This is an essay I wrote for my English class. For those of you that don't know, the "For the Winchester boys" part is referring to Sam and Dean Winchester from the hit TV series Supernatural :)
Tattoos are permanent body modifications involving ink. I have wanted one for quite some time, and I’ve had the “right away” from my mother to get one for just about over two years. At first I wanted the Lira symbol, in honor of my nickname. Then I realized I might not have that nickname for as long I would have the tattoo. After awhile I finally decided what I wanted, and I knew exactly who should do the job. Enter my heterosexual life partner, Victoria.
I have been in Victoria’s room many times before. Either to type essays, watch movies, learn the guitar, or even just to hang out until my next class started. The chair was by her desk were her machine was perched all hooked up and ready to be used. Beside it lay sanitary products along with the stencil of my tattoo-to-be. I eagerly sat down in the chair and eyeballed the machine as I prepared myself by taking deep breaths and repeating a mantra in my head saying “it’s not going to hurt, it’s not going to hurt”. Even if it did, I figured getting off my mind off of it was the least I could do.
Victoria walked into the room. “Are you ready?” she asked. I looked at her and slowly nodded. She closed the door behind her and walked over to the desk and stood in front of me, her gloves already on. She gestured with her hands for me to change positions. I lifted my arm and she began cleansing my forearm with green soap. She dried my arm and began to rub deodorant onto it. “Now, where exactly are we placing this bad boy?” she asked me. I showed her, using my opposite hand, around the area where I wanted my tattoo to be. She picked up the stencil she drew and placed it on my wrist and then took it off within seconds. That reminded me of a temporary tattoo. If only the process was that easy.
She picked up the needle and stepped on the foot pedal to make sure it worked. BZZT!! I jumped a bit. She chuckled and then asked me again “Are you sure you want this?” I looked at her and then looked at the wannabe temporary tattoo on my left wrist. I clenched my fist and said “For the Winchester boys”. She laughed again then shot me a serious glance “Don’t move”.
The roar from the machine sent a jolt through my body but I forced myself to keep still. The needle hit my arm causing me to wince at the pain Although, I wanted to avoid picturing the needle I somehow ended up watching the whole thing. When she finished outlining she began coloring it in which surprisingly didn’t hurt as much. I figured that could be because my skin had already adjusted to the pain that came from the outline. When she finished I was ecstatic, not only because I finally had my first tattoo but also because I no longer felt like chopping my arm off.
She took a picture of the finished product so she could post it onto Facebook; like she did with all the others. She then left the room to get material to wrap the tattoo up in. I looked at my tattoo for one last time before she covered it up. She came back into the room holding saran wrap. I looked up from my tattoo and looked at her and said, “For the Winchester boys”. She smiled and then began to wrap my tattoo.
Did it happen that way? Not even close. But a girl can dream can’t she?