My machine vibrates softly against my palm. I grab it tighter, adding the last touches to the piece I've been working on for four hours. The black ink and red blood seep through my clients pale skin. I wipe them away and ease my foot off the pedal that controls the power to get a good look at my art.
The tattoo is flawless in its design. A crimson burst highlights the back ground perfectly. My heart swells. Another beautiful master piece came from deep inside me. I am still capable of tapping into the art within. A smile meant only for me stretches across my face.
Tattooing isn't just a job or a hobby. It is an intimate, emotional, and powerful thing to be marking someone for life. Almost like giving over a part of yourself. I am tied to the art in blood and ink, a part of me to be admired by countless others or to be hidden and savored only by the wearer. I was destined for this. It has been my salvation and my redemption from a past that would have destroyed the beauty waiting to be unchained from deep within me.
I reach for my spray bottle of antiseptic, giving the area a quick sprits and drying it carefully with a clean paper towel.
"That is the shit!" My customer grins and I half expect him to bounce up and down like a happy child. A swarm of mermaids wrap up his bicep. It's fitting seeing as his shipping crew spent the longest time out at sea these days. He swivels his arm back and forth.
"There is a mirror on the back wall," I say indicating the area over my shoulder. He stands to get a full glimpse, while I inspect my work from a distance. My lips curl up again when I see it is about as perfect as possible. "Carmella at the front desk will go over all the care instructions." I stand to wrap the tattoo in plastic wrap. He slips his shirt on while walking out to the reception area.
Now that I could relax, my fingers literally throb with the last few hours of work. The stick to the latex in the gloves, slick with sweat. I roll my stiff neck from side to side. Unfortunately my euphoric state of mind that my work brings doesn't transcend to my physical being. You have to know your body's limit and four hours was mine.
As I organize my area, the shop around me comes alive. When lost in my own world of skin and ink, the sounds of the world seem to cancel out. When I finish, they flood back and I'm ripped away from my escape. But if I had to be torn away from the passion that feeds my soul, other than owning my own shop, this is the place to be.
I throw away the plastic baggies that cover my equipment from being saturated in blood, plasma, and ink mist. Beginning my mental check list meticulously followed after every tattoo, I dispose of the tubes and ink caps before placing my needle in an empty water jug. My area now only needed to be wiped down with a strong almost skin removing antibacterial agent to be ready for my next client. Thankfully that was the last one for the night. I glanced up to check the time. 10:00 p.m. I was going to be late.
I grabbed my leather jacket from behind the door. Under the jacket I had hung up my blade belt. Customers tend to get jumpy when have weapons that big out in plain view. Two Bowie knives hung at my hips in black sheaths to blend in with the pants. I strapped them to my thighs so they wouldn't flap around. Three throwing knives were hidden in each boot. You never know what or who was waiting for you.
Carmella was in the front room waiting for me.
"Amaya, those mermaids were killing it!" Carmella LaGrange was a twenty something blond with profile similar to that famous lady from back when things were good. Marilyn something. Her blond hair was short, just above her shoulders with curls that bounced at every move. Forrest green eyes looked at you from behind cat-eye glasses that hid the fact that she wore way too much makeup. She was naturally pretty. Genes. I would envy her more if it weren't for her body. When she bent to touch her toes, her breast hit the floor before her finger tips.
"Thanks Mel." I loved having my work appreciated. She wouldn't let me do anything on her. Something about traditions in her family. "Come on. We are going to be late for the meeting." I headed for the door as I cut the over head lights.