Crashing Back Down (8 page)

Mitch changed into some of Randy’s clothes from my room and waited ten minutes. When I didn’t respond to his knocking, he opened the door, finding me passed out naked in the bottom of the shower with scolding water turning my skin pink. Apparently, Mitch stripped down to his boxers, showered the puke off of me and put me into bed.

The next morning I woke up not remembering a thing. Needless to say, it was one of those drunken college nights that mortified me, and my friends loved to tell the story over and over. Even years later, my cheeks flushed bright red. Luckily, the sun had already started turning me a little pink, so no one seemed to notice my embarrassment.

We sat, talking and drinking for a few more hours. It was like old times again. For a short time, the emptiness seemed to subside. By late afternoon, our skin had become angry at our drunken, sun baked Saturday. Our server trotted over to us with our seventh bucket of Coronas, informing us that it was shift change and she was about to be sent home. Taking it as a sign, we asked her for our check so she could close out her report, not wanting her to have to stick around just for us.

Ripping the check out of her hand before anyone else could grab it, I passed my card to our pleased server without even opening the book. Everyone sighed and started badgering me for always doing that. It was true, I hated other people paying for me and I loved being generous, especially with some drinks in me. I snickered at their frustration, wondering what we were going to do next; I was not ready to crash back into my melancholy reality just yet.

“Well, Mitch and I were thinking about going to get another tattoo. Want to tag along?” Walker fiddled with his keys, avoiding Mitch’s narrowed eyes, knowing he hated having an audience when he was getting inked. Walker on the other hand, loved company no matter what he was doing, and it was kind of tradition that I was with him every time he got a new tat since we had become friends.

I beamed at him in my drunkenness; I was elated to go on any type of adventure. “Yeah, for sure,” my emotion oozed through my words. “Want to go Cali?”

She stretched extravagantly and yawned. “It’s Kyle’s only night off this week. I think I better head home.” I could see all of the missed calls and texts that she had been ignoring from her husband, and couldn’t believe he put up with her ignoring him like that all day.

I frowned at her, not wanting our amazing day to end, and then wrapped her into a hug whispering, “Thanks for today. I really needed it.”

Cali squeezed back, telling me that it’s what best friends are for, and then said goodbye to the guys, too. We had parked a few blocks south of the bar and Cali decided to walk along the beach alone, refusing Walker’s offer to drive her. She claimed she needed the exercise, laughing a little. I didn’t question her further; Cali liked to do things for herself and when her mind was set on something there was no changing it. I wrapped my arms around her neck one more time and she set off for the beach.

W
alker, Mitch and I finished the rest of the beers, then gathered our things and started to head out on our escapade. Walking to the parking lot, Walker put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me into his side.

He bent down, walking awkwardly as he rested his chin on my head. His voice was low and husky, making sure Mitch couldn’t hear from his three pace lead, the southern drawl more apparent in his beer drenched slurs. “Thanks for coming. I’m going to need your opinion on what to get. It’s always better when you’re there.”

He lightly pecked the top of my head and I playfully shoved my shoulder into him. His grip tightened, making sure to not let me get too far from his side. “I love going with you guys. It’s always entertaining watching grown men cry like little girls from the slightest hint of pain.” I was teasing him. Never having gotten a tattoo myself, I imagined they were extremely painful. “Maybe I’ll get one too.” The words escaped my mouth before I could stop them. I had always wanted one, but was very apprehensive about it. Not to mention, my pain tolerance was next to nothing.

Mitch stopped dead in his tracks. He turned around with a sly, mischievous expression spreading wildly on his face, ducking down to look me dead in the eye, his words came out as almost a challenge. “There is no way in hell I will believe that until I see it!” Mitch had not shaved for a few days and his prickly jaw line made him look rugged, almost sexy.

A playful smirk danced across my lips as I crossed my arms very matter-of-factly in response to his tone. Before even realizing what was exiting my lips, I was placing a bet with Mitch that if I went through with it, he’d pay for my first tattoo. Not wanting to be left out, and probably not wanting Mitch to have to pay for the whole thing either, Walker agreed to split the cost of it. And now, the pressure was on, and I realized quickly there was no turning back.

