Barber Shop Ink: Always Blue in Memphis

by Penny Blush

  I mean - really?!

  Through no fault of my own, my life had become a mess. Donavan and his selfish actions had cost me my dream job and a career that I loved.

  “Fucking Donavan,” I took another swig from the bottle.

  Thomas, with his lies and deceit, treating me like a placeholder for the one he truly wanted, broke my heart.

  “Fucking Thomas,” I shoved a spoon full of ice cream into my mouth followed by a rum chaser.

  The Freeman's wanting to supplement their income had carelessly left their grow-house unattended, burning down my fabulous apartment.

  “Fucking, old people,” I slurred, the rum that I had been guzzling was starting to take effect.

  My life had been completely and utterly devastated, and I had nothing to do with it. None of it was my fault. I was an innocent bystander. The burden of this nightmare was one hundred percent on someone else.

  No. No, that's wrong. I am partly to blame because I was stupid. I stupidly trusted the wrong people, I put my faith in others, I put my heart in the hands of the unworthy, and they let me down.

  That - that is one hundred percent on me.

  Fuck. My. Life.

  But that's life, and you have to take the hits and roll with the punches to survive. Learn from each and every experience so that you can pick yourself up and come out the other side a better person and all the stronger for it.

  That's Life

  Oh, Screw you, Frank.

  Chapter 6 Hedge

  Two, very long unending months and counting. It has been two months’ that I have been staying at Jaxon’s tiny little house, taking up space on his couch, doing nothing but watching TV, moping and mooching like a gigantic loser.

  That's sixty days. One-thousand-four-hundred and forty hours or eighty-six-thousand-four-hundred wasted minutes of my life that I will never get back. Time that I just let slip through my fingers while working on leaving a perfect imprint of my body on Jaxon's lounge.

  #lifegoals

  Rolling over onto my back on my bed, AKA the lounge, I stared up at the ceiling fan, contemplating my life. I tried for the millionth time to figure a way out of this mess, to find the energy and the willpower to make a move. But I just lay there staring at the blades of the fan that were going in and out of focus.

  Man, that thing is dusty. If I were my normal, productive, positive, life-loving self, I would get up off my ass and clean that for Jaxon. He has done so much for me the last couple of months that the least I could do is dust the fan. But that required moving, and I just couldn’t be bothered.

  Yep, I have become that person. It’s as if the last couple of months have turned me into the opposite-land version of myself. I've stepped into the Twilight Zone and everything is topsy-turvy, up is down, black is white, my once happy positive personality is now sad and bleak. I do not like who I have become. I could feel the positive version of myself trying to bust through the dusty haze of my despair. It was like I was having an out of body experience. The positive version of me was standing in a halo of light looking down on the sad, dishevelled, lacklustre version of myself laying on the lounge. Positive-me was trying so hard to encourage, Sad-pathetic-me, who barely had the energy to blink, to shake it off and get back to the land of the living.

  “Haters gonna, hate,” I sighed, blinking for what felt for the first time in ages.

  But what if the ‘hater’ is you?

  “Shake it off,” I mumbled.

  That's what I should do. I should listen to the wise words of Taylor Swift and shake off all the crappy things that have happened to me over the last few months and try to move forward.

  “Oh, fuck off Taylor,” I muttered.

  Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold it right there. I am not this person. Firstly, I am not a Taylor hater. I'm sorry Taylor I didn't mean it, honest! I've just been having a super crappy time lately, and I took my bad mood out on you. I am so sorry please, please forgive me, Taylor. Great now I'm having an imaginary conversation with Taylor Swift. What the hell is wrong with me? Even if I were only having an imaginary conversation with Taylor Swift, I would not be doing in laying on the lounge looking like the great unwashed. Taylor deserves more respect than that. Even imaginary Taylor deserves more than Sad-pathetic-me.

