by Shelly Crane
I got up and knew I hadn't been cleared to drive yet. Apparently, I had to be cleared from therapy before I was allowed to again. So I got dressed in jeans and a normal t-shirt. I threw on a jacket and gloves, and practically ran to get out of the house. All this walking I was doing had to be good exercise for building up stamina, right?
So I walked. I found myself heading past the school and closer to Mason's. I didn't know why I was doing that. This early in the afternoon, he was still at work, I was sure. But my feet kept pushing me there, and soon, I was knocking on the door.
The nurse must have remembered me, because she smiled and swept her arm for me to come in. I awkwardly peeked in to see his mom in her same seat. The wheelchair was covered by the blanket and she seemed oblivious to it. "Hi, Mrs. Wright."
She looked at me. "Mariah."
"Uh…" Why did she keep calling me that? "It's Emma, actually."
She pursed her lips. "Emma, right, right. Are you selling cookies or something?"
"No, ma'am," I chuckled. "I'm a friend of Mason's. I just thought I'd…come sit with you for a while."
"Well, come on. The Price is Right is almost over."
I sat on the couch next to her and wondered what I was really doing there as I slid my coat off. I saw the same woman who had been on the show yesterday. I knew it was her because she was wearing a shirt that she made saying, 'Kiss Me, Carey.' So...this was a rerun that they had recorded. I wondered how many times she'd seen this episode.
This woman, who held Mason's heart so completely, that he'd given his life up for…
After The Price is Right, I asked what she wanted to do then. She shrugged before looking at a book on the mantle. "Oh. I can get caught up on my book. Do you mind reading to me? My eyes aren't what they used to be."
I nodded and picked the book up. It was bookmarked and I would bet that she had been reading the same chapter for over four years now, not realizing she'd read it hundreds of times. It broke my heart into a million pieces for her. I discreetly wiped my eyes and sat on the couch. The book was worn and aged badly. The pages barely held up as I opened the book. I read out loud. After reading a whole two chapters, with her gasping and biting her nails at the drama going on in those pages, I heard a car pull up.
Oh, no. I wanted to be gone by the time he got home.
"Mrs. Wright, I've got to get going." I put the book down quickly and tried hurriedly to put my coat on. "I'll come back and see you again soon, OK?"
"All right, sugar, please do. I... Mason!" she said happily. I turned to find him, slack jawed and in awe at seeing me there.
I turned to her again. "See you later, all right. Promise."
"Bye, Mariah!"
I didn't dwell on the fact that she was still calling me that, I just bolted around Mason as quickly as I could. I was still trying to yank my arm through my coat sleeve in his driveway when he came out. "Emma!"
I kept walking. I couldn't handle another lecture about why he was so guilty, and more than that, I couldn't handle him telling me to leave again. I just couldn’t.
I heard his footsteps as he ran only a second before he grabbed my arm gently and turned me to him. "What are you doing here?"
This was exactly how it started yesterday, and it ended so well for me, now didn’t it? "I'm sorry. I thought I'd be gone before you got here."
I tried to leave again, but he held tight. "But why did you come then if not to see me?"
"I came to see your mom." His brow bunched in confusion. "I feel…close to her." I cleared my throat. "Her life was taken from her, too. I know she can't remember the accident, or the fact that she has amnesia. I almost envy her that." I licked my lips. My reasoning wasn't coming out right. "I just wanted her to know that someone else was thinking about her. That she wasn't…alone."
"You came to see my mother…not me?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Sorry. Like I said, I thought I'd be gone before you got back. I wasn't trying to overstep. I know you don't…" I chuckled without humor, "want me here."
He came slowly and when his palm touched my cheek, lighting ran across my skin. "I was just coming to see you. Just stopped at the house to check on Momma first."
"What?" I said in surprise. "Why?"
"To beg for your forgiveness," he said softly, "for being such an ass. I can't forgive myself for what I did to my mother. That's my problem, not yours. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."
I shook my head. "Mason…"
"You came here today, even after what I did to you yesterday, to show my mother that she wasn’t alone. You still came to show her kindness when I did nothing to deserve it."
"Mason, you took care of me for months, just like you're taking care of her. Everyone makes mistakes."
"Emma," he begged. "Please don’t."
"So…" I began and couldn’t stop the tear that slid down my cheek. "I learned all about the person I used to be this week. All the things I did, all the people I hurt. So you're saying that mistakes shouldn't have any forgiveness? Does that mean that I should never forgive myself for all the horrible things I did to people?"
"It's not the same," he growled in agony.
"Your mother was coming to save you because she loves you, because she wanted you to be safe."
"And now she's paying the price for me!" he yelled and pulled at his hair. "She shouldn't have to pay for my mistakes, not just once, but over and over again."
