All My Life

  I wait for him to explain. The clock ticks, the traffic outside simmers and Neil starts whistling again. I give up. “Jheezus! What do you mean?!”

  He stops whistling and gives me a horribly condescending smile. “She said you’re a natural.” Then all the humor is wiped off from his face as he asks the next question, “You know how many apprentices she’s trained?”

  I am too taken aback by his previous comment to respond. A natural? Me?

  Neil doesn’t wait for me to reply. “None,” he says, answering his own question.

  “Then why me?” I ask him, suddenly wondering about why Agnas had chosen to hire me at all. She’s already built a great client base and she’s an excellent tattoo artist herself. I’d seen customers walk-in feeling unsure and by the time they left they would be raving about her skills. She didn’t need me. At all. Maybe someone to help around with the odd-jobs but certainly not an apprentice.

  I look up and find Neil watching me with a strange expression on his face.

  “You really don’t know, do you?” he asks after a beat.

  I furrow my brow. “Know what?!”

  “How talented you are?”

  I know. Of course, I know. I’ve always aced the Arts class. Obviously, I know I draw well. But tattooing? That’s a whole different ball game. The stakes are so much higher. You’re messing with someone’s skin here! Not a design which you can scrap and start over with.

  “What if a hunky Harley rider comes in, requesting a dragon tattoo and I end up inking a donkey on him? You know like that funny GIF? What’s going to happen then, huh? What if I drive the needle in too deep and accidentally, like kill somebody? What then? The only way I see this ending is me in an orange jumpsuit sitting on an unsanitary pot in a dark, rat-infested cellar.” I take a deep shuddering breath at the scary scenario I’ve just painted out in such realistic detail.

  A second later, as I look up I find a horror-struck expression on Neil’s face.

  “Angel, you have a real knack for the gruesome. That has got be the worst possible scenario a tattoo artist has ever come up with.” His face breaks into a grin. “I knew it though. I told Mom you’ll never make it.” Then he starts doing this thing. He starts flapping his hands. “Buck, buck, buck, buckawk.”

  Bare-chested Adonis or not, right now I have the extreme urge to fling something at his stupid face. Something heavy. Something that will hurt like a bitch.

  I try to maintain my composure and give him a wan smile. “Yeah, thing is I’m not four. So what you just did? Doesn’t really work anymore.”

  Alright then. Solitary confinement here I come. I snap on the blue gloves, take the alcohol, spray it viciously on his lower stomach and then apply some lather. With an evil grin I pick up the razor but as soon as I stretch my hand towards his stomach, all my bravado vanishes. Somehow the act of shaving him there seems so intimate, so improper. Especially, since I’ll have to bend over him and stay that way for more than an hour while I ink him.

  Be brave, Kari. Think of him as your customer. Customers are not people. They are walking, talking currency notes. No feelings. Just business. Right. Okay.

  My face flames up as I begin scraping through his happy trail. After a few seconds of scraping, I realize what he has isn’t a trail, it’s a whole forest! Ack! Weren’t all men supposed to shave their chest and stuff nowadays? Whatever happened to having fuzz-free Hollywood heroes as role models?

  At least now, my embarrassment is completely foregone by the irritation at his lack of upkeep. The only thing distracting me now is that heady mix of musk, shaving cream and a distinctly…male scent. And God knows that is one seriously jeopardizing distraction. Especially with a whizzing needle in one’s hand.

  The disinfection and shaving over with, I get down to business. Once I’ve stenciled the tattoo on his skin, I plug in my machine.

  “Okay. This will sting a bit,” I warn him. As the needle starts etching his skin, I see his stomach muscles clench in response. A few seconds pass and as he gets used to the pressure, the tension gradually leaves his body.

  I’d initially thought it would be hard to be artistic when you know your work is causing agony to another person. But no. Now, it seems even more imperative that my work be perfect, precisely because someone is willing to take the brunt of the needle for it.

  In fact, I’m so focused on inking him right that I don’t even attempt any small talk. Something I’ve often seen Agnas do with the customers. However, my silence doesn’t deter him.

