The Evolution of Ethan Poe, page 11
“Who did your ear?”
I can’t help feeling flattered that he noticed. “A friend put a needle through it for me.”
He steps closer to get a better look, and I can feel the warmth of his body. “Did a good job. Placement, I mean.” He steps back again and says, “Listen, Ethan, a tat isn’t the only place you can have a yin-yang. You might not want to wear that T-shirt all the time, but look over here.” He moves toward the counter, which has a display case under it.
I follow, Max close beside me, and we stand at the counter, shoulders touching. From among the paraphernalia in there—silver rods, different balls to go on the ends to make a barbell piercing, circlets of various metals and finishes, colorful stones and metal items that could dangle from some kind of piercing—Shane pulls out something silver. Picture two thin silver bands a little apart, bent into a small circle, except that the two bands bend toward each other before the circle would be complete. Between the bands, across from where they bend to join together, is a silver circle soldered in place, and inside that is a small enamel black and white yin-yang symbol.
“Ever see one of these?” I shake my head. “It’s an ear cuff. Here . . .” He puts it on his own ear and turns his head so I can see it.
“Cool.” I want it. I still want the tat, but I want the ear cuff. “How much?”
He takes it off and sets it on the counter. I pick it up. He says, “Well, let’s just talk about that. Ordinarily I’d sell this for about five bucks. But in your case . . .” He waits until I look up and then says, “I think this special item might cost a couple hundred.”
“What?”
He laughs, his eyes holding mine. “Listen, Ethan, I can’t legally give you that tat. But let me ask you this. Do you trust your friend?” He doesn’t look at Max, just at me, and he’s serious.
I turn toward Max, who’s smiling but also looking a little puzzled, his eyes on me. I smile back. “Yes.”
Shane nods again and says, “Right. So if you buy this special item and then I close shop for a bit, but you just happen to be still in here, it just might happen that you walk out of here with some ink on your backside.” He waits, watching my face as I get all excited. “But there’s a catch. See, if I do exactly what you said you wanted when I was open for business, then even if I close up for a bit, it could be construed as fulfillment of a business transaction. Do you follow?”
“A catch? What would be different?”
“Tell you what. Buy the ear cuff. It’s really only five; I just wanted to see how you’d react. Then I’ll close shop for a bit and we can talk like the friends we’ve become. Capisce?”
I pull out my wallet and separate a five. “Tax?” I ask.
“You bet. Gotta do this legally.”
I peel off another dollar and hand him the lot, getting my change and the ear cuff back. Shane pulls a standing mirror from a shelf behind him and helps me figure out how to get the cuff on my ear. Max is staying as close to me as he can, and I’m getting off on this—not only for obvious reasons, but also because it’s almost like he’s jealous.
The cuff looks fantastic. I’m still admiring it as Shane goes to the door, turns the Open sign around so it reads Closed from the outside, and locks the door. Back behind the counter, he pulls out a chart with different tats on it, all yin-yang. He points to one of them. “This is the catch. This is the tat.”
It’s a true yin-yang. Some of the others are really fancy, dragons around them, waves, stars, flames, just about anything. The black ink on the one he’s pointing to is standard, but where the white would be—or where my skin would be, in how I’ve pictured it—there are lines of color, like the rainbow, only not curved. They go straight across that part of the symbol.
“See, Ethan, I’ve wanted to do this one for a long time. Haven’t been able to talk anyone into it. And, of course, it would take a special kind of person, if you know what I mean, to wear rainbows, anyway.” I start to protest, but he raises a hand. “Let me finish. I know you said you want the balance, and I get that. It’s perfect. But see, what this represents is balance between straight—the black—and gay. The color. So it’s not just you. It’s the whole world.”
I stare at it, thinking, trying to imagine what it would feel like to know it was on me. My original image of black ink and skin is pretty much seared into my mind’s eye. Shane moves over toward the screen and goes behind it. “You think for a minute. I’m just checking my colors.”
I look at Max. “What do you think?”
He’s almost but not quite shaking his head. “I don’t know about this, Ethan. I mean, sure, you’re not going around flashing your ass at people, but in the locker room . . . you know?”
