Day 4 GOSSET on the Back
"Tell Todd to come over and I'll hook him up." Chris looked at me, and hung up his phone. What I had really wanted was now finally about to happen. My chance to forever honour my Mother, and have her name on my skin...her maiden name with my first initial.
The only problem was that I was very drunk, and that did not bode well for the pain or the fact that my blood would be very thin, and therefore, very messy. But, hey man, I really did not care about that because one of the my biggest goals on this trip was coming to fruition. It was time for some good hurt; time for my tattoo to finally be placed on my back. I took a last swig from my Guinness, said late to the remaining crew, and hit the door running.
A few minutes later, I stumbled into a Howard Johnson's, and made my way to Gabor's room. Gabor was a California boy through and through, and made of the salt I usually only saw in Newfoundlanders. Who better to inflict pain on me right? We smoked a little something-something and went over the details of how the design would look. While he drew it up, I rushed out to a 24-hour pharmacy and dropped some questions on the clerk.
"Hey, dude? Do you guys have any Saran wrap? Some neo-sporin? How about some vaseline and some medical tape"? He looked at me like I was the strangest cat he had ever seen, and then pointed me in the right direction. I grabbed the supplies, threw in some chocolate, and cashed a traveller's cheque. Word to the wise here people: Do not bother with traveller's cheques while staying in New York because they are nothing but a hassle. But, if you do decide to use them anyway, any 24-hour pharmacy will cash them for you.
I stood stock-still while the carbon paper was placed over my upper back, from one armpit to the other. The whole design curved up from there to just below my shirtline, and just underneath the bottom of my neck. Finally, a few minutes later, it was set, and we were ready to go...my skin just itching to be splayed open for all to see.
With the first rips of the needle, I felt my mouth go dry, and my stomach start to heave. I made Gabor stop, telling him I was going to puke. He looked at the shallow pale of my face, and showed me the bathroom. I sat on the toilet for a few minutes, feeling the alcohol course through my body, seeing sweat run off my skin in driblets, and was completely aware of the first beginnings of raw ink. I sucked up my breath in a fell swoop, added brass to my balls, and went out to finish the outline. I lit up another cigarette, listened to the whine of the needle, and then felt the hotness of its tip dig into my skin once more.
For the next three hours, I sat with my back to Gabor, and my arms over the chair in front of me...and watched a football game. I switched positions to spots where the pain might go away, but it never seemed to acquiesce to my wants. I tried putting my head in the crook of my right elbow, my left elbow, tried my chin on my forearms, my forehead on my forearms, twisting to the right and left...it didn't matter. My lifeblood ran down my back, soaked my skin and mingled in with the black ink. Throughout it all, I kept one thing in mind: I was the one who asked for the pain, and so I had to be the one to forget it existed. But, damn, he knew how to grind, and damn, he knew what spots were more sensitive than others.
It was in the last five minutes of it all, when he was putting finishing touches and fill-ins, that the needle hit my spinal chord or touched on a nerve ending. Listen, people, I have broken my lower back before, and so know what shock feels like to your system...but fuck. My whole body recoiled from the shivers of agony that raced up my spine, and my mind screamed out to all that is holy and just. Then, a few minutes later, it was complete. I slapped some hands into mine, laid some money on the television, and made my way out into the early morning.
Outside, I finally released all the discomfort in little grunts, and felt my upper back throb with the new ink displayed upon its surface. I hailed a cab, made my way back to the hotel, bought some pop from the vending machine, and washed the hurt down with Jim Beam, while smoking yet another cigarette. It was done. My back was finally done.
As it is, I carry my Mom in my thoughts wherever I go, and now, I carry her on my skin as well. She is my angel, my reason for being, and the strongest person I know, bar none. My skin came from her, my blood once her own, and now both carry her with me until my end of days.
I fell asleep with Saran wrapping on my upper back, and face-down so my new creation could breathe. The next day was to be spent with Eric and Chris, in a city-walk to match all city-walks. But, that is for my next entry, and all I could think of at that moment, was sleep and some healing hands. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.
"Beauty is skin deep. A tattoo goes all the way to the bone."
