Page 76 of The Fire Walker
Grinning, I asked, “What time youoff?”
“Four.”
“Four hours to kill? Without you?” Iexclaimed.
“I’m sure you’lllive.”
“Jessie.”
“I never said it would be easy.” She smiled up at me, and it was just so easy between us, the awkwardness of the last week beginning to dissolve into nothing but a painfulmemory.
“I’m sure I’ll find something to entertain myself with,” I said. “I’ll be back atfour.”
“It’s adate.”
Extracting myself from her arms, I walked back out onto the street and waved at her through the front windows. Fuck, I already had trouble leaving her. I had to just walk out like that—like I was ripping off a Band-Aid—or else, I would sit in there all afternoon watching her work. I didn’t want to be the stalker boyfriend. Boyfriend. The notion kind of hit me all of a sudden. She was mine, and I washers.
Walking down the footpath, I looked in shop fronts, browsed through a couple of secondhand places, and stopped for coffee. I just walked, checking out the neighborhood Jessie called home. It was rather hipster with its vintage boutiques, coffee houses, and record stores, but it was my kindaplace.
When I came across a tattoo parlor, I stopped and looked at my watch. I still had two and a half hours or so until I had to be back to pick up Jessie. Peering in the window, I debated the idea of being tattooed. I had the time, and it had been ages since I’d gotten somethingnew.
Walking inside, I stopped by the counter, the sound of tattoo needles and some punk band blaring on the stereo assaulting my ears. Flipping through a portfolio, a heavily tattooed guy came up and saidhey.
“Looking to get a tattoo, mate, if you have timetoday.”
“Sure, what are you thinking ofgetting?”
“Some script across my abdomen,” I replied, thinking up something on thefly.
“What do you want it tosay?”
I hadn’t thought about it, but the words just appeared in my mind at the last second, and it was bloody poetic and one hundred percent appropriate. “Fire walker.” Totally described that thing Jessie and me went through down to aT. I felt like I’d walked over a pit of burning hot coals to get to this point. The point where I could begin to work out shit and just be withher.
“Sweet,” the tattooist said. “What kind of script? Just traditional? Or somethingdifferent?”
“Traditional. How long do you think that’lltake?”
“Something like that will take about two hours max. If you wanna do it now, I can,” the guy said. “I had a cancellation, so I’m wideopen.”
It seemed like fate, so Iagreed.
“Gimme about fifteen to draw itup.”
“Sure.”
It wasn’t long before the tattooist was shaving off my snail trail and the stencil was on my stomach. I was going to tattoo the last two weeks on my gut for eternity. Do or die. I was totally going todo.
“Lie on your back for me, man, and we’ll getcracking.”
Settling down, I readied myself for the familiar burn of the tattoo needle. I’d heard getting tattooed on your guts was pretty painful. Bloodysymbolism.
“What do you do?” the tattooist asked as he set up his machine, the buzz of the needle ringing in myears.
“I’m amusician.”
“Oh, yeah?” The guy’s eyes lit up. “Are you in aband?”
“Yeah.”