He’s right. But at the same time, does it have to say “gay” to everyone? If Shane hadn’t said that about the black being straight, I wouldn’t have thought of the colors as gay. They aren’t in the shape of a rainbow, or anything. It’s just black and colors. And I realize I’m defending this choice, which in a way isn’t mine but Shane’s. “Let me think a minute.”
Max doesn’t move. I close my eyes, head down, and turn my eyes inward to picture this colorful tat on someone’s ass. When it’s solid in my mind, I change the image to black ink only. It looks dull. I feel my head nodding, and then my voice surprises me, as it seems to do more and more lately, saying, “I’m gonna do it.”
I turn to Max and come so close to kissing him. Something holds me back. Or, really, I feel something pushing, keeping me just a little too far away to do that. So I turn instead toward the screen. Shane is standing there, watching me, smiling. He says, “Ready?”
Deep breath. Nod. Grin. Yes, I’m ready. I step behind the screen, Max on my heels. I guess he wants to watch, and it turns me on to know that.
Shane says, “So, are we friends, here?” He looks hard at Max.
“What do you mean?” Max looks wary, almost like he’s afraid Shane wants more than he’s admitted so far.
Shane laughs. “Don’t look so worried! I’m a gay man. I want men, not boys. All I mean is that friends don’t rat on each other. Like, how this tat gets onto your boyfriend’s backside will forever remain a mystery to everyone but us three. Shake on it?”
He holds his hand out to Max, who takes it and nods. Max says, “Shake. No ratting. As long as you never mention us outside here, either.”
Shane’s glance is questioning. “Meaning . . . ?”
“Meaning, okay, you figured out we’re together. But I don’t want the whole world to know.”
Shane nods. “Ashamed of being gay, then?”
“No! Just—cautious. In case you hadn’t noticed, bad things can happen to gay people.”
“Well, I’m not in the business of outing other people, so have no fear.” To me he says, “So, gorgeous, drop trou and lie facedown there.”
It takes me a minute to get into position; I’m nervous all over again. Naked from the waist down, jeans and underwear around my ankles, I bend my arms so I can cushion my head on them, then take a few deep breaths as I try to interpret the sounds Shane makes as he gets things set up. I almost wish that I’d asked for a demonstration of his equipment, but I also don’t really want to know.
Max says, “Will it hurt?”
“Sure, but not so much he won’t want another one some day. At least, if he doesn’t get another one, it won’t be the pain that stops him. Why? You want one, too?”
I strain my neck and eyes to watch Max’s face.
His head makes several quick, tiny shakes. “I don’t think so.”
Shane just laughs, and I hear him snap surgical gloves onto his hands. I wish I could see his face. “First I’ll shave away any hair, and then I’ll apply a decal to follow as I apply the ink. Do you trust me to find the best spot, or do you want some input?”
Second flash of genius today: “You and Max decide.”
Shane laughs again, and they hover over me, figuring out the best spot for ease of application and esthetics. I smell alcohol and feel something wet, and a hand presses something onto my skin. Then Shane says, “Okay, Ethan, my boy. I’ll give you a couple seconds warning before I begin. It will hurt, but not horribly, and on your ass is a lot less painful than someplace with less padding. I’ll be stretching the skin some to make sure I get good coverage. You ready?”
I almost say, I guess. But he’d already warned me about that. I need to be sure. “You bet.”
“Atta boy. Okay, Ethan. Now . . . almost ready . . . Okay, two-second warning.”
It hurts. It definitely hurts. I start to get worried, because it feels like he’s covering a much bigger area than I’d thought. I say, “Max? Can you tell me how big it is across?”
“Maybe three inches. That’s what you want, right?”
“Yeah. That’s good.”
It seems to take forever. By the time Shane is finished, I have to swipe at my eyes. I’m not actually crying, but stinging pain brought the tears, anyway.
Shane says, “What d’you think, Max?”
“That looks . . .” I hold my breath. “. . . That is fucking cool.”
