Chapter 7

7

REIMAGINED IN INK

MAE THYDA

The rhythmic buzz of the tattoo machine filled the air, a constant hum that was both soothing and invigorating. In the dimly lit shop, the smell of antiseptic and ink mingled with the faint trace of coffee from the corner break room. The walls were adorned with a tapestry of artwork—vivid designs, intricate patterns, and bold colors, each piece a testament to the artistry and talent that thrived within these four walls.

I pushed aside the wayward strands that had escaped my hair bun as I worked, the needle dancing over my client's skin with practiced precision. The shop was a sanctuary for me, a place where I could lose myself in the artistry of tattooing and the stories of those who walked through the door.

I had come a long way from the turbulent life I once knew growing up in the States as a first-generation Asian refugee as well as from the haunting shadows of my past relationships. From forced assimilation into Western culture, while still trying to retain the one from the homeland, the journey to this point had been arduous. There wasn't a handbook out there that explained the delicate balance of living multiple lives. Every step I took felt like a stumble in my ongoing battle to discover what was right for me, yet somehow it had brought me to this moment of solace.

Here, in the midst of ink and artistry, I had found a semblance of peace.

"Almost done," I murmured, focused on the intricate floral design I was etching onto the client's forearm. The client, a young woman with a gentle demeanor, winced occasionally but held steady. Her eyes flickered with anticipation while I worked.

"Thanks for your patience," she said, her voice a soft murmur. "This means a lot to me."

At that moment, I felt a warmth spread through me, a reminder of why I was drawn to this profession. It wasn't just about the art or the ink; it was about bringing meaning to other people's lives in a profound way. Each interaction felt like a thread connecting us, weaving together our stories.

I glanced up, offering a reassuring smile. "No problem at all. I'm glad I could help. Tattoos are about more than just art—they're about marking something meaningful in your life."

The myriad of tattoos I bore on my own skin made me smile, each one a testament to a chapter of my life. They told stories of love, loss, and rebirth, a tapestry of experiences etched into my being. Each inked mark was a reminder of my journey, and I hoped to help others capture their own moments of significance.

She nodded, her gaze drifting to the large mirror mounted on the wall, where she could catch glimpses of my work in progress. "I've heard that you're really good at what you do. A friend recommended you."

I chuckled softly, feeling a rush of satisfaction. "I try my best. It's all about capturing what the client wants and making it something special."

The client nodded, her eyes sparkling with appreciation. "You really do have a unique style. There's this extramundane feel to your work that sets you apart from other artists. It's like you bring a bit of magic into every piece."

I smiled at her words, preening a little at the praise. "Thank you! I've always believed that tattoos should tell a story or evoke a feeling, almost like they're alive. I want each design to resonate on a deeper level, to feel like a part of you."

She tilted her head, considering my words. "It definitely shows. I wanted something that not only looked beautiful but also captured the essence of who I am. I think that's why I was drawn to your work."

As I finished the final touches, the door to the shop swung open, and a new client walked in. My heart skipped a beat as I looked up. The man who entered was strikingly familiar, his presence carrying an air of undeniable intensity. His eyes, sharp and discerning, seemed to bore into me with an unsettling familiarity.

"Hey, I'm looking to get a tattoo," he said, his voice smooth and confident. "I've got a design in mind, but I'd like to discuss it with someone."

I nodded, trying to shake off the unexpected shiver that ran down my spine. "Of course. I'm Mae. I can help you with that once I'm done here. Have a seat."

Instead of following directions, he approached the counter, pulling out a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. As he unfolded it, I caught a glimpse of the design—an intricate, detailed pattern of a bird that seemed almost beyond human imagining. My heart pounded in my chest when I stared at the image, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu.

"Mae, you got this?" one of my coworkers called out, concerned at my change in demeanor.

"Yeah, I'm just about done here anyway," I replied, waving him off.

"This is what I have in mind," the stranger said, laying the paper on the counter.

As I wiped away the remnants of ink from my current client, I provided her with the usual aftercare instructions while applying a second skin, a clear bandage to seal her new artwork. She nodded in understanding and politely left the shop.