  “Where do you live?” he asks.

  “Around.”

  “Around…like across the street in that grey house?”

  I pause my work for a second and give him a questioning glance.

  He smiles sheepishly. “Yeah, Mom told me.”

  I don’t respond and get back to my work. Which in no way discourages him.

  “So what are your plans?”

  “Getting through college.”

  “I mean more immediate plans.”

  “Finishing the gazillion pending papers.”

  “No Angel, like tomorrow evening. What are your plans for tomorrow evening?”

  An unwelcome memory of my last date flashes through my mind and I whimper at the pain it lashes on me. I jerk off the machine from his body and take a sharp breath. Then I turn to face him and tell him through gritted teeth, “I don’t go on dates, okay? So just stop. Stop calling me Angel. Stop being so…nice. Just let me do this, okay? Please. Just…” I feel my face crumple so I quickly turn away from him and bend my head. Putting the machine back on, I continue with my work, all the while trying real hard to swallow the dry ball stuck at the back of my throat. Time passes, my needle etches and thankfully, I soon get so engrossed in my work that everything else blurs in comparison.

  I sharpen the edges of the dragon’s tail, outline the cruelty of its jaw, the jagged spikes and blades of its wings. Then I fill it all up with another ink. And for that entire time, I am blissfully oblivious of all my dreams which remain unattainable, of all the angst, the frustration, the huge disappointment that is my life.

  After finishing, as I straighten up and unplug the machine, I realize with shock that Agnas is standing right behind me. I was so completely immersed in the zone, I didn’t even hear her come in!

  Just as I’m taking off my gloves, she puts a hand on my shoulder. “Oh! Kari. It’s beautiful!” I am surprised to hear her voice break and when I look up, sure enough, her cheeks are wet with freely-flowing tears. But she’s not looking at the tattoo. I follow her gaze and realize she’s staring at her son. Neil has his eyes closed, lips pursed and his fists clenched tight. And at that moment I can completely relate to the torture I see on his face. I may not know the reason for it but I know exactly what it feels like. A serpent sitting in your belly, writhing, lashing and threatening to take over your mind.

  My body moves before my mind can even follow and I clasp his balled-up fist in my hands. He makes a strangled noise and clasps my hands tighter. Then he opens his eyes with a grimace and his eyes widen as they fall on my face. I immediately let go of his hand and step away. He shoots up from the bed table, looking around desperately. “Where’s Agnas?”

  I look behind in surprise. “She was here…just a moment ago. Upstairs, maybe?”

  Neil lets out a deep breath and jumps off the bed table.

  “I’ll go look for her.” He turns to go but then stops and glances back. “And Kari…thanks.” I watch his fingers as they press gingerly against his tattoo. “It’s the best I’ve ever seen. Agnas is right you know…you’ve got what it takes.”

  I stare at his retreating figure and wonder about what it is that has Agnas so bothered and Neil so worried. Then I clean up all the tools and leave for home.

  Mom’s working in late again and what’s worse is that it’s a Saturday. My turn for cooking dinner.

  After much debating, I decide on the eternal favorite. Spaghetti and meat balls.

  I scrounge aro
und the kitchen, looking for some meat. I come up with just two sorry-looking sausages but it’s more than enough for me.

  I’ll be the only one hogging them because Mom doesn’t even look at meat. She is big on being a vegan. Well, as long as the veggies she partakes are frequently interspersed with coffee, cigarettes and wine. It’s what I call…vegan with benefits.

  Me? I can eat anything and everything, with or without a face. Mom tried everything to lure me away from meat but I could not be cured. When I was younger it was emotional blackmail. How could I ever refuse the chunky soy burgers which had been made with so much love and hard work? I tried them for a whole month before even the thought of soy would make me hurl. When I got older, she went subliminal. Pictures of cows grazing in fields as screen-savers, stuffed toy rabbits for birthdays. Then two years ago, Dad left and Mom went ballistic. Ads with celebrities dressed as tortured seals, naked supermodels detailing bovine parts on their nude, size zero bodies.

  And yet. Here I am, squeezing the hell out of my sausages to make meatballs. Living the life.

