“Are you ready?” I tilt my head down to answer, his piercing blue eyes encounter me. What the hell was that?
I nod in confusion. Take in a deep breath, close my eyes, and squeeze Wendy’s hand inside mine. The needle punctures and moves through the clamped top of my navel. I exhale a sigh of relief, “That wasn’t so bad.” Fritz threads the ring, pulls the needle out, and inserts the bead in the center of the gold ring.
I close the car door and turn the ignition, I look at Wendy, “Did you think he was cute?” “Yes, but I’m surprised you do, you don’t like bald men,” she pointed out. “I know. I don’t know what it is. There’s something about him.” I check my mirrors and pull out of the parking spot. “I guess it doesn’t really matter since I’m married.”
While stopped at a busy intersection the next day, I look out the passenger window and see Fritz on the motorcycle next to us. What an incredible coincidence! I point excitedly in front of my daughter’s face, “He pierced my belly button! Do you think he’s cute?”
“Mom!” Brandilyn scrunched her face in disgust at me behaving like an awe-struck teen. I don’t know what I expected from a 10-year-old. I did know he looked pretty darn good on that bike and there was something beyond his rough exterior.
Seven months later, my grandma gave me $50 for my birthday. The same as every year for as long as I can remember, but this year, my grandpa’s name wasn’t on the card. After he passed, I found the courage to end my marriage, and I wanted to do something special with the money.
Since I was in the process of reinventing myself, I decided to start with a tramp stamp. I chose the Sign of Cancer – a sideways ’69’. The familiar hum of the machine caused me to brace in anticipation. The needles penetrated my skin for the first line and Fritz asked, “So, you’re a Cancer?” I laughed, “No, I’m an Aquarius. My birthday was yesterday.”
“Happy Birthday. Why are you getting this design?”
“I was born in ’69 and it’s one of my favorite numbers.” He perked up.
Our conversation continued to flow. It felt like a fun first date, albeit a strange one since I couldn’t see his face. He took a long time, but I didn’t mind. He was kind, humorous, and surprisingly intelligent. I began to question my stereotypes of tattoo artists.
There was a definite attraction between us, but mutual concern as well. Sure, he was a tattoo artist, but I was a single mom, working in corporate, and a recovering alcoholic. Damaged goods.
It took another seven months–a few more tattoos, a group dinner, and an all night conversation–before our official first date. Sixteen years later, I’m grateful my prejudiced beliefs didn’t keep me from my soul mate.
He possesses a heart capable of loving me in ways I’d never felt I deserved. Perhaps that is the gift of true love, the ability to see beyond the mask. Both theirs and our own.