Anticipation

Anticipation

            Time, almost at a standstill, passes with a feeling of eternity. The moon is bright and the stars are unlike anything I’ve seen before. The smell of freshly cut grass continues to linger in the air, as the sound of a fresh water river flows just beyond the trees. Excitement surges through my body as I count the passing seconds. Ten, nine, eight…three, two, one! The time – 12:01 am. I am official an adult. I am able to vote and purchase cigarettes, legally. I can enlist into the Army, Navy, or Airforce, I won’t, but I could. I can marry; although, I don’t think I’m the marrying type of person. I can now express who I am and adorn myself with beautiful treasures depicting the soul I see within myself.

            I can feel my body. The excitement running through every vein in my body. A smile which only grows across my face as we approach our final destination. The giddiness which encompasses my every move, is almost unbearable. As the truck pulls in front of our destination, my brain begins to jump time and space. Filling with questions, questions I thought I had answers to. Where? What? How much? It doesn’t matter. It will be as fabulous and creative as me.

            Waiting to be called back, my sister, dad and I browse through the hundreds of pages hanging on the wall. There are so many designs. Depictions of religious icons, flowers, fairies, gambling, animals fill the pages. Some images are shaped for different parts of the body. Horse shaped fits around a belly-button. I would never – my body, insulated for the cold Wisconsin winters – would swallow the image never to be seen again. Other shapes form an arch in order to fit the upper arm, leaving the shoulder untouched. I now know that mine will be on my back. Someplace that can be hidden, if needed, but also seen.

            Dad falls in love a small red rose. That’s great. I love flowers. Roses are not my favorite but I love how they symbolize love, passion, and respect. But I don’t want just a rose. I want to make the rose stand apart. I need something surrounding the black. Tribal! Yes, that’s what it needs. But nothing I’ve seen is like the image in my head. It is all too small, I need something that contours with my body, something only I will have.

            Standing with my back towards the artist, I can feel the marker glide across my skin, creating an image which flows with the natural curves of my body. Once he finishes, I look in the mirror and instantly fall in love. The rose radiating beauty from the tribal vines which escape it. I agree, Dad agrees, and Sissie agrees. It’s time.

            I straddle the chair which I will become personal with for the next three hours. But I am too short and my legs dandle off the sides. Before the artist starts, the weight of my beautifully thick legs cause the sensation of pins and needles in each foot. So my artist, dad, and sister stack magazines under my feet until the pressure from is released and my feet feel as if they are on solid ground.

            The artist soon takes his position and I hear the sound of the machine buzzing. My heart rate instantly rises and my face becomes flush with anticipation. He says he is about to start and to be as still as possible for the outline. With so much excitement, I think that strapping me down to a table would be beneficial.

            The needle punctures my skin and the excitement is gone. OH HOLLY HELL! What did I get myself into? He makes small passes, tracing the rose stencil on my back. Every pass becomes more painful as the feeling of him tearing through my skin continues. I can feel the heat in my wounded flesh as he makes a second pass through the freshly broken skin. My sister and dad make a hushed comment about the blood droplets forming on my back. I thought about quitting and walking around with a half-finished tattoo; but, I could not live with the mockery from my family. So I sit tall and proud, hoping to mask the pain I feel surging through me.

            Soon the outline is finished and he begins the shading. I like shading. The pack of needles feels like a scratch in comparison to the outline. Once the adrenaline wears away, my body calms down and he is able to complete my first tattoo with no hesitation. As I glare into the mirror at my new addition, the memory of pain dissipates and I think about what my next tattoo should be.