Page 45 of Life Lessons

I spend the next couple of hours typing out various responses to Trixie but quickly deleting them without sending. I just can’t find the words. How do I explain how I have been acting? Do I even want to? She would be so much better off away from me. But as each minute ticks by, I feel the large cavern in the pit of my soul begin to expand. It’s like the emptiness is slowly swallowing everything, until I feel as though I am drowning. I don’t know if I have the strength to survive today.

Arriving at the tattoo shop in a daze, I don’t even remember the taxi drive over here, or if I even paid the man. Given there isn’t an angry taxi driver chasing me down, I’m guessing I did. I give Mike a half hearted wave as I walk in, but hang back as he is still talking to his last client. It’s a blonde girl a few years older than me. Fake blonde extensions making her hair flow down to her ass, fake tits that her vest top is struggling to hold, and a fake laugh that echoes around the shop making me wince. I see it in Mike’s face too. I watch his discrete eye roll as his client admires the totally pointless butterfly she has etched just above her ass crack. The true definition of a tramp stamp. At least I can say all my tattoos have meaning, and this one will too.

She finishes up paying and as she walks out, she looks down her nose at me, clearly judging my baggy Led Zeppelin t-shirt of Jett’s that I have paired with some skinny jeans and my well-worn Converse. I don’t exactly look like I’ve made an effort; no make-up, black bags under my eyes, and hair pulled up into two messy pigtail buns. Not the most flattering of appearances but that’s exactly what I am aiming for. I just want to be left alone.

“Abbie, great to see you. You look tired, are you not looking after yourself?” Mike asks as he leads me back to the chair he uses at the back of the store. All the other tattoo artists are positioned near the front, but Mike has his own room at the back. It’s his shop so he gets special privileges. Plus, he prefers silence when he is working.

“I can’t complain,” I mutter in response.

His eyes roll, and I know he doesn’t believe me. “Let’s see this design then,” he says with a smile.

I know he knows what today is. He knew Tillie, and he was at her funeral, so I know he knows that today is the anniversary. But he also knows there’s no point in mentioning it. Instead, he focuses on the piece of paper I pull out of my back pocket. As I open the folded up piece of paper, I take a big deep breath and present it to him. The large cross in the centre of the page is a design I have been working on for a while. I am no artist by any means, but I know Mike will take my scribblings and make it into a work of art. The cross itself is plain and not unusual, but it’s the design in the shading inside the cross that makes this piece so beautiful.

It’s inspired by the cross Jett has in memory of his Dad, the one that signifies hope and life. I want to combine the three people that mean the most to me. So the cross itself is my homage to Jett, and the memories life can never take away. I may have only loved him for a short time, but it is enough to know I won’t ever feel that type of love again. It’s the detail within the cross I have used to signify both Tillie and Trixie. I used the face of a beautiful girl with angel wings. Her face looks serene, almost like she is looking up to the sun’s rays and has a gentle smile on her face. Her angel wings float down the sides of the cross as her face takes up the centre. Roses signifying beauty and strength adorn the remaining sections of the cross. The beauty is for both Tillie and Trix, although the girl will look just like Tillie. She will have her eyes and her smile. The angel wings are a constant reminder that she is watching over me still. The strength and beauty of the roses is all Trixie. She has such a beautiful heart, I am lucky to have ever met her.

The cross summarises the people I have loved and lost in my life. I don’t want to have any of me on the cross, that would ruin it and detract from its beauty. But, I position it underneath the beautiful handwritten font with the words ‘It never rains but it pours’ that I got tattooed for our birthday. My homage to the fact that, even when I feel like I have finally got my shit together and I start to feel like I might actually want to live, life hits me like a ton of bricks.

“This is a beautiful design, Abs. It will take a few hours though,” he says, as he begins sketching the stencil he will use. I had already emailed over a picture of Tillie so he could practice. I want her to be perfect. I don’t want people to think I tattooed myself in the design. We were identical twins but there were always subtle differences, ways that people used to be able to tell us apart and that’s what I wanted him to capture. I don’t doubt him, he is more than good enough.

“I have nowhere else to be, I say as I straddle the table he directs me towards. The back rest is lowered, and I lay down flat on my stomach, flicking my hair out of the way. I know he will have to open my bra to make enough room on my back, but I have towels on either side of my arms covering what would only be a decent dosage of side boob. I don’t really care if people look, but Mike is a good guy. He has a young daughter, and has always treated us with dignity, no matter where he tattoos.

“Are you not seeing your family?” he asks, as I feel the first pierce of the needle penetrating my skin.

It doesn’t really hurt. At first it’s more of an annoying itch, but as each little needle prick dives in around the same spot the pain begins to increase. I welcome it, and I am so busy feeling the tip of the needle that I don’t even reply to Mike. He discreetly clears his throat to get my attention, and as my brain slowly catches up, I reply. “Sorry, world of my own. You know what I’m like when I get tattooed. And to answer your earlier question, no,” I reply, probably a little sharper on the word no than I should have been.

“Abbie, you should be around family today,” he sighs as I feel him alternate between scratching and wiping his cloth over my skin. It’s so weird not being able to see what he’s doing.

“This is the closest I will ever get to being with my family. You know that, Mike,” I explain and I can feel the breath he blows out tickle across my back. It makes me shudder and giggle slightly. It’s completely involuntary and feels so alien to me. I can’t remember when I last laughed. It would have been with Jett.

After that, we sit in silence. Mike likes the quiet so he can concentrate on his work. I know if I could see him he would have the tip of his tongue sticking out of his mouth slightly as he focuses intently on my back. I just lay here, eyes shut, feeling the pain and thinking of all the people who I will now be able to carry with me permanently.

