|
Addict
Join Date: Jul 2007
Gender: Female
Posts: 177
|
Scene in a Tattoo Parlor
It's been a while since I posted anything here, so I'm sorry if this isn't in the right place, or if it isn't up to standard. It's the first scene in a story I'm writing, and it involves someone getting a tattoo. I was hoping people could tell me if my voice is decent, and also point out any mistakes in the tattooing process. Thank you.
The Tattoos of Sammuel White
Sam White stared at a grubby sign that spelled, TATTOOS in circus letters. He glanced briefly through the shop's windows and then pushed open the glass door of Crown Fools Tattoo and Body Piercing. A glass counter cut the entrance off from the rest of the shop, and the case was filled with plugs for gauged earing, statues of black cats, and Mexican sugar skulls. The walls of the shop were dark red and covered with pictures of swallows and ships. A cream colored kimono was fixed to one wall and another held a black and white photo split into two sections. The first section showed a Japanese man dressed in an immaculate business suit, looking impassively ahead of him. The second showed the same man, sitting comfortably on a sofa and smiling at the camera. He was naked, and you could see that he was covered from neck to ankles with tattoos.
A man was standing behind the counter sketching quietly, and immediately Sam connected the man's curly hair and wide mouth with the syrupy voice he'd heard on the phone when he made his appointment.
The only other person in the shop was a pale girl with stringy hair, liquid brown eyes and a heart shaped face sitting in the corner, underneath posters of flash tattoos. She had a book of Brandon's work open on her lap, and she glanced up from it briefly when Sam walked by her. He approached the counter and waited for Brandon to look up.
"Hello, my name is Sam," said Sam. "I talked to you on the phone."
"Hey, Sam. I've pulled out some flash for you to consider. Since you wanted something traditional, it's mostly Sailor Jerry, because he was basically the father of old-school tattooing," said Brandon.
"I heard people started stealing his designs, so he had to print, "The Original Sailor Jerry" on his business cards," Sam said tentatively.
"That's right. You know, it's rare I get someone in here who has done research."
"I'm studying art. That's how I found Sailor Jerry. I'd never expected to find a tattooist in an art history book. It surprised me." He blushed, worried suddenly that he'd insulted Brandon.
"Surprises me too. But it's kind of nice to live in a world that can appreciate all kinds of art, no matter what the canvas is," said Brandon, smiling gently.
"So Sam, here are the tattoos I thought you might like. If none of them strike your fancy, don't worry about it. We can start over."
Brandon fanned a dozen laminated pages onto the glass counter, and Sam reached out to trace the outlines with his long fingers. He knew a genre of tattoos popular among old artists was pin-up girls, but the concept of having another human on his body seemed somehow macabre to him. Maybe it was coincidence, or maybe Brandon was good at matching people to tattoos, but there was hardly any pin-up flash in the selection. There were nautical stars and black panthers and clovers. All of them were beautiful and Sam even recognized most from his reading.
He paused, and brushed several other pages off of one. He picked it up. It was a picture of an old-school red rose, with a dagger stabbed through the top, down the center of the flower. The hilt of the dagger was gold and green, with ornate curling on the handguard that matched the curling of the rose's vines.
"This one," he said.
"Okay. Nice choice. Where are you getting it?"
"Left leg. On my calf," said Sam.
"Great. I'll just draw up a transfer and we can get started."
Sam wandered around the confined space of the shop, looking at the art on the walls, and carefully avoiding the girl in the corner. He concentrated on not concentrating on what he was doing in a tattoo parlor, but his fingers shook a little when he threaded them through his messy blond hair.
Brandon called him over and gestured to the padded tattoo chair. Sam lay on his side, facing a large fake gilt framed mirror, and watched Brandon's reflection pressing a purple transfer of the design onto his leg.
"You ready?" Brandon asked. When Sam nodded, he said, "Okay, I'm about to start with the outline. Most people think the outline hurts more than the shading, so I'm just going to do a small line and then check and see how you're doing."
He lowered the needle to Sam's leg, and Sam did his best to not hold his breath.
"Okay?" Brandon asked.
Sam nodded again. The pain wasn't too sharp but he could tell it would make his skin ache after a while.
"So where are you studying art?" Brandon asked.
"New York University."
"That's pretty prestigious, right?" Brandon swiped at his leg with a damp cloth, removing extra ink.
"I suppose, little," said Sam. "But it isn't Ivy Leaugue or anything."
"So what drew you to traditional tattoos?"
"I liked the colors," Sam said after a moment. It seemed like the easiest answer.
"That makes sense," Brandon said. "They used a lot of dark, vivid colors in those days. When Sailors got tattoos, they weren't looking for detail, they just wanted something that would impress everyone back home."
Sam listened with half a mind, staring at himself in the mirror. It felt strange and almost anticlimactic that he was just sitting there, talking sporadically about everyday topics, while his body was permanently marked. The buzz of the needle was surprisingly relaxing, even with the brief shots of pain, and after a while, Sam felt very relaxed, thinking vaguely about things he knew he wouldn't be able to remember once someone broke his reverie. After less than an hour, Brandon changed to colored inks and started shading
meticulously. He leaned in close to Sam's leg, pausing intermittently to wipe blood and ink off the tattoo. It became a strangely comforting rhythm, and Brandon turned the tattoo gun off much sooner than Sam had expected.
"Well, that's it," Brandon said.
Sam sat up and looked at his leg. With the drops of blood and ink glistening on his skin it looked delicate, like he could make the colors run together just by moving, but the reds and golds and greens were bold and the outlines were strong.
"So what do you think," said Brandon. "You think you're going to keep it?"
Sam smiled slightly. "Yes," he said.
He was a little disappointed when Brandon said he'd have to keep a bandage on it for the first few hours. He couldn't stop looking at his calf and it was making him feel narcissistic. It almost even made it better that it was a secret. He wouldn't tell his parents when they called that night and he wouldn't show his roommates. He knew what Adrian and Peter would say if he told them he'd gotten a tattoo. They would ask him if he was sure he'd like it forevor and then they would look at him strangely when he said no, that was the point. They wouldn't understand that if he ever became so pretentious and artistically discriminating that he couldn't appreciate the rose and dagger on his left leg, then he deserved the tattoo as punishment. So either he wouldn't regret it or he would deserve to regret it.
"Thank you very much," Sam said reverently.
"No problem. I'm glad you like it. It was fun. A good tattoo to start the day on." Brandon handed Sam a sheet of paper. "Here are your aftercare instructions. Feel free to call if you have any questions, and come back in about a month so I can see if I need to do any touch ups. Red ink can be fickle sometimes."
"Okay," Sam said. He paid for the tattoo, tipping an extra thirty dollars, and left the shop. A bell chimed as Sam opened the door, and the pale girl in the corner watched him leave.
Last edited by Girl in Story : 07-27-2008 at 03:49 PM.
|
