May 10, 2004

Meghan's face contorted, but she remained silent as the tattoo pen crawled up her arm. After six hours in the chair, she was good and sick of how that fucking broken spring dug into her lower back, and the wisps of smoke that rose toward her face with rhythmic repeatability.

"Paula, do you suppose you could chill with the chain smoking while I'm here? I'm not looking to sound as bad as you do by the time I'm 30."

The older woman let loose a gravelly laugh from the left side of her mouth, the other still clutching the cigarette with her teeth.

"No can do, kiddo. Need 'em to keep my hands from shakin'. You don't want a fucky lookin' sleeve, do ya?"

She scoffed. "Well then could you at least get a new chair? My back's getting sore from the dagger poking through the leather."

"Thought you was used to feelin' springs while you were on your back?"

Meghan chuckled dryly, "Granted, but usually what's going on during that is a little different."

"Amen, girly."

Over the course of the past year, Meghan had set aside a chunk of money from her bullshit job as a warehouse stocker with the goal of doing something to deal with the eyesore that was her left arm. In the months following the accident, she'd grown to resent everything about her scars and her life before she got them.

Her life had changed drastically since then; a number of activities and people trying to fill the void in her life after swimming got thrown into the grinder. She'd become less tolerant of her family, often fighting with her father over every little thing.

So maybe the tattoos weren't just to hide the scars.

Meghan found Paula during her search for an artist with experience in such a thing, and they met several times to work out a design that both hid the marks and told a story. During their talks, Meghan had decided to get both arms inked, because "why leave a job half finished?"

According to US law, persons between 14 and 18 must have written permission from a parent or legal guardian to get inked. A look at a calendar told someone that Meghan did not meet the age threshold to go by herself. Not to be deterred, she came up with a plan to circumvent this inconvenience.

One phone call later, and she received a signed and notarized form, sent by one Robert Castellano.

'Enjoy your early birthday present, kiddo!'

And so, in early April, Meghan walked into Paula's shop and booked the first of four appointments to transform her arms from battle-scarred monstrosities into canvases for new age art.

Paula continued down Meghan's arm, the buzzing pen leaving behind trails of black ink. Meghan watched as the pen passed over and around the malformed skin, diamond chains and woven chevrons replacing the ugly scar tissue. Tribal tattoos made up the lower sections, accentuated wavy shapes dancing along the circumference of her arm.

The motor stopped, and she looked at the area just below her shoulder to see a finished sun-like shape peeking over the horizon of her sleeve.

"And I think that just about does it, Meg. Stand up 'n check yourself out in the mirror."

Meghan sprang out of the shitty chair, rushing to see the results.

"Oh hell yes!" She flexed both arms, watching as the lines bounced and tightened with the muscles; a new armor welded just for her.

Paula smirked and shook her head. "You told your momma and daddy about these yet?"

Meghan soured. "Nope, and at this point, they're just gonna have to get over it."

Paula took a puff from her cigarette. "Listen, kid. It ain't none 'a my business, but you oughta figure your shit out with them. Take it from me, you don't wanna alienate your family like that."

"Yeah, well, maybe dad should make an effort not to alienate me. My life is my own, and I'm not going to let anyone or anything rule me."

"There's certainly worse ways to think… Well, just don't forget what I said." Another drag. "So whatchu doin' after school, kid? You could come work for me if you wanted." She laughed, devolving into a coughing fit.

Meghan's eyes dropped. "Been thinking a lot about that. I still want to be something great, Paula. Can't be an athlete, but maybe there's something I can still be the best at."

Paula turned her back as she stowed her equipment. "You could always join the military."

"Would you believe me if that was at the top of the list? Ever since 2001, that's always been at the back of my mind…" Meghan crossed her arms. "You know anything about the SEALs?"

"Sure, my ex-husband failed outta the training for 'em. You tryin' to get in with them?"

"Maybe. On top of being the best of the best, dad mentioned once that there's never been a woman that made it in. Just the idea of that interests me."

"Probably helps your thinkin' that it'd stick it to ya daddy if you joined the Navy." Paula mumbled.

"I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought of that."