Luckily, I had a little bit of beer induced courage pulsing through me, so my instinct to run faded fast. I shrugged off the guys’ relentless teasing. “How bad could it really be? Both you two wimps are covered!”

Once we reached the tattoo shop, nerves were swimming around with the alcohol, causing my stomach to do backflips. I clung to Walker’s arm with both hands in a death grip as he led us into the shop. Every inch of the walls were covered with some type of artwork or tattoo example. The artists’ portfolios sat on a coffee table in the sitting area to the left of the entryway, along with a cracking black leather couch and a few gray folding chairs.

Two large overly pierced and tattooed women, who looked to be in their forties, wearing black leather from head to toe, were sipping out of beer bottles. They didn’t even seem to notice our entrance, never looking up from flipping through the binders. From a distance I heard the smaller of the two, in a deep, hormone induced tone say, “Nah, Kitten, get the skull on fire on your back, and I’ll get something that matches.” My attention was quickly diverted from my eavesdropping by Walker’s arm flexing in my grip to shake someone’s hand.
Ugh, his muscles are amazing.

We were greeted at the front counter by an inordinately large older biker with a long white beard, bald head and tattoos covering every inch of his visible skin other than his face and parts of his neck. I could hear the buzz of guns jamming ink into skin in the back room; the sound sent shivers down my spine. Walker and Mitch greeted the guy who introduced himself as Calvin. Not too long before, Calvin had bought the shop and luckily kept most of the artists that worked there. Walker and Mitch both breathed out a sigh of relief when they were told that Jeff and Pete were still employed and not too busy to do some work on our little group. Walker had declared from the time of his first tattoo, that Jeff would be the only person to ink him and Mitch felt the same way about Pete.

Calvin checked all of our IDs and called into the back for Pete and Jeff. I had known what my first tattoo would be ever since I first went to the beach with Randy. We both loved the ocean and would enjoy it in any way possible. Randy’s favorite birds were sooty terns, always claiming he was jealous that they lived practically their whole lives out at sea. So, when the scary, biker jacket wearing shop owner turned to ask what I was getting, that is what I told him I wanted flying on my hip.

Walker chose to get a nautical compass to accompany the underwater scene on his lower leg. He had been working on that collage for a few years, and it was by far the best work he had on his body. Mitch planned to start a new sleeve on his left arm since all of the space on his other was full of dead gypsies, skulls and morbid looking flowers. The sleeve that he already had was breathtaking and the new one sounded like it was going to be just as beautiful but with a completely different theme. Mitch planned to get a pin-up style girl, posing seductively around an anchor on his forearm. I felt like it was a little cliché, but who was I to judge? Pete was a master at American traditional tattoos and Mitch’s idea was going to be spectacular.

I was practically shaking with anticipation as the guys chatted, and my mind started to grasp reality. Seeing the scared look on my face, Walker turned into me, pulling me tight to his warm body. It felt so inviting to be close to him, not to mention how fantastic he smelled, even after being in the hot sun all day. I took in a deep breath of cologne, beach and beer, relaxing into him. From behind me I heard two voices say hello to us. I knew the two artists well. When Jeff asked how I was doing, I realized he must have been told by Walker about Randy. I put on my most convincing smile and joked, “Well, I’m still breathing.” Walker jumped to my rescue and started to talk to Jeff about the piece he was thinking of and they turned to the counter where Jeff started to draw up a sketch on to tracing paper.

I was standing in the middle of the entryway watching Mitch and Pete talk about the pinup girl. They were pointing at Mitch’s arm where the girl would be and measuring out how much space she would take up. Suddenly, Calvin’s voice came booming from behind me, “Well, Little Lady, I think we need to find you a tattooer.” I turned around, trying to look calm and brave, but failing miserably while my knees and hands trembled. Out of the corner of my eye, Jeff popped up from his drawing.