The man shoved his image toward me and I tentatively looked at the design. I forced myself to focus on the image, my hands trembling slightly. The pattern was reminiscent of something I had seen before, a twisted, complex design that tugged at the corners of my memory.

"It's a really detailed piece," I told him, trying to keep my voice steady. "We can definitely work with this. Do you have any specific preferences or ideas for the placement?"

He nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. "On my back. Just make sure it's done with precision. I trust you'll do it justice."

As we discussed the details, I couldn't shake the feeling of familiarity. The design seemed to resonate with something deep within me, a memory from a past I had tried to leave behind. I fought to keep my composure, but the encounter was starting to feel increasingly surreal.

The man's gaze was unwavering and creepy at the same time. There was something unsettling about him, a sense of recognition that I couldn't quite place. It was as if his presence and the image were a key to unlocking a door I had long kept shut.

But it couldn't be true. I didn't recognize his face. What was it about his presence that felt so familiar?

"Alright," I said, finally. "Let's schedule a time for your session. I'll make sure we get it just right."

He smiled, a faint, knowing smile that sent another shiver down my spine. "Looking forward to it. I'll see you soon."

As he left the shop, the doorbell jingled softly, signaling his departure. I stood behind the counter, staring at the empty space where he had been. The unsettling sense of familiarity lingered, mingling with a creeping unease.

As Jake finished up with his client, I busied myself cleaning my station, the sound of the machine buzzing a comforting backdrop. Once the client had left, the shop felt quieter, the atmosphere shifting as we were left alone.

Jake glanced over, wiping his hands on a towel. "Are you sure you're okay? You seemed a bit off earlier." He paused, a playful glint in his eyes. "Do I need to take that strange guy as my client next time he comes back?"

I chuckled softly, appreciating his attempt to lighten the mood. "No, it's fine. Really. Just... a lot on my mind, I guess."

Jake had been working in this shop for a few years before I joined. Originally from the South, he left his small-town roots behind after facing judgment for his tattoos, seeking new opportunities in the West. With his bald head and kind heart, he was easy to get along with from the moment I started at Inklusive Studios.

He studied me for a moment, his expression softening. "You know you can talk to me, right? Sometimes it helps to share what's bothering you."

I nodded, grateful for his support. "Thanks, Jake. I'll keep that in mind."

Yet, as helpful as he was trying to be, I knew there were some things he couldn't fully understand due to our cultural differences. He was a tough-looking guy, he never had to face the same fears that women often did—especially ones seen as a novelty in some parts. There were layers to my experiences that didn't easily translate, and I hesitated to delve into those complexities, fearing they might be lost on him.

I took a deep breath, sensing the weight of the conversation lingering in the air. To lighten the mood, I flashed him a teasing smile. "So, enough about my problems. What about you? Any exciting developments in your love life, or is it still a dry spell?"

Jake chuckled, running his hand over his scalp, shaking his head. "You know me—just me and my tattoos. No time for dating when I'm busy perfecting my craft."

I raised an eyebrow playfully. "Come on, there must be someone out there who appreciates your tough exterior and soft heart."

He shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Maybe, but I haven't exactly found the time to look. Between work and trying to keep my plants alive, it's a full schedule."

"Plants?" I laughed. "Now that's a surprise! I never pegged you as a plant dad."

"Hey, they need love too," he shot back, feigning indignation. "But really, it's all part of my quest for inner peace… or something like that."

I couldn't help but smile at his self-deprecating humor. It felt good to shift the focus, even for a moment, and I appreciated his ability to find lightness in everyday life.

Just as we were laughing, the door chimed, and our other coworker, Chivonn, burst in, her expression a mix of frustration and exasperation. "Ugh, my car is seriously trying to kill me!" she grumbled, tossing her bag onto a nearby chair.

Jake and I exchanged amused glances as Chivonn continued, "I swear, every time I turn the ignition, it sounds like a dying cat. I thought I was going to be stranded on the side of the road!"

"Sounds like a real adventure," Jake said, suppressing a grin. "Maybe it just wants a break from you."

