the loops and spirals. The last page had different types of shapes, and I noticed immediately that the majority of the shapes were crosses.

Each cross varied slightly, and seemed to have different meanings. One had the word “Transition” written below, while another represented balance. There were crosses for hope and temperance. And then, on the very last row of the page, was a cross for navigation. “To find your way home” it said below.

Reading the words, feeling as lost as I did, the design resonated with me. It wasn’t just a matter of finding my way back to where I came from, I needed to find where I went wrong—who I was and where I was headed.

Something had been stirring in me since the conversation we had in the car. As much as I wanted to think that I was better than
That
Jillian, I was still making the same mistakes. Still living life on the sidelines.

“Dice,” I called out, swallowing back the tears, “how long would it take to get this done?”

His eyes widened when he saw that I was pointing to one of his designs.

“You want a tattoo? One of mine?” he asked incredulously. “I’m assuming you’re eighteen?”

“You have the ID in front of you that says so,” I replied, smiling. “How long would it take? I don’t want to hold Luke up.”

“Well, he’s obviously not concerned about holding you up because if Seth is gonna work on those flames they were discussing, you’ll have more than enough time.”

It was impulsive, but it just felt right. “Let’s go for it,” I said firmly.

“Very cool!” he replied. “I’m almost done laminating, so we can get you set up in just a few.”

I watched as he ran a small folder through the lamination machine. When it slid through to the other side, he opened it up and removed the ID. He shook it quickly, cooling it down, and inspected it. “Perfect…Ms. McFly.”

He handed me the warm plastic, and I placed his money on the desk. I looked at the picture on the plastic card. She wasn’t
That
Jillian anymore, but she wasn’t what she could be either.

“Let’s get you set up at my station,” he added, clapping his hands together and heading for the door.

I was lost in thought when I walked back into the studio, completely unprepared for the sight before me. Luke was sitting on something that looked like a massage chair…shirtless. Seth, perched upon the stool next to him, was dragging the tattoo gun along Luke’s bicep. I could only see part of his back through the spaces in the chair, but even from across the room, I could make out the defined lines in his arms. They had always been hidden by his bulky leather jacket. I had no idea that Luke was so ripped. I wanted to lick him. I never had a tattoo fetish before, but seeing Luke shirtless with the outline of some ink on his arm made me lightheaded.

I walked slowly over to him, staring at his arm. If I looked him in the eye, I knew my eyes would wander to his chest. I wondered what it would feel like to touch him, and I felt my breath catch again. I was practically standing next to them, and Luke had yet to notice I’d entered the room. He seemed very focused, staring straight ahead. I was sure the tattoo gun wasn’t particularly comfortable, but I didn’t see him wince either. It gave me a moment to study his arm.

I don’t know what I was expecting. After hearing all the talk of flames, I guess I was expecting bright reds and oranges, maybe something menacing like a skull, but I should have known better. Luke wouldn’t just get any tattoo. Luke’s tattoo would be simple…and hot. All in black, a tribal phoenix with two large wide wings raising high up on each side, graced his upper arm. Seth was adding what looked like three small flames on each side below the bird.

The phoenix rising from the ashes.

“All right, sweet thing,” Dice called over to me from his station, “let’s get this show on the road.”

I prayed that Luke wouldn’t ask why I hadn’t announced myself sooner. Would he know I had just spent the last five minutes panting and ogling him? I might have spontaneously ovulated.

“Hop on,” Dice added, motioning to the chair, and dropping it into a reclined position. Luke was visibly alarmed when he saw Dice prepping his station.

“Wait, what the hell are you doing?” he barked. His indignation irritated me. I wasn’t a child.

“This
is
a tattoo parlor, Luke,” I replied casually, laying down on the flat surface. “I’m getting a tattoo.”

“Okay,” Dice began. “Where is this bad boy going?”

“I was thinking about my hip. On the left side.” I pointed as if he couldn’t figure it out himself. I wanted to be thorough. We went to NYU with a girl who asked for a hip tattoo, and it ended up in the middle of her stomach. Granted, she was dumb as a stump, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

“Jillian, I don’t think you’ve thought this through,” Luke warned through gritted teeth.

“Luke,” Seth warned, “you’re moving around too much, man. I’m almost done, but you have to stay still.”

“How much longer?” he asked, his voice sounding strained.

“Ten minutes tops.” I didn’t know what he had planned—if he was intending to force me to leave or something.

“Hey Dice,” Luke called, motioning him to Seth’s station with a slight tilt of his head. Dice leaned in as I heard them speaking in hushed tones. I was able to hear something about ten minutes but not much else.

“No problem,” Dice replied, “I still need to make the transfer.” He disappeared into the office again, leaving me by myself at the station.

“Um, hello,” I objected. “I
am
still here you know.”

“Calm down, Jillian,” Luke responded in a tired voice. “He’s just going to make a transfer. It’s like a temporary tattoo that he’ll use as a guide.”

“Oh,” I replied. I was a bit surprised that he had given up so easily. I had visions of him throwing me over his shoulder caveman-style and dragging me into the car. Although that kind of sounded fun. If he wasn’t telling Dice that we were leaving, it made me wonder what that conversation was all about.

“So what are you getting? Not my initials, I presume,” he asked sarcastically. Although he was joking now, there was still a strange tone in his voice.

“I told you I was,” I joked through the uneasiness. “I’ll just have to get your middle initial out of you.” He was quiet for a few moments, and I wondered if I had pushed too far again. I had been so good at reading him, and today I seemed to be saying all the wrong things.

“Robert,” he finally offered. “After my grandfather.” I hadn’t expected a reply. Everything was tense again, and I couldn’t understand why.

“Alrighty.” I heard Dice from behind me and exhaled a sigh of relief. I didn’t think I could continue a conversation about branding myself with Luke’s initials anymore. Even though it was a joke, it didn’t seem funny now.

“I’m going to have you unbutton the top button of your jeans and scoot them down so your hip bones are exposed. Then I’m going to tuck this towel into your jeans so I don’t get any ink on your pants.” I took a deep breath and followed his instructions, feeling self-conscious. Teasing Luke in the car was one thing. Unzipping my jeans and exposing myself to perfect strangers was another.