-Lets get cut together-
At A Glance Author Johnathan Fii Contact Johnathan Fii@bme.anon When Six months ago Studio Boulevard Tattoo Location Hollywood Boulevard and Highland Avenue in Los Angeles -Yeah, let's do it!-
Strange, how agreements made via the internet, via phone calls, can change the course of one's life.
I'm an odd bird. I've always had a certain fascination when it came to piercings, to tattoos... and an almost overwhelming fear of needles. I'm the guy who nearly faints when the doctor says that he needs a blood test... The only thing I was more afraid of than needles were bees.
And there I was, that warm afternoon in April, eating shabu-shabu with the love of my life... knowing that in just a few short hours, I would be meeting both my greatest fear and my greatest fantasy at the same time.
We'd talked about it for some time, and I'd thought about the design for over three years. Some would call it immature, others would call it obsessive, to choose an iconic symbol from a video game. But that game had been part of my life, hell, that game had steered the course of my life, had brought the two of us together... And for better or worse, the friends I met via my fandom had touched my life in ways that I knew would always shape the course of my destiny.
"You sure about this?" She said, a short while later as we walked into the studio. There was music, golden oldies of an age when Hollywood had been decadent... all undercut by a sound that at that point was ominous, frightening. A buzz like the bees of my nightmares, and suddenly, the choice stands ahead of me. Meet two of my darkest fears head on, and achieve that which I've desired for so long...
Or run away to normalcy, and wonder, forever, what might have been.
She went first, in an attempt to assuage my fears. For the life of me, I can't remember the name of the artist – an Asian woman with beautiful sleeves, whose manner and technique was both calming and fascinating to watch...
And it was in my calm that I heard myself blurt, "I'll do it."
Instantly, fear gripped me. Fear of the unknown, fear of making this sort of a commitment... fear of leaving the norm and choosing to take my own path...
My father's words echoed in my ears – years spent berating the tattooed, the pierced, calling them trash, calling them freaks and misfits... Why were ears, even on a man, alright, but everything else a dirty taboo?
My mother's words joined his – her insistence that it would hurt, insistence that I would freak out... Every attempt she'd made in the past month to discourage me, after I'd finally shared my desire with her... The lies she'd concocted... And for what? To keep her baby boy pristine and perfect?
The artist took my design, sketched it...and my fiancée moved to my side, reassuring me... I decided on line art... at first.
"I... I need a drink!" I said, nervous as ever.
"You can go if you want to. I need to finish this, and it will take about fifteen minutes or so," The artist replied, before she gave me a stern look. "But no more than one or two – you don't want to be drunk when you get this, it will make it so much worse, and it won't come out right."
Outside, the hustle and bustle of Hollywood and Highland enveloped us, people all around... We went back to our little shabu-shabu restaurant, and I sat down at the bar, hard...
What was there to be afraid of?
Why should I, who had always considered myself open minded, be so afraid...?
Two shots of Jose Cuervo remedied that. Liquid courage, instant confidence, my personal talisman against fear of social repercussions.
A cigarette and a five-minute walk later, and we came back through the doors. The artist for a moment gave me a look that bordered on apprehension – she was expecting the pale-faced boy who'd fled the studio but a short while ago to return, saying he wanted his design back and he was leaving...
Instead, I said, "Where do I sign?"
Paperwork, ID copies, and $85, for the moment of truth to begin.
She sat me down and asked me to lean my head forward... she shaved the back of my neck, cleaned and disinfected the skin, placed the stencil she'd made and ensured everything was proper...
"If I hit the floor, I'm sorry." I joked – it was lame, it was childish, but we laughed at it all the same.
I heard the buzzing behind me, ominous and high... and for just a second, everything froze...
What the hell am I doing...
What if it hurts...
What if Mom was right and I can't go through with it...
And then the needles touched my skin, and everything went away, replaced by...
... Release?
Catharsis?
Ecstasy?
Is there really a word to describe it? I don't know.
But in that first touch of needles to skin, I was hooked.
I didn't faint.
I didn't cry.
And the only time we stopped, was to let the artist and I both rest a bit – holding your head down is much less comfortable than you'd think!
The lineart went quickly – it was straight forward... and when it was done, I looked in the mirror...
"... If you want," She said. "I can color it... I won't charge you anything extra."
My fiancée looked at me, smiling... And I looked back at the artist...
"Yes."
It was my fiancée who picked the color – the deep, rich, vibrant green, that to this day hasn't faded, remains as brilliant as it did the healing process was finished.
I learned to overcome fear that day, and I learned to shake off the chains of self-doubt and fear of scrutiny. I learned that the body truly is a work of art, and that I understood the desire to make myself a canvas for all the world to see... That there is both beauty and pain in freedom of expression, and that I wanted, no, I craved more...
... In a few months, I'm getting another. And after that, who knows where it stops?
A man's heart and body is his temple... and this is how I worship mine.