The door crashes open and I hear someone yelling, “NO, NO, NO!” in a terrified voice like a frightened kid, and I realize itwas me,I’mthe frightened kid with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, just as my upper back and my throat explode. I make a terrible sound like the dry heave of strangulation and slump like the dead weight I’ve become, hitting my head on the floor, and a warm gush of thick liquid runs out of my neck.So this is what dying feels like. There’s no pain, no breathing, no air, just drowning. Drowning and choking on my own blood. Only the warm, wet, disgusting gurgle of rushing death, and a pregnant woman I was supposed to save screaming for help, and then she’s silent as the M-16 fires once more.
Dean
Hi there –
My name is Dean, and I’ll be your tattoo artist today.
A quick point before we start: I am completely 100% mute. This is due to an injury I sustained during a mass shooting in America, where I am originally from. Yes, it was one of the well-known mass shootings. No, I definitely do not want to talk about it (which is useful, given that I can’t talk), so please do not ask me anything about it. Suffice it to say, I don’t like guns at all, I emigrated to get away from them, and, having been a victim of gun violence, I hold the unshakeable opinion that gun control needs to be more of a thing in my country. End of discussion, and I will end your appointment early if this subject is raised again, even if your tattoo is incomplete. Boundaries are healthy, y’all, and that’s one of mine. Please let me know any of yours so I can return the favor if needed.
Now, you may be thinking this will make your session rather quiet and stilted. Maybe even awkward. It ain’t necessarily so, my friend. Think about it. You can talk to me about anything you want, and 1) I won’t be able to tell you to pipe down if you go on and on, and 2) I amguaranteed to be able to keep it all 100% confidential. Tell me all about your secret affair with the mailman. Tell me why you hate your asshat boss, or your in-laws. Practice your TED Talk on me. I’ll take it all to the grave.
If you need me to answer any questions that require more than a nod or a shake of my head, it’s all good: I have an iPad I can type on, and if the battery dies on that, I have a pen and paper. Or I’ll just tattoo the answer to your question on you. Kidding! Probably.
Nice to meet you, and let’s get started.
Dean Gastright
PS: I’m sure this doesn’t need saying, but you’d be surprised how often this happens: I’m mute, not deaf, nor cognitively impaired, sothere is no need to shout at me or to speak slowly.
CHAPTER ONE
Dean
Fuck, I’m tired.
I got basically no sleep at all last night, and my shitty sketches couldn’t make that any more obvious. I’ve been drawing some more mini tattoos for our ‘thirty bucks a pop’ days to kill time between appointments, and the small stylized anchors and buoys have become elaborate sharks and krakens. Sea monsters as ugly as the inside of my head.
“Dean?”Tap, tap, tap. I look up from my sketchbook at the sound of Emily’s familiar knock, and smile as she pokes her head around the swing door. “Hey - your one o’clock is here early. Can you see her now? She just asked on the off-chance, cos she’s on her lunch break.”
Thank god. A distraction.
Sure, I reply,send her in. A nod would have been enough, but Em’s still working hard on her American Sign Language, so I sign everything I can to help her learn.
She turns her head. “He said that’s fine. Go on in.” And the client that walks in is so very,verybeautiful that it’s actually alittle ridiculous. Flawless, glowing roses and cream skin. Elfin features like the drawings of the pixies and elves in Emily’s Dungeons and Dragons books. A friendly and warm smile, showing off perfectly straight, snow white teeth that belong in a toothpaste commercial. Ink blue eyes, shining with interest. Pink wavy hair, falling to her rib cage. And when I say pink, it ispink. It’s every shade I can imagine, from pale rose to neon, with some strands looking like the soft purple the sky goes at dusk. I can’t tell if this effect was the happy accident of a home dye job, or if she paid a fortune to have this done. Either way, she’s an avalanche of coolness.
“Hi,” she says brightly, holding her hand out for me to shake as Em goes back to reception. “I’m Liaden. Lovely to meet you.” She pronounces itLeer-d’n, and it sounds real pretty in her clear-as-a-glass-bell voice with a faint hint of an Irish accent.
I’m basically staring at this woman at this point, so I quickly shake her hand and nod towards my black leather chair. For just a second, I feel like catching up to Em and asking her to come back so I’m not alone and dork-ish with one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen in real life.
Weird. Normally I couldn’t give a rat’s ass if my clients are hot or not. It makes no difference to me either way.
I look back at her as she settles into the chair and has one more glance at the black sheet of paper she would have been given on arrival. The one that explains to new clients about my muteness and what to expect.
She looks up and beams at me in a way that sends a tingle straight through my entire body, like when I stood right next to the amps at rock concerts when I was a teenager. It’s a physicalwhoomp. I manage to move my face into Smile Number Seven, friendly yet professional, pleasant but with a touch of distance. I have several different smiles. They’re one of my bestcommunication tools, putting forward all the words I can’t speak out loud and saying it all for me.
“So, I’m fluent in British Sign Language if you know any of that?” She starts signing the ABC in American Sign, and I blink in surprise. It’s not a commonly known language in the UK, which isolated me just the right amount when I moved here all those years ago and I needed space. “I’m afraid I only know the alphabet in ASL. But we could probably get by with that well enough until I learn some more for next time?”
I huff out a chuckle. She talks like she’s inThe Matrix, and fluency in my language is a matter of a brief upload directly into her brain. I can’t watch that movie anymore, but I remember enjoying it as a kid.A-S-L O-N-L-Y, I finger spell slowly, mouthing,Sorry.
She shrugs. “No problem. It shouldn’t take me long to learn more, so I’ll add it to my to-do list.” She grins, and a dimple appears. “Generally it takes the average person sixty to ninety hours of study to become conversant in a language, but I’m pretty sure I can beat that.” There’s no arrogance in her tone, just confidence in her own abilities. I think she reads a question in my eyes, because she explains, “I’m a linguistics Professor at the university. I’m fluent in a few languages, but there’s always room for one more.”
Ohhhhhh-kay.
“Now,” she continues, picking up her pristine looking red handbag. It matches her red heels that remind me of my teenage crush on Audrey Horne inTwin Peaks. In her navy dress with large white polka dots, she looks like a CEO. Even with the pink hair. “Tim, your colleague Sadie’s brother, recommended you to me a few months ago because the tattoo I have in mind involves a large amount of script, and apparently you’re an expert in calligraphy tattoos. Is that correct?”
I nod, reaching for my red leather portfolio on the shelf behind her. It’s full of photos of all my favorite tattoos I’ve ever done. I could show them to her on my tablet, but I always think there’s something about a real leather folder full of your hard work. I hear the faintest intake of breath from her, and notice I’m leaning over so that my chest is mere inches from her face. Close enough for her to lick.Oh, thanks, brain. Thanks a fucking bundle. I freeze for a second, unsure how to play this because it was completely unintentional. But I can see how it might look to her…What would Leo do? What wouldIhave done back in the day, back when I was cool and un-fucked-up? Thinking quickly, I pull one side of my mouth up into what I hope looks like Smile Number Twenty-Three, the chilled out smirk. It seems to go over OK, because her eyes light up and she smiles back.
Shake it off.