  That's another thing I don’t mope. I am the opposite of someone who is a mope. I'm the anti-mope! I am a freaking rainbow unicorn covered in sparkly fairy dust! I don't let things get me down! And if they do, I don't let them keep me down. I'm the person who looks for silver linings, for reasons and hidden meanings! I do not mooch. I am not a moocher. I am a strong, independent woman! I earn my money. I pay my way. I am not a kept woman. I don't have to rely on anyone. I depend on no one else but me.

  “I depend on me,” I mumbled, which triggered me singing ‘Independent Woman’ to myself.

  Thank you, Destiny's Child!

  Wow, I've got a whole empowering women theme going on with my mental song choices today. But yeah, they're right I depend on me! The only one who can fix this is me. You want a better life you should do something about it; you can do something about this. Get your ass up off the couch and make things happen!

  Feeling pumped up by my self-pep talk, I got up off the lounge all geared up to get my life in order. After I clean Jaxon's fan for him, because I mean, Dude, gross! I'll use his computer to update my resume, send it out to all the top salons, both here and overseas.

  Smiling, I nodded to myself, yeah, that sounds like a fantastic idea. I could get a job overseas somewhere again. It would be a fresh start. I love to travel, and a change of scenery could be just what the doctor ordered to get me out of this funk. I am an amazing talented hairdresser, and any salon would be lucky to have me. I’ll have a new job by the end of the month, without a doubt! I just need to work out what is my best and cutest but professional, interview outfit and I’ll be golden!

  Then the realisation hit me like a sledgehammer and my glittery ball of positivity burst.

  “FUCK!” I yelled into the empty house, flopping back onto the couch, once again giving into defeat.

  What was the point? I don't have any cute but professional interview outfits because all my clothes burnt to ashes. The only thing I have left to wear is freaking ‘active wear’, some Avengers PJ’s that Jaxon lent me, and a gigantic hoodie that Davan had left behind.

  There was no point in wasting time and the energy to get up off the couch, booting up the computer and updating my resume. Even if I did get an interview it's not as if I could go; I don't have anything to wear and as awesome as the Avengers PJ's are, the chances of them being my new lucky interview outfit were slim to none.

  I can’t even go shopping for new clothes, ones that would fit me and that I would want people to see me wearing in public and why? Because I am broke, I'm broker than broke, just not on paper. I have money, plenty of money. It's just at this very moment my bank was holding my money for ransom because of their stupid system that takes customer security seriously.

  I know I shouldn’t be complaining that my bank is so diligent with security and the protection of my money it’s just that it has taken forever to sort out my replacement ID. Fucking identity fraud, and banking laws, dumb security measures.

  I had digital copies of all my important documents including my identification details; you know a copy of my birth certificate, passport, and my driver’s license. The problem is that no one would accept a digital copy; they all wanted to see the original or a certified copy. After three weeks of back and forth and a lot of "let me talk to your supervisor," I finally got my ID sorted.

  My ID, which was supposed to take three business days to get to me, was now a week and a half late.

  Because at this present point in time my identity cannot be confirmed and I have no way of proving that I am who I claim to be so, my bank accounts cannot be accessed. Meaning that my credit cards are unable to be reissued, and therefore I don’t currently have the funds to start getting my life back together.<
br />
  So, as you can see, it’s not my fault that I am sitting here two months later after the ‘Friend-Fire-Fuck’ that shook my world. It’s entirely the fault of the person issuing my new birth certificate and passport, which I need to get a new driver’s license and bank cards.

  ‘The Man’ is always trying to keep you down!

  Jax had offered to buy me some new clothes, loan me some money until I got back on my feet but I refused. What was the point?

  Sparkly unicorn mood shattered, I peeled myself back off the couch and slinked into the kitchen. When all else fails, eat!

  I made myself a Nutella Sprinkle sandwich and stood, staring out the kitchen window, once again contemplating life, the universe, and everything.

  I wonder if this is how Steve Jobs came up with his grandiose ideas, eating a Nutella Sprinkle sandwich while staring into space. He seemed like he would have been a Nutella Sprinkle sandwich kind of guy.

  Contemplating the merits of using Hundreds and Thousands, versus Sprinkles on a sandwich, I reached for my drink.