  The sauce turns out well and I take out half of it for Mom before spiking mine with the meatballs. A car door shuts on the street outside and a few seconds later, Mom comes in juggling her enormous bag and a huge pile of folders which promptly collapses on the floor as soon as she makes it inside the house.

  We scamper across the floor, trying to collect all the papers that have slipped out. “Mom! Have you even heard of the digital revolution? Who carries paper anymore?”

  “My boss, that’s who. I have a sneaky suspicion Carl doesn’t know how to use computers.”

  “Come on, Mom! That’s impossible. He hosts the morning news for Christ’s sake!”

  “Oye, that still doesn’t tell us a blimey thing.”

  “Yeah. Real mature, Mom. Making fun of someone’s accent.”

  “Jeez, Kari. Lighten up.” She gives me a pat on the head and then walks off to her study to put away all her things.

  “What’s for dinner?” Mom asks as she enters the kitchen and I watch with amusement as her step falters when she notices the table. Two plates piled high with spaghetti and a thick well of tomato sauce in-between. Mine with the added luxury of meatballs.

  “Oh! Kari. I love you!” she gushes as we sit down. “I think we should dump this alternate day arrangement and let you take on all the cooking. You’re so much better at it than I am!”

  I smirk as I pick up my fork. “Yeah, if you start paying me for it.”

  Mom’s fork-full of spaghetti pauses in mid-air as she looks up to give me a glare. “Why do you suddenly need so much extra cash?”

  Uh-oh. Busted. And I’ve set myself up for it this time, haven’t I? Quick! Think of something, Kari!

  “I did my first tattoo today!” I spurt out and then wonder if I’ve just jumped right into the fire. But I should have realized this was my Mom I was talking to. You can’t pull off any kind of evasion tactics with her. Not even with my delicious spaghetti sauce fogging her brain.

  “Really? Great! So since you’re doing so well there, they must be paying you and that apart from the pocket money is quiet a hefty sum. Where are you spending all of it?”

  I wave my empty fork in the air. “You know, books, clothes, the works.”

  “More clothes?”

  “A girl can never have too many clothes, Mom.”

  “When I was your age…”

  “NO. No, Mom. Please. Any sentence that starts with those five words is grounds for a change in subject. And look I’ve already finished my dinner.”

  Mom lets out a deep tragic sigh. “Alright. There is one more subject I have to talk to you about.”

  My ears prickle with alarm as she uses the two code red words in the same sentence. Talk and subject. Heaven have mercy on my soul!

  “O-kay. What is this subject?”

  “Your Dad called and he said you’re not replying to any of his e-mails or returning his calls. Why is that?”

  I shrug my shoulders in response.

  “And in teen-speak that means what exactly?”

  “Christ! It’s just that I’ve been busy, okay? I’ll write something to him before I sleep.”

  “Okay, but…” Thankfully, Mom’s phone dings right at that same instant. Her attention diverted, I quickly get up and dump my plate in the sink.

  “Kari, I’ll do the dishes. Just leave them there,” she says without taking her eyes off the phone.

  “Okay, Mom. Goodnight.” I kiss her on the cheek and make my escape to the safety of my room. Without switching on the lights, I go straight across to the window.

  Neil or Agnas must have closed down the shop because all the shutters have been pulled down. I glance up and notice that the apartment lights are still on. I wonder what Neil’s up to. I wonder if the red-nailed stiletto-wearing bimbo is there with him right now. Then I wonder if me standing here in the dark, trying to pry into his living room counts as stalker behavior. It does. It completely does. Psycho!

  I feel the scorning eyes of Kermit, my childhood tag-along, burning craters into my back. I promptly walk across to my study table and turn him so he faces the wall.

  Then after a quick bath, I power on my laptop and send a perfunctory e-mail to Dad. Basically an I’m okay, you’re okay, everything is A-okay. It’s the least I can do. He is paying for my college tuition after all.

  Finally, I take my lying, deceiving body and slump it down on the bed. When I open my eyes next, its morning again and that’s when it all comes rushing back to me.