Paula shrugged, extending a hand. "Well, let me know what you decide on. Come back in a week so I can check up on the sleeves."

They shook. "You got it. Thanks, Paula."

Meghan shut the door of her home, bee lining for the staircase.

McKenzie swiveled her head from her spot on the couch and looked to Sean before tilting her chin towards their daughter. "Talk to her, Sean, I'm sick and tired of the toxicity in this family. She hardly even comes home anymore…"

Sean exhaled loudly through his nose.

"That you, Meg?" Sean called.

She hummed, but continued up the stairs.

"No no no, Meghan, please come back here." Sean stood and made his way to the stairs, leaning on the banister.

Meghan sighed loudly, hanging her head before looking to him. "What?"

McKenzie stood up and tentatively walked to her husband, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Meghan followed her parents' eyes to her arms, and snapped back to Sean's face, waiting for either of them to say something.

"I'm going to guess you haven't been ignoring our calls and staying anywhere other than home for the last several weeks because you've been extensively researching colleges?"

She crossed her arms. "You'd be right."

"And when do you plan to do that?"

McKenzie shook Sean. "Hun, can we not—" He shook her off.

"Let her answer." He crossed his arms.

"I don't."

Sean's eyes narrowed. "You may want to reconsider that, Meghan."

"Probably not gonna happen."

"And what do you plan to do with yourself after high school, then?"

She shrugged. "Join the Navy." This got her mother's attention, whose jaw slacked.

Sean scoffed. "Good one, smartass."

"Man you are gonna be pissed when you find out that I'm totally serious."

He stared into her eyes. "Bullshit."

"Believe what you want, dad." She turned.

He followed her for a couple steps. "Why, oh why, have you been so snippy and confrontational with your mother and me recently?"

Meghan snorted. "Because you two have done nothing but try to control everything about me for months, and I'm tired of it. Just let me live my own life, and make my own choices!"

McKenzie struggled, to no avail, to defuse the ticking bomb in front of her. There was no pair of wire cutters prominent enough to stop this timer.

Sean raised a finger to her. "Frankly, I'm not convinced that you deserve to make some of these choices. 'Responsibility' has been a word missing from your vocabulary for a while now. Just look at what you blew your money on!"

Knocked on the defensive, Meghan raised her voice. "It's my money, and I don't see what difference it makes to you! I really don't care what you think!" She whipped around to leave.

"We are not done, Meghan!" Sean yelled.

McKenzie tried to shoulder way past her husband. "Okay, that is enough, Sean-"

"Let me finish, Kenz, this has to be said."

Meghan turned around, mouth open, and arms outstretched.

"Never mind why you would want to join the Navy, what on Earth makes you think that you can?"

She descended enough to stare him in the face. "I can do whatever I damn well please! But why stop there? I'll apply to the SEAL program, and I'll be the fucking best at it!"

The sound of Sean's breathing amplified, as he spoke with a harsh whisper. "Don't be ridiculous, and watch your damn mouth, young lady!"

"There's only one of us being ridiculous here, dad, and it isn't me. I'm gonna goddamn do it, with or without your support, and I'll make you look like an idiot for doubting me."

Both combatants puffed themselves up, battling for top dog.

"Even if this wasn't the most outrageous thing you've ever suggested, you wouldn't be able to get close to doing any of that even before your accident, let alone now!" Sean's teeth snapped together.

Meghan's fiery gaze flitted left and right, up and down. Her body shook, armor cracking at the blow. Try as she may, she couldn't keep the shock and pain from her face. Tears formed in her eyes, stinging as they pushed down her reddened cheeks.

Just like that, the fight was over.

Sean's expression changed in an instant, as if he'd been slapped, "Meg, I— I didn't mean—"

She was already halfway up the stairs. And Sean certainly didn't feel like a winner.

Hours later, after night had long fallen, Sean cautiously made his way up to the second floor. Wringing his hands, he padded his way to Meghan's door and knocked. "Sweetie, can I come in?"

No response.

He knocked again, harder this time. "Angel, I just want to apologize for earlier."

Nothing.

His brows creased, and he inhaled before opening the door.

"Meghan, please, let me just—"

What greeted him was an empty room.