Shane tells me not to move yet. He’s getting something else, I can’t tell what, and I’m afraid it’s going to hurt some more. But then I hear a camera lens click and see a flash. “This will be for you, Ethan, so you can see it newborn. You can get Max to take a picture again in a few weeks. Do you want to see yourself in a mirror before I bandage it for you?”
“Yeah!”
Feeling some kind of bravado, I don’t bother to cover anything up as I kind of hobble over to a mirror attached to the wall. Shane hands me a hand mirror, and I admire the work. Max was right.
“Happy?”
I nod. “Perfect.”
Shane spreads something gooey on me and tops it with what feels like gauze, taping that in place. “The spot will be tender for a couple of days. I’ll give you a care instruction sheet. What you’ll want to do is apply an antibacterial ointment and a fresh bandage once a day for three or four days. Then you can use this,” and he hands me a small container that says Tattoo Goo on it. “There’ll probably be some scabbing. Don’t pick at it, or you’ll ruin the tat. And don’t soak in a hot bath or get salt on it till it heals. No ocean swimming. Once the scab falls off, as long as the skin looks healthy, just keep moisturizing it for a couple of weeks and you’ll be all set.”
I pull my underwear and jeans on, carefully lifting the back over the bandage. Once I’m dressed again, I look at Max and grin. He grins back. It feels so good! A little euphoric, actually.
I did it!
I pull my wallet out of my front pocket, glad I didn’t have to reach into my right rear one, and start to count out some money. “How much is it?”
Shane says, “Well, hang on. Let me ask you this. If you didn’t have to pay for your tat, what would you spend the money on?”
“That’s easy. An iPhone.”
“Basic cell isn’t enough?”
“Don’t have one.”
There’s a slight pause as he stares at me. “Buy yourself an iPhone.”
I can’t quite believe what I’ve heard. “What? You—do you mean it?”
“Don’t know how you haven’t been ritually slaughtered by your peers before now, kid. No cell phone? Gotta fix that.” He grins at me. “This was a treat for me, Ethan. I mean, I love my work, but generally I do want to get paid. But I’ve wanted to paint this tat for a long time. And I think you’re the perfect person to wear it.”
“Wow. I—uh, I don’t know what to say. I mean—thanks!”
We shake hands again, Shane and I, and I can’t help feeling like maybe we really are friends. A sense of something secret is floating in my brain, like Shane and I know that whatever is between us, Max isn’t a part of it. It’s not sexual. It’s—shit, maybe it’s spiritual or something. Whatever, I really like it. I feel older, somehow. And it’s not just the tat. Though, of course, that helps.
Shane hands me a piece of letter-size paper, the care instructions he’d mentioned. I fold it and shove it into my wallet. Then he heads for the front counter, camera in hand. “I’ll upload this shot and e-mail it to you.”
As Max and I follow, I say, “Max, can he send it to you?”
Max gets it. “Oh, shit. Right! Your mom—and I guess your Jesus freak brother—can’t know about this, can they?”
“Right.”
Shane uploads the shot and turns the monitor so I can see. “Still like it?”
I feel a rush of something wonderful. My eyes water again, but it’s more like joy this time. “It’s—it’s gorgeous. I love it.” I’m grinning so much my face almost hurts. Shane is smiling at me, and I know he understands. He understands completely. I want to say something to him, to let him know what he’s done for me, to tell him in words that I feel the connection between us. But I guess my grin will have to speak for me.
Shane gets Max’s eddress and attaches the file, and it’s on its way. Then he walks with us to the door. As he’s unlocking it and turning the sign back to Open, he says, “You’ll have that tat all your life, unless you take very deliberate and painful steps to get rid of it. And every once in a while, when some guy tells you how much he likes it, or when you admire it yourself, just sometimes think of me.”
He opens the door, we step out, the door shuts behind us, and it’s over.
Max starts to move toward the car, but I’m just standing there, feeling tremendously alive. The idea of sitting down anyplace isn’t very appealing at the moment, but that’s not why I’m standing there. I want to hang on to this moment.
I close my eyes, breathe air deep into my body again and let it out slowly.
“Are you okay, Ethan?” Max sounds worried.
