The Tattoo Guy (MCR FIC)

Chapter 12- Age 26

Chapter 12

Age 26  

“So do you love mom? Like that man loved the woman when he proposed? Like you loved Fr-“ Ivy says from the back of the car on the way to the diner after school.

“I did love your mom, I loved her very much like that couple did; but now I love her like I love Mandy… she’s you mom and she try and be like a normal family only she’ll see you on weekends and I get you whenever else.” I cut her off and try to explain, Lyn-z had been back for over 4 months now and it was hard to adjust to sharing Ivy, although Lyn-z was very good with her and I thought it was better now she was getting older and needed more female influences in her life; she lived across town now and came to stay almost every weekend.

“But you kissed, like Mandy and Patty do and Lola’s mommy and daddy do.” Ivy says fiddling with her pet unicorn Batrice (Like Beatrice but Bat because she has a new thing about all things gothic).

“We did kiss, but baby girl, that kiss was a friendly kiss; me and mommy hadn’t seen each other for a long long time and we kissed to say hello- but only grown-ups do that- okay?” I told her peeking at her through my mirror to see her nod and cuddle her toy. “Dylan asked about you today, he wondered where you’d been lately, I think he missed you doodling on him.” I say to change the conversation and keep her off of the subject of her mother and I’s relationship that spanned the length of that one night when we were 17 and the 2 nights we shared after she came back… it wasn’t my proudest moment but after that kiss I couldn’t resist, we discussed a lot after our rendezvous between the sheets and we admitted that any other guy or girl repulsed us- maybe it was because we were each other’s firsts- but we still had that connection that made me go back to that time of being so young and care free, being older just made everything more sensual and sensitive- we knew ourselves better. We agreed to make some form of relationship work whether it was civil for Ivy or romantically involved which seemed more of the deal not that Ivy really understood. Ivy had been spending more time either with Lyn-z at the diner or at her home, or at the diner with Mandy and Patrick. The gallery wasn’t the right environment for her to stay in till late at night, from being a single parent being overwhelmed by everything and everyone to a parent that has support of a woman who wants to share everything and everyone too. Being able to take a breath every morning when I woke up was refreshing whether I had Lyn-z in my bed or a small little girl- I appreciated not being as alone as I thought. I just needed to see it before.

“Dylan’s a silly boy. All boy’s are silly.” She says scrunching up her nose as I get her out the car into my arms, she’s so small and light she only looked about 4 years old, I liked being able to pick her up and have her cuddle to me.

“But daddy’s a boy.” I pouted then snuggled my nose to her nose to make her giggle as we walked into the old fashioned diner.

Sat at the counter with two coffee and caramel milkshakes I show Ivy my new concept of a comic book, it was about a skeleton marching band traveling through the town of the dead- each comic would contain a different person and how they tragically died like the cancer patient and a soldier, there was a girl with a gas mask on too that I called ‘Mother War’ she was gold in comparison to the black, white and red around her. I had gotten the idea after I was called in to the tattoo parlour to draw this guy a skeleton drummer- the skeleton had a marching band costume and the drum had a clock face on it that pointed to 10:30 the time his friend had died in a car accident in their junior year.

As I drew he had told me the story of how his friend had suffered depression and it was a constant battle which he had just started to overcome after starting to take heroin and becoming an alcoholic, how no one cared because he was a ‘band geek’ and no one thought that he would do anything like that, he told me that he’d just gotten his 2 year medallion from the AA and NA, he had refrained from mutilating himself for over a year and he was happy. Then one night after school he was driving to pick up his mother prescription who had suffered many strokes and was in an almost vegative state; he wasn’t rushing even though he had to go to work to be able to afford his mother medical insurance, his was driving along and CRASH a group of intoxicated 18 year olds got onto the other side of the road making him swerve but then was spun into the course of the car where on second impact the car rolled straight into the side of the road, the layby steel barrier impaling him through the bottom of the car and the windshield shattering causing a spike of glass spear his chest straight through. The group of inebriated teens not only all survived with no injuries but a few bruises but also got off because of their rich attorney parents.

 I cried as he told me the story and for the first time I stayed and watched as everyone cried as he got it tattooed on. It made me appreciate who I had; that night I called the gallery requesting a few days off work and decided to call Ivy’s school that she was sick; we cuddled on the couch for those days whilst watching whatever she wanted to watch.

I would tell Ivy the story when we she was older, when she would understand the way that life was cruel and how we need to live it as best as we can.

“So this man was sick and he went to the land of the dead and the marching band is like a parade- the black parade?” Ivy asks as she sips on her milkshake sighing at the coldness and the sickly taste.

“Yeah baby that’s it, see these guys play a song and as the song plays it shows that person their life, so when the song ends their soul is sent to heaven, but as he joins the parade this patient meets Mother War and he tells her that he thinks he’s going to hell; the soldier- the one who died on the beach in the war- he sings ‘Oh mother what the war did to my head and to my tongue.’ and basically explains to the patient that we all go to hell eventually.” I explain through the story boards hoping it’s not too dark.

Suddenly Patrick is in front of me with his clothes covered in cake batter and a worried nervous look on his face, “Gerard, son, I’m so sorry I tried to stop hi-…” he says but is cut off  by the voice that sends chills down my spine.

“Never really got the hang of fairy tales, huh Gee.”…