  “Shit! Fuck! Oh, that's just fucking excellent."

  Not only could I not get my life together, but I couldn’t get my hand to mouth coordination together and now I have strawberry milk all down the front of my hoodie. My very favourite Davan hoodie that I would have to wash but that would require me taking it off. I didn't want to take it off; it reminded me of my brother and even after years of washing I could still smell his cologne on it. It was as if the spicy scent of his favourite cologne had embedded itself in the worn fibres. Jaxon thought I was insane, but I could still smell Davan when I wore his hoodie, and it gave me comfort.

  I stepped forward to get a dishcloth to try to clean up the mess when I put my socked foot in a puddle of the spilt milk on the floor.

  “That’s just fucking brilliant!” I moaned.

  My God, my life is A-maz-ing. I’m living the dream!

  Not exactly sure whose dream it is, but it sure as shit isn’t mine.

  God, why am I so tired? I dropped the milk-sodden dishcloth into the sink that was full of dirty dishes and limped back to the couch, walking on the heel of my foot so that my strawberry milk flavoured sock wouldn’t touch the carpet. Screw it. I’ll be all adulty tomorrow. I'll make a start on getting my shit together tomorrow. Besides, Flip or Flop is about to start. That was my last thought before I was woken up from my much-needed slumber by a tattoo covered rage monster.

  “Dude, what the fuck died in here?!” A disgusted voice asked.

  “Whaa?” I mumbled sleepily through the pillow I was hugging, having fallen asleep, again.

  “It smells like a dirty gym locker had angry sex with a garbage dumpster in here!”

  “If I ignore the angry rage monster, he will go away,” I muttered, snuggling back into my pillow.

  “God, is that sour milk?” The rage-monster asked, sniffing at the air.

  “OUCH! What the fuck Jaxon?” I screeched as I flipped sideways off the couch landing heavily on my hip, on the floor next to the coffee table. “What the hell asshole? Did you just smack me on the ass?!” I hissed, rubbing my backside. The prick had slapped me so freaking hard that I was sure that if I looked there would be a perfect handprint on my ass. “I was asleep you dick!”

  “No shit! That’s all you ever seem to do,” Jaxon replied.

  “That hurt you, asshole,” I groused.

  “Quit your whining. I didn't smack you that hard, it sounded worse than it was, and you’ve gone to pudding sitting on that couch day and night. If that's what it takes to make you move then, I'll do it again."

  He stood in front of me, folding his arms across his broad chest with a disappointed look on his face. What the hell was that look about? Jax has never looked at me like that before. Jax has always been supportive, encouraging, and proud of me. The look of disappointment settled like lead in my stomach.

  “Jax, dude you in here?” An unfamiliar, growling voice bellowed, from the direction of the front door. "Dude, what the actual fuck? Did you fall and die or something?" The sound of heavy boots followed the question. "Do I need to call emergency services? Do you need the Jaws of Life? What the fuck is that smell? Dude, you had better not be naked!”

  “Hey, Memphis, we’re in here,” Jaxon called out. “Nothing’s died, yet,” he finished, giving me the evil eye. “Anyways, I left work like fifteen minutes ago; I pulled up right before you. How the hell could I have gotten into trouble that would require emergency services and the Jaws of Life in that space of time?” he asked over his shoulder still glaring at me.

  “Well, it is you,” the growling voice replied like that was all the explanation needed.

  Jaxon looked down at me and my crumpled position on the floor, “Cuz seriously, enough already. Get your crap off my couch will ya, we want to sit down.”

  “We? We who?” I hissed, looking up from the floor as if just realising that there was someone else in the house. "Jesus Jax! You could have given me some warning that you were having people over," I snapped, scrambling off the floor, pulling the hoodie up over my head, hoping to hide my face, my hair, my whole person.

  "Why?" He asked, putting his hands on his hips. "It's my house, and that’s my couch.”

  “Because; you ass!" I replied, being a total sulking brat. "It's myyy bed, and if I'd known that you were having people over, I would have made myself scarce." Or you know at least bathed, I added to myself, folding my arms across my chest.