“Oh, yeah. I haven’t felt this good since—well, since earlier this afternoon. With you.” He smiles now, and nods. “Hey, do we have a little time? It would be great to paw through stuff in This Time For Sure. It’s where I got this jacket, and it’s right there.” I point.
“Absolutely!”
Max has a knack for knowing what’s going to look good on him. Everything he tries on works. Of course, he’s gorgeous to begin with, so that helps. He hangs on to a jacket that’s sort of like mine only in distressed brown leather, a wool sweater that brings out the green in his eyes, and a pair of work boots that would look like junk on most guys.
“This place is fantastic! Wish I’d known about it sooner.” He leans briefly against my shoulder. “We’ll have to come back.”
He keeps picking through things until he’s found a long-sleeved, heavy silk shirt in dusty gray-blue that looks fantastic on me. He says, “I’m buying this for you, charmer.”
I look around the store, but my mind’s not on the task. I don’t even know what I’ve picked up or put down. I’m in heaven. Life is sweet, I’m in love, and I have a yin-yang tattoo.
As I expected, sitting is a challenge. On the ride home Max keeps laughing at my attempts to get comfortable. At one point he says, “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. And I don’t mean just the pain.”
“Then, what?”
“What if you get caught? By your mom, I mean. What if she sees it?”
I shrug. “Don’t know. With any luck, she won’t ever find out. I guess she wouldn’t kill me or anything, though. My mom’s pretty cool.” As soon as I say this, I realize it’s true, and I also realize that I don’t realize it enough. “What about you?”
He shakes his head. “Not sure what my folks would do to me if they caught me with a tat. They went spare when Mom found a half-smoked cig in one of my pockets when she went to wash them.” He lifts a shoulder and drops it. “They’re not horrible or anything, but I sure haven’t told them about being gay. And Sylvia promised she wouldn’t.”
I grin at him. “They can’t be too bad. They raised you and Sylvia, and she seems like she’s pretty cool.”
I see one corner of his mouth curl up. “Yeah, I guess. Mom’s a sweetie, really. Cries real easy, whether something’s good news or bad. Great cook. And my dad’s okay.” A couple of seconds go by, and then he glances at me, his face open and happy. “He adores Sylvia. He was totally proud when she came back home and got a teaching job here, first try.”
I want to make some comment about how I’d like to meet them, but that sounds lame, almost like I’m some kind of desperate girl who isn’t sure her new boyfriend really likes her and tries to seal the deal with a parental introduction. And, of course, I have met them, sort of. I mean, I’d know who they were if I bumped into them someplace. Like, if I saw Mr. Modine perusing condoms at the drugstore.
When we get back to the place where he’d pulled off the road on the way to Bangor, Max pulls off the road again. He says, “I figure, you know, what we did before didn’t require you to sit down on anything, so it shouldn’t be a problem now. Are you as ready for this as I am?”
Heaven.
Chapter 6
I barely remember to take off my ear cuff before Mom sees it. Or Kyle. It’s not that there’d be a problem with it per se, but first I have to come up with a good explanation for where it came from. Supposedly I was with Jorja all afternoon.
And there’s something else I decide to keep quiet about. The sign Mom had planted in our yard is gone. Etta’s sign. I half want to ask why Mom took it down, but I don’t really care. I’m embarrassed that the sign embarrassed me, but there it is. Plus I’m too high on everything that’s happened this afternoon.
Over dinner, Mom says, “Ethan, Etta phoned when she got back from Bangor and asked if you’d help her put up some signs tomorrow. You can drive.”
“Did you tell her yes?” As long as there isn’t one in my yard. . . .
“I did. I thought that would be just fine with you. You’ll have to do the bulk of the work, though.”
“No problem.”
“Didn’t think so. Kyle, you’ve dropped another piece of chicken on the floor.” He looks down. “No, it’s on the other side.” He starts to get up. “For Christ’s sake, Kyle! Pick it up with your right hand!” But he doesn’t. He’s started wearing a cotton work glove on his right hand, probably to remind him in case he accidentally starts to use it for something. Mom makes some sound of disgust and then ignores him.
