Proud. Of. You.
EPILOGUE
Jon
Two Months Later
“I can’t believe you’re doing this without my sister! She’s gonna kill you. And now me, too, since I’m your accomplice,” Jack says as he follows me to my appointment.
I shrug off his worries, thinking once Margeaux sees what I’ve done, she’ll forgive me pretty quickly. She gets pissed off quickly, but she’s quick to forgive.
“It’s not my fault that Zoey is detaining her for a movie and snack marathon all night. Zoey insisted they have one last girls’ night before you two take off on your honeymoon,” I say to my newbrother.
He and Zoey got married last weekend, and they leave for Hawaii tomorrow evening. Margeaux and I fly back to Paramount tomorrow as well. It’s been nice to have some time away, and Margeaux really enjoys reconnecting with her family. Her mom still doesn’t quite understand why Margeaux wrestles and puts herself in harm’s way, but she sees how happy her daughter is happy and she’s backed off with the discouraging comments.
Margeaux has a few weeks until she has to start getting back into serious training, so she’s going to spend all that time with me, inParamount. Construction on the new training facility is officially underway. It’s amazing how fast things can move when you throw enough money at the project. Margeaux being in Paramount for a few weeks will also include her doing interviews to talk about the new PEW training facility and the world of entertainment wrestling. There has been some pushback from the elitists living in Fructose Hills, worried having such a violent sport in Paramount will increase crime or debauchery. Frankie countered a lot of their arguments with how the new facility has already been increasing job opportunities for the lower income communities around Paramount, like Divine Springs. I’m quickly learning that you can’t make everyone happy, and that’s okay. My beautiful woman is happy, and that’s all I care about.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Jack asks as we walk up to the small, but highly recommended tattoo shop. It’s the same one Margeaux got her first tattoo, so it seemed fitting for me to get mine here, too.
“Never been more sure of anything.” I confidently open the door, a low beep goes off, alerting the staff we just walked in.
A middle-aged guy, with long, dark hair, with streaks of gray, pulled into a low bun, gets up from behind the counter. He’s a couple inches taller than I am, but skinny, and covered in ink. Everything, from his knuckles to his neck, and I’m sure under his t-shirt and pants are more crazy designs.
“Which one of you is Jon?” he asks, walking toward us.
“Heis,” Jack says nervously, holding his hands up. “My wife would kill me if I got a tattoo.” I notice his face blush as he refers to Zoey as his wife. I bet it feels really nice to say.
“I’m Walt. Come on back.” He shakes my hand and leads us to his station. It’s still the early afternoon, so other artists are working on their clients. A young woman is getting what looks like a butterfly tattoo on her foot. She’s cursing the whole time and white knuckling the arms of her chair.
A group of teenagers watches their friend get a nose ring at another station.
“Have a seat and I’ll grab the stencil I had made,” Walt says.
“Do, uh. Do you need me to hold your hand during this?” Jack asks.
I shove his shoulder and he snickers. A sharp pang in my chest strikes me as I wonder if this is what my and Jacob’s relationship would have been like if he were still here. Jack is a great brother and friend and has helped fillsomeof the void I’ve carried since Jacob died all those years ago.
“No. I mean, I don’t think so. Maybe keep talking to me so I’m distracted.”
Walt comes back with translucent paper where he drew the artwork I sent him. We spoke for a while, making sure the size and design was just right.
“Will it hurt?” Jack asks, like he’s the one getting a needle dragged across his skin.
Walt shrugs as he takes out a small shaving kit and gets to work on removing all the extra hairs and dead skin on my upper left arm.
“Everyone’s different. This spot doesn’t hurt too bad. If you were gonna get your first tat on your chest, I’d try to persuade you to consider a different spot.”
“Does the chest hurt the worst?” Jack keeps the questions coming like a little kid.
“I mean, it hurts more than the arm. Less muscle. It’s also a spot you’ll always see. People will always see. So, if you end up not liking the artwork after a while, a lot of people wish they got a different area tatted.”
Iactuallyconsidered getting this artwork on my chest. It seemed fitting considering the design and the meaning behind it. After explaining the design to Walt, he convinced me to move it to my arm, telling me I may want to add to it over time. I thought about it for a day or so, and my heart ached thinking about what it would mean to add to this design, but he’s right. This is just the first, and I’m proud to carry this memory with me.
Walt finishes cleaning my arm and places the stencil, checking with me if I like the positioning and size.
“It’s perfect,” I say, already getting choked up. It’s exactly like I remember.
Jack leans forward in his chair and squints. “What is it?”