  “You still can, you know,” Jaxon called to my back, as I grumbled, stomping my retreat down the hall in the direction of the bathroom. As I reached the doorway, I heard Jaxon apologise to his visitor for the state of the house and my rude behaviour.

  “Come in, sorry about the mess.”

  “What the hell Dude, this place looks like a bomb site,” the man said.

  “Sorry man, it’s my Cuz, she has had a shitty couple of months.”

  Yeah, I'm jobless, cashless, homeless, clothing-less and boyfriend-less. I am clearly in mourning for the fabulous life I use to have. Geez, have some consideration you, heartless jerk.

  ‘Thanks, Cuz’ I thought, leaning against the bathroom door frame, eavesdropping on their conversation with a view of the lounge room.

  "Dude seriously. If my cousin treated my home like this, I'd kick his ass and then kick his ass out," I heard Mr Rumbling voice say.

  I looked up in time to see him standing in the lounge room with his back to me, hands on his head, surveying the scene in front of him. I quickly looked away, shame heating my face. Jaxon looked like he wanted to clean up, but had no idea where to start. That look had my stomach twisting in knots.

  “I’m getting to that point, trust me,” Jaxon sighed, walking to the couch and throwing the blanket and pillows over the back so that he and his incredibly tall friend could sit down. “But she’s family, you know, despite the mess I can’t kick her out, I love her stupid ass.”

  “She’s…lovely…” His friend replied sarcastically.

  ‘Well fuck you, buddy! I’ll have you know I’m a motherfucking delight,’ I thought, throwing my arms across my chest, mentally arguing with him.

  "Nah man, she really is the best person I know. She's more like my little sister than a cousin. She’s the most ‘together’ person…” Jax, paused looking around the room. "Ordinarily," he laughed. "It's just that she was crapped on from a great height by the universe and she’s struggling to get herself out from under it, ya know.”

  “Yeah, we’ve all been there,” his friend replied the heaviness of his words led me to believe that he had a vague idea of what it was like to feel like the weight of the world was crashing down on you.

  “You should see her when she has her shit together she’s so dedicated and fearless. She is a total badass."

  ‘Aww, thanks, Cuz.’ I really should make a conscious effort to be nicer to Jaxon.

  “She just needs to remember that. She’ll find her way back to the badass ninja that she is. She
'll get there. This is not what she is usually like; she's a doll."

  “A doll, sure...” The sarcastic tone was back from his friend, “the Bride of Chucky maybe?”

  "Dude she usually looks and smells a lot better!"

  ‘Well fuck you, assholes!’ I thought as peals of laughter followed me into the bathroom.

  My first reaction was to slam the door and storm around angrily, possibly throw a few things, but I didn't want them to know that I had heard them. Instead, I stood looking in the mirror, and I did not like what I saw. I stood and looked at myself. Really looked and what I saw was not me, the reflection in the mirror was a complete stranger. Who is this person? Who is this sad, pathetic looking person with greasy, messy, unwashed hair, dull eyes and in desperate need of a shower?

  God, this is not me. GRRR!

  I don’t know why, what Jaxon’s friend had said pissed me off so much, but it did. I mean he didn’t say much, apart from, that if it were up to him; I would be out on my ass by now. Who the hell does he think he is making comments like that? He doesn't know me. We haven't even officially met. We haven’t spoken, so he has absolutely no frame of reference on which to base an opinion.

  What pissed me off more than anything else was the fact that I’m standing here, looking at my reflection, getting more and more worked up, letting something said by some jerk who doesn’t know me affect me so much. Suddenly there was a fire in my eyes for the first time in months, and my cheeks flushed with anger.

  GRRR!

  I was so angry. I need to pace, I needed to work off the anger that I could feel building. The bathroom was not big enough to pace in. I was all amped up, and I could feel all the resentment and frustration of the last couple of months that I had been ignoring start to prickle at my skin. I felt like a caged animal and for the first time since everything happened, I wanted out.