After I have been there for a few hours, we only have one patch of shading left to complete and my phone starts ringing. I ignore it and concentrate on the tattoo gun needle again. I know there’s nobody I want to talk to. But it just continues ringing. After it rings for around the fifth time, I can hear the annoyance in Mike’s voice as he almost demands I either answer it or turn it off. I look at the phone and see I have missed seven calls from my mother, and I have twelve messages from her. I quickly turn off the phone, not wanting to ruin this experience by including her in it. But as I return to the tattoo table, and Mike begins shading the final section, my mind wanders to what the hell that woman could want so badly. Particularly today.

Mike pulls me out of my brain wandering, which is a good job as I was just going through all the possible worst case scenarios for why she could be ringing. He hands me the lucozade drink he always insists I drink at the end of a long tattoo session. Apparently my body needs the sugar and calories after tolerating that pain for so long. What he doesn’t know is I have felt much worse pain. I think my body is probably immune by now. But I know he won’t let me get up to see the tattoo until I have finished it, so I down it quickly, anxious to see the finished product.

As my back is unveiled in the mirror, I am overcome by emotion flooding into me all at once. It is so beautiful, and represents the people I love so much. The serenity of the angel in the centre. The beauty of the roses surrounding her, but never overshadowing her, and the hope that protects them both. He has even freshened up the cursive quote that is all me and all together there’s a certain beauty to it, and I can’t help the floods of tears that fall from my face.

Mike wastes no time drawing me into his chest for a hug, and as my head rests on his rounding belly and my arms circle around him, I can’t help but imagine that this must be what it’s like to have a dad hug you. To feel their heart beat against your ear as his t-shirt soaks in your tears. He obviously doesn’t mind because with each sob that wracks my poor defeated body, he holds me tighter. I think at one point it’s only his arms that are keeping me up right.

It takes me a while, but Mike never rushes me. He simply holds me until my tears subside. I brush the remaining tears, and snot away from my face and look sheepishly at the mess I made on his t-shirt. “Sorry,” I mumble as I try to pull out of his arms, in desperate need of a tissue, but he holds me where I am, forcing me to meet his eyes. His gaze feels like it is all knowing, like this virtual stranger that I only see a few times every year really does care enough to see into my soul.

“Don’t ever apologise for feeling, Abbie. You have been through so much, and yes, your life may feel like the rain constantly pours. But that’s okay…” he says, and I can’t help but look confused. He gives me a small smile before continuing. “It’s okay, as long as you learn to dance in the rain. When you are finally able to do that, to find the good worth living for, I will add that onto your tattoo for free. You may not feel it for some time, maybe even years, but I guarantee you will get there. You will learn to dance in the rain. Maybe you will even find a handsome bloke to dance with you,” he adds and we both chuckle. My mind instantly brings up his picture. Jett is not the sort of man that dances, the moody bastard no doubt has no rhythm at all, and he would hate being soaked by the rain. Yet, I know he would stand there for hours, dancing like a lunatic, drenched and freezing cold, as long as it made me smile. I just wish we had the opportunity to do things like that.

“Thank you,” I whisper, truly grateful to have someone in my corner who believes in me. I could have someone else in my corner, if I hadn’t pushed her away.

“No problems. Here, take this tattoo balm, and a packet of ibuprofen. Don’t tell my other customers that I treat you the best. The balm needs to go on three times a day from tomorrow. Start the ibuprofen now, it will help with the pain and take down the swelling. Take two now and two before bed. I know you don’t drink so I don’t need to lecture you about mixing. Oh, and legally, I can’t prescribe you anything, so you got these at the shop across the road if anyone should ever ask,” he says with a wink and I laugh. He does the same speech every time. He started getting me the ibuprofen after the first tattoo I got without Tillie, when I refused to buy some as I wanted to enjoy the pain. My tattoo stayed really red and inflamed and it affected the healing. It took a while, so now I follow the instructions.

We part ways, and I actually leave with a smile on my face. I know what I need to do. Turning my phone on, I ignore anything from my mother and pull up the text I received this morning from Trixie, and hit reply.

Abbie: I’m sorry. I have no words for my behaviour. All I know is that pushing you away made sense at the time, it still does a bit. Everyone I love leaves me, and I pushed before you got a chance to. If you meant what you said, I am going to her beach now, the one we went to that day we bunked off. You are welcome to join me. My mother keeps calling and I need to see what she wants, but then I’m turning off my phone. Hopefully I see you soon, but I understand if not.

I press send, hating seeing all my pain in text form. I did push her away because I didn’t want her to leave first. It seems childish and pointless with hindsight, because I still lost her in the end. Thankfully, she has extended an olive branch and I’m grabbing hold for dear life. Mike is right, I need to learn to live.

The walk to the beach is short, and I am shocked to find it almost empty. Then again, it is coming up for six in the evening, and a light breeze is now crisp in the air, as the sun begins to hide away. I thought I would get a couple of hours in the sun. The tattoo took longer than we were expecting, but that’s okay. I wanted Mike to do his best work and I didn’t want to split it into two sessions like he suggested. But before I walk down the ramp, onto the beach, I sit on the bench next to the shops overlooking the seafront. A couple of people are milling around, mostly people walking their dogs, or a few stray kids crying because they don’t want to go home.

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I don’t even bother reading her messages, I just press the call button, and her shrill voice answers instantly. “Abigail! Where have you been? What on Earth is more important than attending the memorial service dedicated to your sister,” she shouts and my heart begins to race.

“What memorial service?” I ask, genuinely confused.

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