The slow September days rolled by, and you could finally feel that cool breeze that always predated Fall. The aspen trees in Bradford, Colorado started turning gold weeks before the other trees blazed into shades of red. But the sky was clear and it was still warm enough for me to go outside without too much agony. I really hated the cold, because it made my bones ache like I was a 90 year old man. I pulled my door closed behind me and headed to the bus stop a couple streets over.
Both Anderly and Hex didn't like me walking as much as I did, overbearing faux-parents that they are, and offered to give me a ride whenever they could. But somehow I was an adult, and I didn't need or want them to coddle me all the time. I didn't tell them that in so many words, because I know they love me and they mean well, but I think I got my point across. Until my EDS physically makes me stop, I wanted to walk. Even if my knees were pretty pissed off at me by the time I arrived at work.
The big windows on either side of the front door at work had large words in a flowing vintage script: NEEDLE QUEENS on the left and TATTOO & PIERCING on the right. The little bell on the door jingled familiarly when I entered. Walking in for the first time in a month felt like coming home, and I think I was smiling when I shuffled to the back to sign in.
Hex was in the office already when I got there, his feet crossed up on the desk, filing his painted neon-green nails. The door was open, and I saw he was wearing a bright red blazer over a white dress shirt and black tie, with slacks that had a loud pattern of abstract black and white. I heard his high heeled shoes click on the honed cement. He must have noticed me walking oddly to the old-fashioned time clock on the wall outside the office.
"You're walking funny." He said, leaning back in the leather desk chair to glare at me through the doorway. His sharply defined eyeshadow was glittery yellow on the inside corners and red on the outsides, with bold fake lashes. He was talented at makeup too, since he performed in drag shows several times a month. I punched my attendance card and saw him staring. Ugh. I didn't want a lecture first thing in the morning.
"Good morning to you too, boss!" I hung my hoodie on the wooden coat rack in the corner. I tried to walk normally out of the room, which just made it all the more obvious that I was hurting. Damn it.
I heard him sigh/groan loudly and dramatically from the office, and I smirked. I missed that, too. I went to the front again and settled in my chair behind the front desk. We weren't open for another thirty minutes, so I tried to rub the aches out of my stupid knees. I was already feeling dumb for having to wear my damn shoulder brace over my clothes, but it rubbed painfully against my skin otherwise. It had a wide strap that went from my shoulder all the way across my chest, around my back, and partially blocked the logo on the front of my shirt. It covered my whole shoulder and wrapped around my upper arm. It wasn't much better than the sling I'd just graduated from, but at least I could use my arm now. Anderly told me it looked cool, and that she would slap me if I didn't wear it like I was supposed to, so I suffered through.
I booted up the computer at the register on the side of the heavy wooden vintage desk, and looked around the space I had been working in for the last year. I missed it all, the pale yellow walls covered in framed tattoo art, the neon signs that said TATTOO and GET POKED. I could smell nag champa incense burning somewhere, probably in the office. The main room consisted of the area where I worked at the front desk, and the waiting area with comfortable chairs and low tables with stacks of tattoo magazines right in front of the big tinted windows. Behind me were the three tattoo chairs, each in their own booths surrounded by short walls. Beyond them was an area with a lit glass cabinet full of body jewelry, and off to the side was the separate and sterile piercing room, which had a curtained window between the spaces. The very rear of the building was the office, restroom and small employee area with a bench and lockers, and the back door that led to the alleyway behind the building.
The overall vibe was cool and vintage, and Hex took great pride in making sure his shop looked it's best. Needle Queens was his baby, and he had been the owner and head tattooist for the last fifteen years. That was crazy to me, since he looked like he was at least that much younger than he actually was. He said it was because he had a "meticulous skin care routine and had lots of sex". Whatever he was doing worked, because the only thing that betrayed his age was his silver hair, combed to the side and styled perfectly.
I was organizing the desk when I heard the bell on the door ring.
"Hey, Everett. Rowan." I said, and the two tattooists entered together.
"Hey! He's back!" Boomed Everett, probably shocked to see me alive, let alone working. He came over and gave me a one-armed hug. "I'm glad you're okay."
"Yeah, me too. I missed you guys." Everett had his dark, short hair in small shiny waves against his head. He was wearing the work t-shirt, but with gray slacks and thin black suspenders over it. His muscular dark brown arms were covered wrist to shoulder in tattoos of bright, colorful flowers. He ruffled my hair and headed back into the shop.
Rowan had been standing there silently toying with his phone, his long black hair draped around his face like a curtain. He was wearing the same t-shirt, with the sleeves ripped off to show his tattoos. He had an all-black wardrobe, and all-black tattoos: Huge areas of solid blackwork between beautifully intricate geometric patterns, Hex's work. Rowan was one of the most tattoo decorated people I had ever met, his arms, legs, back, and chest up to his jaw was all inked in the same way. He stuffed his phone into his black pants, with redundant straps and studs all over them. He was actually paler than me, and his eyes were lined in black.
He made eye contact and barely nodded his chin up at me, and I did the same back. He was a man of few words, and I respected that. Eventually everyone settled into their stations, refilling ink bottles, fiddling with their machines. Hex came out of the office to do the same. Just as I was flipping the switch on the neon OPEN sign, the door burst open, startling me.
A woman in a stretchy skin-tight black dress that went down to her knees, glossy hot pink stilettos.
"You're late, Mercedes!" Called Hex.
