|
Monday, Jun. 03, 2002 / 11:42 a.m. ~A Light Layer Left, Evaporating~ I wasn�t going to show anyone today. I was going to keep it all to myself. I didn�t want to look at anyone, nor talk if I didn�t have to. I didn�t want anyone to see how swollen my eyelids are from crying, I wanted to fly low, under the radar, but Lulu asked. And she asked to see, so I showed her two of the three. I can�t gauge her reaction, but once I started talking it was hard to stop, and she literally turned away from me. She�s done it before. I think it happens when something is too intense. Like telling her the story of the woman who lost her brother at the World Trade Center. He was a firefighter in NYC. She came to the Convention looking for the person who tattooed him, and she found her, it was �She�, the one who tattooed me on Friday. Oh yes, she remembered, she never forgets a tattoo. The woman holding the laminated pictures of her brother, the framed photo, was briefly overcome, her hand went to her forehead, not covering her mouth like horror, but she was clearly gathering herself, steeling herself. She�d found someone who had connected to her brother in a very personal way. And she will follow �She� back to NYC and get a tribute tattoo there, not at the Convention. Lulu turned away when I told her that story. And I added to it the story of �She� getting the call about her sister committing suicide. I said, �You think that story�s intense, listen to this one�, but she had turned away, was humming, �Mmmm� yeah, that is� mmm hmmmm�. Penelope asked too, wanted to see, and just then Veronica wanted to see. She wants to know what the Mantra means, what �OM� means, and how do I explain? What�s the easy explanation? I don�t know how to explain something I barely know, explain Tibetan Buddhist teachings to a Fundamentalist Christian. How do I do that? We let it go. She walked away. That�s best. I�m happy with what I got. I love my new ink, fresh ink. I�ll never forget the �roadie��s enthusiasm for my tattoos, him saying, �Mmmm� fresh ink� on Saturday. I loved engaging him in conversation. Once he started his voice would get so low I�d have to lean in, and it was like listening for answers. To questions I didn�t know I had. These were gypsies, carnies, traveling eccentrics, and the wisest people, people who�ve seen life, who�ve lived, even the youngest, and they have so much to share. I wrote a gushy letter to �She� who tattooed me. Last night I sent her email, I began with �Dear�� and ended with �Love,� because that was how I felt about her. I told her how sorry I am about her sister, but how much she affected me, how I will never forget her or her stories, and how filled with regret I am that I left too soon on Saturday night. The �roadie� had told me, Sunday when he first saw me, �She was looking for you last night, was wondering where you�d gone. She was hoping she�d have a drink with you, hang out.� And I said, �Oh, fuck�. I told him I�d felt out of place. After all, no one said, �Hey, stick around, let�s have a drink.�, I was simply hanging out, like a groupie, and that made me uncomfortable. As I was trying to tell Jon, I have to know I�m wanted, appreciated, desired. I can�t pursue all the time. I like, no, I need, a give and take in my relationships, ANY relationship at all. I listen to you, you listen to me, I write to you, you write back, I call you, you call me, I invite you here, you invite me there. There has to be give and take, or it�s not worth it to me. It�s selfish, I know. But I can�t always give. �She� was friendly and open, but only when she wanted to be. I�d look her in the eye and not know if she was seeing me, but then she�d engage me, talk to me, look inside me and I knew we were connecting. It came and went. When it was on, she was inside of me. When it was off, I felt the loss. The same with the �roadie�. Yesterday, when it was all over, I sat in the lobby, amidst the thick cloud of cigarette smoke, watching the people, reluctant to leave, and I waited. There was to be a cookout, and pre-registered guests were invited, and that included me, but I felt so alone, so obvious, so out of any loop, so relatively tattoo-free, and I knew that the �roadie� was busy taking care of �She� who�d just had the most incredibly bad news. I figured they�d be leaving, or at the least distracted. He passed me outside the hall, walking with the rolling carrying case, preparing to dismantle the booth, and he saw me, looked at me and smiled, almost surprised I was still there, or maybe happy, but I couldn�t wait around. I�d been through so much, had all this new ink, was tired, no, exhausted, and the smoke was terrible (what is it with tattoo enthusiasts smoking themselves to death?), so I left. I sat at home debating, thinking I should go back, but knowing I couldn�t possibly socialize. I couldn�t possibly insert myself into conversations with strangers, and I might not have �She� and the �roadie� to talk to. I couldn�t inhale all that second hand cigarette smoke. So I wrote the letter and sent it via electronic mail. I hope she reads it soon, when things have calmed down, and that it makes her feel good to know she had an impact on a stranger. (Saturday night I�d asked if I could hug her, after she�d told me the �afterlife� experience she had, and it was a warm hug, she held on, it was firm and so nice, I almost started crying.) I�m dazed, still. I hardly slept. I left the TV on, tuned to a digital music channel, �Dance�. It was techno, club music, and I slept to it on and off, waking up to pee, look in the mirror to see how badly my eyes had swollen. Waking up early, 6:30 or so, to put ice on my lids, reduce the puffiness. So I�m tired, no, exhausted, drained, my emotions are on the surface, almost all evaporated now. Just a light layer left there. I�m listening to �Play� in my Walkman. The phones are turned off, here at work, 10:01 a.m., cubicle time. Due to some programming error (last Monday they were turned off for the Holiday, and the IT Dept can never seem to de-program afterward). I�m glad. Lulu and Penelope both asked if anesthetic is given before a tattoo. Hah! How insane is that?! I talked to people at the Convention who were all hopped up on Advil before their tattooing. ? It never occurred to me. Do I like pain? I never thought I did. Before. Cost of the War in Iraq
(JavaScript Error)
Recent Entries: It Was 40 Years Ago Today - 9:44 a.m. , Friday, Oct. 12, 2012 Dead Black Cat - 9:07 a.m. , Wednesday, Jan. 25, 2012 As Seen From Outer Space - 1:07 a.m. , Saturday, Dec. 05, 2009 I Survived to Tell the Tale - 7:29 a.m. , Friday, Sept. 18, 2009 Reading My Life - 12:55 p.m. , Saturday, Sept. 12, 2009 
  |