Chivonn shot him a playful glare. "Very funny. It's the car that needs a break! I'm just trying to get to work in one piece."

I laughed, relieved to have the lighthearted atmosphere restored. "Maybe it's time for a new ride?"

"Or a mechanic," Chivonn replied, rolling her eyes. "But you know how it is—who has the time for that?"

"Let me guess," Jake chimed in, "you'd rather spend your time getting inked?"

"Exactly! Priorities, people!" Chivonn said with a dramatic flair, settling into a chair. "But really, I'll take a car that runs over a date any day."

We all chuckled, grateful for the distraction and the camaraderie that filled the shop.

"Priorities, indeed!" I said, leaning back in my chair. "Who needs a working car when you can have a beautiful sleeve tattoo?"

"Right? I mean, what's more important: getting to work or looking fabulous while you're late?" Chivonn replied with a mock-serious expression as she shimmied her jeans higher, jiggling her ample assets .

Jake shook his head, grinning before heading toward the employee lounge. "At this rate, you could just ride your bike to work. No car troubles there!"

Chivonn raised an eyebrow. "Oh sure, because nothing screams ‘professional tattoo artist' like showing up covered in sweat and trying to catch my breath."

"Hey, you'd definitely leave an impression," I teased. "People would remember you for sure!"

"Yeah, as the artist who couldn't even pedal to the shop without a meltdown," she shot back, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Besides, my bike has a mind of its own too. It's practically a death trap."

Jake's laugh echoed from the other room. "Sounds like you have a talent for attracting trouble, Chivonn. Maybe it's a sign that you need to stick to public transport—or better yet, just call an Uber."

"Ugh, but that would require me to be on time!" she groaned dramatically. "Next thing you know, I'll be trading my tattoo machine for a taxi sign!"

I leaned forward, grinning. "Hey, if you start a ride-sharing service for tattoo enthusiasts, I'm in!"

Chivonn feigned a gasp. "Now that's a business idea! Get inked while you're on your way to the next destination. I can see it now: ‘Tattoo and Taxi—Two for One.'"

"Just make sure to avoid the bumpy roads," Jake added, snickering before shoving a snack in his mouth. "We wouldn't want your clients ending up with abstract art instead of clean lines!"

We all burst into laughter, the playful banter filling the shop and pushing away any lingering worries.

As the laughter died down, I glanced at the clock and realized my shift was over ten minutes ago. "Well, I should probably get going," I said, stretching my arms.

Chivonn rolled her eyes dramatically. "You're leaving me here to deal with the craziness alone? What if my car tries to attack me again?"

I laughed at her dramatics. "You'll survive! Just remember to bring a helmet next time you get in."

Jake chimed in, dusting his hands of crumbs, "Or maybe just start a carpool with me. I promise my bike is much more reliable."

Chivonn shot him a playful glare. "Yeah, right. I'd rather take my chances with the car."

As I gathered my things, Sam, our other coworker with a handlebar mustache who had just popped in, raised an eyebrow. "What's this about a car? Should I be worried?"

Chivonn waved him off. "It's just my overly dramatic way of saying my car is falling apart. No big deal."

"Sounds like a big deal to me," Sam said, grinning. "Maybe I should start a GoFundMe for your car repairs."

"Ha-Ha. Very funny." she shot back, smirking. "But really, if you want to help, just bring me food from that food truck festival tonight. Or, you know, send the higher-paying clients my way."

I felt a rush of warmth when I looked around at my friends, their banter filling the shop with a sense of camaraderie. "Alright, I'm heading out. You guys behave, and don't let Chivonn's car drive you into a ditch! "

"Yeah, yeah," Chivonn called, waving me off. "Enjoy your evening!"

As I stepped out into the cool night air, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. The earlier tension faded, replaced by the thrill of spontaneity. But just as I turned to walk away, a sudden gust of wind swirled around me, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

I paused, glancing back at the shop, a shiver running through me. Had I just imagined that? Shaking it off, I decided to embrace the night ahead, unaware that it held surprises yet to unfold.