"Sorry!" She turned to me on her way to the piercing room, her blond hair bouncing, "Hey, honey! I'm so happy to see you!" She kissed me on the cheek without really stopping.
With everyone here, we got down to business. Everett had an appointment with a young woman who wanted a custom piece they had been working on together. Mercedes pierced ears, noses, tongues, and everything else with precision and a calming charisma that relieved some of the pain. Rowan drew some designs on his tablet, hunched over and fixated on his work, his stylus scribbling away on the screen. I managed everyone's schedule, took payments, checked ID's, handed out aftercare sheets, and chatted with the people waiting. This was the only place besides my apartment that I never felt anxious from interacting with strangers. Quiet music in the background, talking, laughing, the constant buzzing of the tattoo machines. There were some walk-ins between appointments, but Hex was the only one who didn't take them.
He was the Boss, the Head Tattoo Artist, the famous award-winning pro with a waiting list a year long. His work sometimes took several days to complete, since he mainly did large (expensive) pieces. As closing time was steadily approaching, and the flow of customers had stopped, I turned off the OPEN sign. I couldn't help going to Hex's booth in the back of the room to see what he was working on so intently, it was basically guaranteed to be amazing. I peeked over his shoulder at the large and shirtless man lying prone on the tattoo chair; his living canvas. I sucked in a breath when I saw the huge backpiece coming to life under Hex's resolute gloved hands.
A huge mandala in the center, with swirling geometric designs flowing out, fractals of black ink that seemed random, but were a perfect mirror image of the other side. Planned, methodical, perfectly symmetrical. Wild and tamed. Two opposing ideas that somehow meshed into a flawless whole. Just like Hex himself; male vs. female, blurring the lines between.
He mastered the bright pink custom tattoo machine, dipping it in the black ink and drawing the buzzing needles across skin in short passes, wiping away the extra, over and over. After about ten minutes of me watching this process, entranced, Hex turned the machine off and set it aside, wiping the blood and ink off the man's back with a soft towel and some green soap. Hex took a deep breath and let his tense shoulders relax.
"Okay, Will, I think that's enough for today." Hex patted the man's shoulder, and he sat up, looking pale and a little nauseous.
"Thanks man. You get a lot done this time?" Will asked, stretching. He'd been lying in the same position for almost six hours.
Hex was putting his stuff away, cleaning little parts. He never corrected people when they called him 'man' or 'he', I don't think he cared what other people saw him as. I had met him when he was in a masculine persona, and when I later found out that he identified as non-binary/genderfluid, he told me it was fine to continue calling him by those same pronouns.
"Yes, one more session and It'll be done." He said, cracking his neck and stretching out his back.
I wordlessly went to grab a bottle of apple juice out of the mini fridge and gave it to Will. I didn't want him to pass out. He downed it in one chug.
"Thanks." He said to me.
"I'll let you check it out in the mirror, and then I'll wrap it up for you. You know the drill." Said Hex, snapping his ink-covered gloves into the trash and shaking his hands out. Will nodded, and they went to the tall gold-framed mirror hanging on the wall among the art. Hex held out a smaller mirror in front of Will so he could see his back in the big mirror.
"Wow. It's looking great!" He was beaming, ecstatic. He shook Hex's hands. "I can't wait to see it finished, thank you so much."
"You are very welcome! Way to hang in there, I know this one is taking a long time." Said Hex, smiling.
"It's worth it to get tattooed by the best." Said Will.
Hex swiped his hand at him playfully. "Oh stop, you flatter me."
Hex gloved up again and put some ointment and a big bandage pad on Will's back, and then taped a big piece of plastic wrap over the whole thing. I went back to the front desk to start closing everything out for the day. I felt suddenly exhausted, like the fucking magic I had just witnessed flowing out of Hex's fingers wasn't meant for mortal eyes. He was a genius.
The straggling clients left, aftercare instructions in hand, and I locked the front door. I said goodbye to the artists who had finished cleaning up their stations, and suddenly it was just Hex and I in the dark building. I clocked out and put my hoodie on. Out in the back alley, Hex locked up behind us and breathed in the cool evening air. "Ready to go?" He said.
I stuffed my hands in my hoodie pocket. "Yep."
We walked in silence down the alley to the nearby parking lot, to that unmistakable El-Camino. We didn't need to talk much, Hex and I. We'd known each other for over five years, and had a closeness that apparently transcended the need for constant small-talk. He was closer than blood, one half of my emotional support system. The strength and constant unwavering support that I desperately needed.
I was hopelessly reliant on these two humans, Anderly and him, always on either side of me, always reassembling my broken pieces back into some semblance of a whole adult person. I was vaguely aware that this level of dependence on others was probably not healthy, but I felt like mentally I was always on that dangerous edge, one step away from shattering. At this point there was no way I could hold myself together on my own. I knew I needed to do something, to get help from outside sources, but the thought of stepping forward by myself terrified me to my core.
I was afraid that I'd end up being a totally different person if I was ever actually happy. Afraid that someone or something would finally unlock my brain and fix me, and I'd end up a stranger, even to myself. Depression and anxiety had become so tangled into my sense of self: If they got taken away, what would even be left?
I had been fucked up for so long, I had no idea who I really was underneath all the pain.
On the other side of all this was the deep-rooted dread of being abandoned. Hex and Anderly wanted me to get help, to get better and be happy, confident, and self-reliant.
Therein was the problem that had me at a standstill: I was scared I wouldn't know myself if I changed, and that they wouldn't love me anymore if I didn't try.
~
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