She nods and I take what I need to and leave the room. It only takes a few minutes to get everything into the autoclave and set the cleaning cycle, but I take my time with it so Becca has some privacy.
I head back to the room and knock before I enter.
Once she’s wrapped up, I clean and sanitize the parts of my machine that don’t go into the autoclave while Becca orders food.
“Food should be here soon,” she says, walking into the hallway. “I’m going to sit on the couch.”
I finish cleaning and sterilizing everything, putting everything away in case Becca changes her mind about continuing with the tattoo today. When I go to the front of the shop, I find Becca examining one of my paintings. It’s impossible to tell from the painting, but it’s the design that I tattooed on my mom after she got breast cancer.
“I’m still a little shocked to find out you’re such a talented artist,” she says without turning to face me. “You keep surprising me.”
“It’s something I’ve always done. When the opportunity came up for me to start tattooing, I jumped on it. I’d been doing it for a few years when my mom got sick, and it all just came together. That painting is of the tattoo I did for her after she had a double mastectomy.”
Becca spins around, her mouth hanging open. She blinks rapidly but makes no sound. I walk to the other side of the waiting room and point to another of my paintings.
“And this is the one I did for my sister Rose after she had her double mastectomy.”
Becca thumps down on the couch, her mouth still open. “You tattooed over their scars?”
“Yes,” I say, running a hand through my curls. “Shortly after I tattooed Rose, Sleeping Dogs started touring, so I didn’t get into the shop much. After the first tour, I decided to only take breast cancer survivors and mastectomy patients. I volunteer my time and the resources to do it. None of my clients pay me.” I laugh. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that you’re not the first.”
I can see the wheels turning in Becca’s head, like she can’t imagine the Johnny she knows to be the Johnny who also does this work.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Why do you do it?” she asks, brows drawn. “Why do you cover these women’s scars? What do you get out of it?”
“Why do I do it?” I’ve thought about this a lot, but I’ve never told anyone else before. I can feel that Beccaneedsto know, so she will be the first person I tell. “It’s the one thing that makes me feel like I’m doing something worthwhile. Seeing the faces of the women, and sometimes men, that I tattoo when they look in the mirror for the first time after we’re done… there’s nothing else like it. Helping a woman find her beauty and femininity after losing something that had been such a large part of both of those things? That’s the best feeling in the world.
“Better even than being on stage, if I’m being honest. Performing is a rush, and feeling that adrenaline coursing through my body as thousands of fans chant my name is amazing. But watching the tears of gratitude and acceptance when a woman sees how beautiful she still is after her body has been ravaged by cancer? Knowing thatIhelped put that look back on her face? Nothing can compare to that.”
