Page 1 of Never Really Mine
1
MARLEY
AGE 18
The needle of the tattoo gun pierces my skin in a precise cadence, but it doesn’t hurt. If anything, it feels good, like relieving an itch that I just can’t quite reach. The leather chair underneath me is becoming uncomfortable the longer I sit here, but there’s only so much I can do about the position I’m in.
“How’s the pain, Mar?” my best friend, Beau, asks. He’s wearing a devilish grin, like he’s anticipating me to whine about how bad it is. He’s sitting on a stool next to me, watching the tattoo artist work.
“Not bad,” I answer truthfully. My right arm is laying out on a padded armrest, while the artist, Nina, does her job. Months ago, when Beau asked me what I wanted for my birthday, I didn't hesitate. As soon as the suggestion left my lips, I was worried he'd think the idea was stupid, but when he took the leap and made the appointment for us, it made it all worth it.
I thought my heart would beat out of my chest when I watched Beau get his tattoo done first. He made it look so simple as he leaned back and gave me an easy smile. His tattoo is onhis right bicep, the same spot as mine. His whole upper arm is covered in a thin film wrap, the skin underneath red and raised from the inflammation of repeated needling.
Nina listened to our ideas of what we envisioned and drew up a sketch for us, and it’s everything I could have wanted. Two hands clasped together, one in the water, one out. It symbolizes a lyric from the song “Dead Sea,” by our favorite band, The Lumineers.
Beau has been my best friend since the age of eleven. My family moved into the house next door to him, and we became fast friends, despite my initial hesitancy. When I found out the next door neighbors had four boys, I was devastated. I was convinced that they would only be friends with my older brothers, Kenny and Prescott. They’re four and five years older than I am, and they wanted nothing to do with hanging out with their eleven year old sister. Beau proved me wrong. Until we moved to Ivy Ridge, all the neighbors were my brother's age, and they all played together. I was the annoying little sister, always ignored, always in the way.
Shortly after we moved into the new house, I was reading a book on the front lawn when Beau and his younger brother, Andrew, rode by on their bikes. Beau noticed me first. He stopped, calling out to Andrew who had zoomed by, not even realizing that his brother had stopped. Andrew kept going, saying something about meeting him at the baseball fields, but Beau waved him off. He dropped his bike onto the lawn, and strode over to me. A heavy feeling of nervousness made its way through my body. Was he going to tell me to stay away?
His brown curly hair flopped over his eyes and he pushed it back off his forehead. Wearing an Ivy Ridge Baseball tee and basketball shorts, he looked ready to head to practice. I wore a bright yellow sundress that mom always said made my brown eyes pop.
He introduced himself, asked what book I was reading, and promptly declared us friends. Ever since that summer day, Beau has been my rock, my one person I know will always be there for me. He was the first person I told the day I started taking antidepressants. The first one I called the day my mom wasn’t home, and I was slipping toward the edge of a cliff with no return. He’s helped me through some of my darkest days, and I’ll never be able to thank him enough for it.
Pulling me right out of my memories of Beau, Nina swipes the towel across my aching skin and clicks her tongue. “Done,” she sings. I look down at my arm, at the artwork that was now permanently on my skin. A smile grows on my face, and I look up, meeting Beau’s eyes. His smile mirrors mine. “What do you think?” Nina asks.
“I love it,” I say. It’s perfect.
She finishes cleaning my skin, covering the tattoo with a thin layer of ointment and wrapping it in gauze and tape. I meet Beau over by the counter at the front of the shop, pulling out my money from my back pocket.
“I got it,” Beau says, pushing my hand with the money out of the way. “My birthday present to you.”
I scoff, trying to slide in and pay. “Then I should pay for your tattoo,” I say.
“Nope,” Beau says with a sly smile. “I already paid for both of ours while you were getting cleaned up.”
“Beau, seriously?”
“What, am I not allowed to treat my best friend on her birthday?”
“Not when it’s a tattoo, and you paid for your own, too! You should have saved that for your college fund.”
He shrugs. “It’s done now. Besides, you can just buy our next tattoos.”
“Ugh,” I grumble. “Fine. Thank you,” I begrudgingly say, but on the inside, I’m giddy. I can’t wait for this new chapter in our lives, to start this new tradition for us.
“You’re welcome.” Beau catches my eye, winking quickly. My heart flutters, not for the first time today. Things with Beau have been… different lately. To the point where I think something more might be evolving between us. At graduation, he hugged me for just a second longer than normal, and it didn’t feel like our normal, platonic hugs we share so often.
In a few weeks,I’m off to one of the local community colleges, where I plan to study photography. Beau’s heading off to business school in the city. Sure, we will only be an hour from each other, but I can’t help but worry that things will change.
I climb into Beau’s truck, a hand-me-down from his Gramps. It’s a ‘97 Chevy Silverado that used to be used as the company truck for his woodworking business, but has since been retired to each of his grandsons. Beau starts the forty-minute drive home, but instead of taking a right into town, he turns left, heading toward Cinder Valley. “What are you doing?” I ask.
Beau shrugs. There’s a sort of scheming glint in his eye, but I don’t question it, he’s always up to something. He drives us through the small town, heading to the river landing. He parks, then jerks his head toward the river. “C’mon.”
I get out, following him. The rocky gravel crunches beneath my sandals, and the landing is surprisingly calm, despite the late summer day. There are groups of canoers heading down the river, but I don’t really pay them any mind. Beau sits down on a log, patting the spot next to him.
I sit down, and he wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his warm chest. He smells of his cologne, clean, and sharp. I chuckle when I think about the phase he wentthrough with AXE body spray. He sprayed that shit everywhere, seemingly coating his skin in a layer of the potent stuff.
“What’s funny?” he asks.