“Mags, can I do it?” The shock mixing with excitement in Jeff’s face was contagious to me. I anxiously locked eyes with Jeff, not knowing if I was about to cry or laugh. Every type of emotion was running through my body. “That would be amazing, as long as Walker’s okay with it, of course!”

Walker smiled at me, walking over to wrap his arms around my waist. “I wouldn’t want anyone else to touch you.” His eyes had a lustful undertone that was all too intriguing, but I chose to ignore it and let my mind wander to my thrilled, scared heart, thumping with anticipation. He pulled me in a little tighter and breathed. “I’ll get mine done next time.” Turning to look at Jeff from over his shoulder, Walker’s voice got playfully stern. “I’m trusting you, man! Don’t fuck up!”

It was a little odd how touchy Walker had been these past few hours with me, but I couldn’t deny how comforting it was. I missed the companionship of my husband so much it physically hurt. Right now, that pain was subsiding, just enough to almost bring warmth back into my body. I gave Walker’s middle a quick squeeze then trotted over to the drawing table to tell Jeff the idea for my tattoo. Jeff scrolled through a few pictures of the seabird with me until I found one I loved, and he went to work drawing it onto transfer paper.

Before I could realize what was going on, I was lying on my side, my shorts undone, with Jeff putting the stencil on my hip. I got up gingerly, making sure my shorts didn’t fall off or mess up the outline, to go make sure I liked the almost-tattoo in the mirror. The bird looked like it was flying right off my hip bone. It was a little bigger than I was expecting, but stunning. I could not have imagined it any more perfect. Tears welled up in my eyes, full of all kinds of emotions, some I couldn’t even identify at the moment.

Walker and Mitch both gave Jeff a pat on the back and expressed their approval of the image. Mitch wrapped me up in one of his amazing bear hugs. “Mags, I’m shocked and proud. Sit like a champ. It’s going to be beautiful.” With that, Mitch sat on Pete’s chair to get his work done, and Walker pulled a chair up next to the cushioned table I’d be lying on, to offer a hand to squeeze for moral support. I got back down onto my side, bracing for the pain, and Walker settled into a comfortable position, taking both my hands into his. Mitch was in the seat behind me chatting away with Pete about life since their last session.  This reminded me of my therapy sessions with Dr. Davenport while listening to Mitch talk. It was so clear to me that coming to the shop was where the guys came for their type of therapy. I go to a shrink; they get ink jammed into their skin.

Jeff asked me if I was ready, handing me a lollipop to suck on so I didn’t bite my tongue. I nodded once, closed my eyes, and took in a deep breath. Without warning, the stinging sensation of the needle driving into my skin was intense. Chills and adrenaline started to cover my body as I squeezed Walker’s hands. Walker and Jeff talked, trying to include me into their conversation. My voice was trembling, and concentrating on anything other than keeping my body from shaking uncontrollably was out of the question. I couldn’t talk to them, I just had to let my mind go blank, blocking out everything, including the pain. I had gotten so good at blocking out my emotions that it was pretty easy for me. I just shut my eyes and concentrated on Walker’s hands grasped around mine, with his thumb slowly drawing circles on my overly sensitive skin. I stayed in that almost trance for the rest of my session, allowing myself to just be at peace and in the moment for the first time in ages.

Suddenly, the pain stopped and I realized the buzzing noise from the gun had ceased. I looked over to see Pete and Mitch hovering over me, and Jeff getting up to stretch his back out. Walker’s face turned quickly into excitement as his eyes flicked from mine to my hip. “Wow, Jeff, sick work! Mags, you’ve got a masterpiece on your side.” Walker helped me off the table and guided me to the full-length mirror to see my sooty tern in flight. I gasped and thanked Jeff profusely as a wave of emotion flooded my eyes, hot tears streaming down my face. I couldn’t help but feel like Randy was here and his grip on my sorrow was starting to release. I felt like this was a little piece of him that was never going to go away and that was all he needed to be at peace.