- Author Unknown
"Tell Todd to come over and I'll hook him up." Chris looked at me, and hung up his phone. What I had really wanted was now finally about to happen. My chance to forever honour my Mother, and have her name on my skin...her maiden name with my first initial.
The only problem was that I was very drunk, and that did not bode well for the pain or the fact that my blood would be very thin, and therefore, very messy. But, hey man, I really did not care about that because one of the my biggest goals on this trip was coming to fruition. It was time for some good hurt; time for my tattoo to finally be placed on my back. I took a last swig from my Guinness, said late to the remaining crew, and hit the door running.
A few minutes later, I stumbled into a Howard Johnson's, and made my way to Gabor's room. Gabor was a California boy through and through, and made of the salt I usually only saw in Newfoundlanders. Who better to inflict pain on me right? We smoked a little something-something and went over the details of how the design would look. While he drew it up, I rushed out to a 24-hour pharmacy and dropped some questions on the clerk.
"Hey, dude? Do you guys have any Saran wrap? Some neo-sporin? How about some vaseline and some medical tape"? He looked at me like I was the strangest cat he had ever seen, and then pointed me in the right direction. I grabbed the supplies, threw in some chocolate, and cashed a traveller's cheque. Word to the wise here people: Do not bother with traveller's cheques while staying in New York because they are nothing but a hassle. But, if you do decide to use them anyway, any 24-hour pharmacy will cash them for you.
I stood stock-still while the carbon paper was placed over my upper back, from one armpit to the other. The whole design curved up from there to just below my shirtline, and just underneath the bottom of my neck. Finally, a few minutes later, it was set, and we were ready to go...my skin just itching to be splayed open for all to see.
With the first rips of the needle, I felt my mouth go dry, and my stomach start to heave. I made Gabor stop, telling him I was going to puke. He looked at the shallow pale of my face, and showed me the bathroom. I sat on the toilet for a few minutes, feeling the alcohol course through my body, seeing sweat run off my skin in driblets, and was completely aware of the first beginnings of raw ink. I sucked up my breath in a fell swoop, added brass to my balls, and went out to finish the outline. I lit up another cigarette, listened to the whine of the needle, and then felt the hotness of its tip dig into my skin once more.
For the next three hours, I sat with my back to Gabor, and my arms over the chair in front of me...and watched a football game. I switched positions to spots where the pain might go away, but it never seemed to acquiesce to my wants. I tried putting my head in the crook of my right elbow, my left elbow, tried my chin on my forearms, my forehead on my forearms, twisting to the right and left...it didn't matter. My lifeblood ran down my back, soaked my skin and mingled in with the black ink. Throughout it all, I kept one thing in mind: I was the one who asked for the pain, and so I had to be the one to forget it existed. But, damn, he knew how to grind, and damn, he knew what spots were more sensitive than others.
It was in the last five minutes of it all, when he was putting finishing touches and fill-ins, that the needle hit my spinal chord or touched on a nerve ending. Listen, people, I have broken my lower back before, and so know what shock feels like to your system...but fuck. My whole body recoiled from the shivers of agony that raced up my spine, and my mind screamed out to all that is holy and just. Then, a few minutes later, it was complete. I slapped some hands into mine, laid some money on the television, and made my way out into the early morning.
Outside, I finally released all the discomfort in little grunts, and felt my upper back throb with the new ink displayed upon its surface. I hailed a cab, made my way back to the hotel, bought some pop from the vending machine, and washed the hurt down with Jim Beam, while smoking yet another cigarette. It was done. My back was finally done.
As it is, I carry my Mom in my thoughts wherever I go, and now, I carry her on my skin as well. She is my angel, my reason for being, and the strongest person I know, bar none. My skin came from her, my blood once her own, and now both carry her with me until my end of days.
I fell asleep with Saran wrapping on my upper back, and face-down so my new creation could breathe. The next day was to be spent with Eric and Chris, in a city-walk to match all city-walks. But, that is for my next entry, and all I could think of at that moment, was sleep and some healing hands. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.
"Beauty is skin deep. A tattoo goes all the way to the bone."
- Author Unknown