  Chapter Five

  Drawing in a lungful of air, I shoot up from my bed. Then without wasting another second, I tear off my clothes and scramble towards the shower. I scrub him off me, off my body, my face, my lips. I scrub till my skin is raw, till the soap stings me back to sanity.

  I dress up hurriedly wearing the first set of clean clothes I can find. I have to leave home before Mom wakes up and insists on her Sunday breakfast ritual.

  Once I’m out of the house and on the street, I allow myself to relax. Then I head out to start my usual Sunday morning walk in the park close-by.

  Early mornings turn our community park into a post-apocalyptic disaster zone. Crumpled bits of fliers, plastic cups littered on the grass, steaming sewers and harried, hung-over or just plain grumpy ramblers. Ah! There’s the old couple who hates making eye-contact with the other morning walkers, there’s the paunchy man in his forties from the apartment above, the bouncy bimbo in spandex whose boobs move up an inch every time I see her, the ripped Italian dude who follows her trying hard to get in her good graces. I love each and every one of them. They are my reliable source of Sunday cheer.

  I enter the park through the side gate and am just about to start my jog on the trail when I notice two people haggling in the corner ahead. One of them is Eddie.

  My breath hitches and my feet freeze to the spot. If Eddie notices me, he will certainly harry me about the money or worse, draw me into whatever confrontation he’s having with that shady-looking guy. I have to get out of here.

  Extremely wary of not bringing any attention to myself, I slowly do an about-turn and start walking back towards the gate.

  But today is just not my day.

  “Hey! Where’re you running off to?” Eddie’s snide voice halts me right in my tracks and my shoulders slump in defeat.

  Dreading every moment of what I’m about to go through, I turn around to face him. I watch as he saunters towards me with that contemptuous smile on his face. Just watching that smile of his and I feel it growing inside me. Hatred. Deep, intense hatred. I hate him from the depths of my existence.

  I hate his smug sneering face so much that my hands tremble with all the emotions bubbling inside me. “What are you doing here?” I ask him through gritted teeth.

  He shifts his baseball cap the wrong way round. “Business as usual.”

  “Yeah, that looked like business.” The jibe escapes me even though I know no good can come fr
om pissing him off.

  He raises his eyebrows in surprise and steps close. Close. Too close. “Well, well, well. Aren’t we feisty today?” He puts his hand on my shoulder and I suck in a breath at the disgust his touch unleashes through my body.

  My spine snaps to attention and I clench my teeth. “Get your hands OFF OF ME!”

  Just for a second, he’s taken aback by my reaction but then the element of surprise wears off and he smirks. “Why? What are you going to do?” My body shudders with revulsion as his hand moves and he runs the back of his fingers over my cheek. “What happened? Cat got your tongue?”

  “Is everything okay? Kari?” The voice seems familiar and as I turn towards it, my anger instantly melts. Neil is standing there in his track pants, looking at me with such genuine concern on his face that it pushes me right over the edge. I quickly turn my head before the tears welling up in my eyes can give me away.

  “We’re just talking,” Eddie says defensively. I look up to glare at him and to my surprise, I realize Eddie looks uneasy and scared? This is quite a surprise because even though Neil is taller, Eddie easily outweighs him. He is clearly the heftier guy.

  “Yeah? Didn’t look like talking to me,” Neil replies curtly but his voice softens as he addresses me, “Kari? What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”

  Eddie changes his tactic. “She’s my girl, okay? It’s just a misunderstanding.”

  Something explodes inside me as I hear him call me his girl. For fuck’s sake! I am so done with him and his bullshit! I am done. Done. DONE.

  “I AM NOT YOUR GIRL! And this is over. I’m not doing it anymore, okay? It’s just over. Don’t you dare call me again!” I swing around and march towards the gate. I hear someone coming after me but I don’t stop. I start running and keep going till I find myself back on my block, standing right in front of the shop. The shutters are still down so I collapse on the sidewalk, my body thunking against the metal. I drop my head back, close my eyes and drag in mouthfuls of air. Somebody lands right beside me and for a second, I think it’s Eddie.