Tattoos and Amnesia: A Short Meet Cute Story
Tattoos and Amnesia
By Tara Kennedy
Content Note:
This story contains reference to death and injury that occurred prior to the story.
Corey
I felt weirdly nervous approaching the desk of the tattoo shop. I shrugged my shoulders as if that would dislodge the itch. Whatever, people couldn’t tell by looking at me what was wrong. So, worst case they say no and send me on my way. The other place had said to go to DC Lines, that this looked like their style.
“Can I help you?” the blond pixie at the desk asked in a way that managed to suggest she wasn’t sure she could. Or I was reading too much into it. The doctor had warned that sometimes I would over-interpret what people were saying, it was just the brain’s way of coping. So, I tried to smile in a friendly manner as I put the phone down on the counter. “Yeah, I’m trying to find the artist who did this.” I tapped the screen so the picture displayed.
The pixie looked at the screen and then glanced over my shoulder. “Zan. Guy wants to talk to you.”
A woman with tight black jeans and a dark top, long, red hair except, just above her ear where it was shaved, walked over from where she’d been sitting over by the window.
The pixie handed the phone to her.
She looked at the phone and at me. “Yeah, it’s mine. Why you asking?”
“My buddy had this done, I just wanted to meet the artist.”
Her look grew even more distrustful. So much for her not seeing through my bullshit.
She looked at the desk pixie. “Coral, can we go in back a sec?”
“Sure. There’s no one in the piercing room and next appointment isn’t til four.”
Zan gestured for me to follow her. This suddenly seemed like it must be the worst idea I’d ever had, trying to track this down. I should have just done what the doctor said. Tried to move on.
But I walked into the room, and looked at the dark chair that looked a little like a scarier dentist’s chair and let the redhead close the door behind her.
“So, what’s this really about?” she asked. “Because we both know if you took off your shirt that tattoo is on your back.”
***
Susan
I wished I had grabbed my jacket. It wasn’t that cold in the piercing room, I just felt tougher with my leather, another layer of armor transforming me from mild-mannered Susan to fierce tattoo artist Zan.
I remembered this piece, this guy had wanted a layer of symbols and flowers, to represent his brother and best friend who had died two years apart, both in the military. He’d been a fascinating client to work with, with great ideas to start, but open to suggestion allowing me to create a piece we had both liked. It had taken six weeks, with the initial inking and the fill. He’d been quiet, friendly enough but not creepy, through the whole thing. So, why was he back three months later acting like he didn’t know who had done this? Was this a weird come on?
He was tall, but I knew where all the sharp objects in this room were hidden.
“Well?” I asked since he was still staring at me.
“That’s the thing,” he tugged on his dark wavy hair. “I don’t know that. Or, I don’t remember. I was in an accident a month ago, and,” he sighed,” I have amnesia.”
“Amnesia?” I was torn between snorting and maybe hugging him. Did people who weren’t in soap operas really get amnesia?
“I remember stuff. Some stuff. But there seems to be a block around certain things and one of them is the tattoo. I don’t even remember starting to like tattoos, although, obviously I did. No offense.”
I shrugged. “Well, I can tell you what you told me about the tattoo. Is that supposed to help? Or, I don’t know, am I supposed to let you remember it on your own?”
“My doctor said some of these memories might never come back. I might have just done enough damage to certain centers that they may just be gone, like my third-grade math teacher’s name.”
“Mrs. Reid.”
“What?”
“Sorry, Mrs. Reid was my third-grade teacher’s name. Okay, so your doctor thinks you should leave it alone but you won’t actually break your brain if we talk about it?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, let me grab my book.”
Coral gave me a look as I grabbed my book from my station. It wasn’t like I hadn’t heard tales of my co-workers trying to use the rooms for purposes that would get us shut down by the health department. But I wasn’t planning on screwing up the best job I’d had. So, okay, my other jobs had been camp counselor, and waitress, until I had finally given in to the love of tattooing, a little detour from my graphic design degree that I hadn’t entirely explained to my parents yet. They thought I was interning at an advertising firm.
But my little issues weren’t quite the same as not being able to remember parts of my life. Corey was still standing near the door.
I flipped to the right section. “You had some ideas for symbols and flowers. I drew this up, and then,” I flipped to the next page, “after we talked again, we settled on this.”
He raised an eyebrow and I nodded, and he took the book from me. He stared at the sketch. After a moment he shook his head and handed it back.
“You’re really good.”
“Thanks,” I said. “So no help?”
He shrugged. “I recognize it, but I think that’s just because I’ve seen in in the mirror.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I guess, I guess I’ll get out of your way.”
I didn’t know why he tugged at me. I didn’t know why I wanted to help or maybe, since I was fresh out of amnesia cures, wanted to at least not let him walk away looking so sad. I looked at the clock.
“You had lunch?”
He shook his head.
“Hang on a sec,” I walked out. Coral who gave me a raised eyebrow in response to my sudden need for lunch with a former client. I could hardly blame her. If one of the guys tried to pull this, I’d roll my eyes so hard at them they’d fall out of my head.
I dragged him to the sports bar and we ordered food and talked about nothing. It was hard to figure out what was a safe topic for someone with gaps in their memory. But he was at least up on the current status of the Piranhas, which gave me a chance to rib him a little since they’d just lost to my Domes.
“So,” he said.
“So.”
“So, I’m sure you have other stuff to do than hang out with former clients with busted memories.”
“Not today I don’t.”.
“Yeah, well.” He checked his phone.
“So, you can tell me if I’m out of line,” I said. He looked ready to bail. And while the responsible side of me wanted to go back to the shop and resume my shift, the this will never happen again side of me had been chewing on this question all through lunch. “Is it just the tattoo you don’t remember, or is there other stuff about your friends?”
He gave a rueful half smile. “I remember that they are dead. I even remember the funerals. But I don’t remember the feelings, if that makes sense. Like, I must have been sad or shocked or mad, but I don’t remember that. I don’t remember the day of the accident. Actually, that’s not true. I remember that morning, I remember being frustrated and pissed off and then, I don’t remember if I got into the car like that, if that’s what caused the accident.”
“Are you worried that you caused the accident?”
“Like I intentionally rammed my car into a pole? No. I mean, mostly, no. Because that doesn’t feel like something I would do. But the tattoo, it doesn’t really feel like that either. So, I don’t know.”
“You want a stranger’s opinion?”
“Sure.”
“I think you’re right. It doesn’t feel like something you would have done intentionally. And unless you remember differently stressing yourself out about it helps no one.”
“True.” He ran his hands through his hair. “So can I ask a question?”
“Sure.”
“What’s your stance on dating former clients?”
“It would depend on the client.” I took a deep breath and went for it. “But currently I feel pretty positive about it.”
His smile got bigger. And he leaned forward in the booth. “Glad to hear it.” And he kissed me.
The End.
If you enjoyed this story, information on other stories available from Tara Kennedy can be found here: www.tarakennedy.com/books.