"I bet if you asked her if she'd do it again, she'd say yes in a heartbeat. Mason, you weren't drunk driving. You were doing the right thing by not getting into anyone's car that had been drinking and making the long walk home. You left your cell phone. That's the only thing you did." I felt the tears, but I couldn't stop. "You were a kid trying to do the right thing! How can you blame yourself for that!"
"I should have made him stop!" He shook his head furiously. "I should have stopped my friend somehow. Not only did I lose my mom that day, but I lost my friend and my brother." He looked into my eyes and they were as glassy as mine with unshed tears. "I lost everyone and everything that day. There's no one left to blame, Emma. There's no one left."
He turned and walked to his car. I didn't know what to do to make him all right except let him go. He obviously had been struggling for so long. As I watched him crank the car and drive away, I was once again left wondering if I was doing the right thing. Was this the real me? Was this where I was supposed to be?
I sat down on his porch step. I know he wanted to run away. He hadn't had anyone on his side for years, but he had been on my side. He helped me walk, for goodness sake! He stood up for me when no one else would. I couldn’t leave him now. I couldn’t walk home, be angry, and just forget how he'd told me about his world falling to pieces.
It was about a half hour before I saw him pulling in. He stopped the car and seemed more than stunned that I was still sitting there on his porch steps. He got out and walked slowly to the front of the car. "You're still here."
I nodded and gave him a look that I hoped said it all. "And I'm not going anywhere."
I saw his face crumple. I stood and he made quick strides to swoop me up. He buried his face in my hair and held me off the ground; the weight and pull of his arms made me feel absolutely alive. I felt him shaking, his chest wracked as he finally surrendered to himself. I held him tight and tried to fill him with every ounce of love and courage I possessed. I kissed his hair. I kissed his neck and his ear.
We stayed like that for hours it felt like, wrapped up together in his front yard. I was emotionally exhausted from the past few days, but I couldn't even imagine what Mason was going through.
When he settled and was just holding me, I decided we needed a change of scenery. "Will you show me your tattoo shop?"
He moved back a bit and looked at me from under his lashes. He shook his head. "Even after that, you still want to be here?"
"I'm not going anywhere," I repeated. I would say it as many times as it took to sink in.
"I se
e that," he said in awe. "God…I'm so sorry, Emma."
"Don’t apologize."
"I wasn't trying to be mean or… I just couldn't take it. I felt like I was going to explode if I didn't get away."
I nodded. "I felt like that yesterday at school. And I left."
"You did?" he asked, full of concern. Then it dawned on him. "Oh, no. You were coming here to tell me about it, weren't you?" He covered his face. "And then I sent you home like a complete…jackass."
"It's OK." I smiled. "I'll tell you about it later. Will you show me your shop?"
"Anything." He took my face in his hands. "I am sorry."
"I know." I turned and kissed his palm. "I know."
He looked like he wanted to kiss me, but I didn't want it this way. He'd promised me a kiss that was going to last with me forever and never be able to forget, and that was the kiss I wanted. I took his hand and urged him to lead the way.
He pulled his keys out and unlocked the door to a small room on the side of the house. A world of opportunities opened when he swung that door open. I smiled and turned to him. "You said you still do tattoos sometimes, right?"
"Yeah, on the weekends, mostly." He saw my face. "What?"
I didn't even have to think. "Will you tattoo me?"
He laughed. "Yeah, right."
"I'm dead serious."
He realized that. He shut the door and rubbed the tattoo on his arm as if accessing a memory. "Why, Em? Why do you want one?"
"Because number one," I pulled my To be normal list from my pocket, took a pen from his work table, and wrote 'Get a tattoo' for number three. I turned it in the air to show him. He read it all and I saw his shoulders sink a little in concession.
"You made a list to be normal again?"
"Yes, and I'm going to fill it with all sorts of things that normal people do that can remember their lives and want to have memories of things like that."
"And you think a tattoo is what normal people get?" he said incredulously, but his mouth was beginning to show signs of a smile.
I continued with a grin. "Yes. And it would really piss off my parents, but I'm legal," he laughed, "but most important, I want to mark myself, like a timeline." I tucked my hair behind my ear and licked my lips. "I doubt the old me would have gotten a tattoo. I want to do something that will remind me every single day that I am not her. I want to get a tattoo in her…memory." I tried not to cry and cleared my throat. "Something for me to remember that the girl I once was doesn’t have to the girl that I am. All the things I've done," I gave him a pointed look, "don't have to define me."
He nodded slowly. "You're sure? You know this isn't a Henna shop, right?" He had a teasing smile.
"I want it as permanent as can be."
"What do you want?"
"A dragonfly." I pulled my jacket off and laid it over the chair. I turned, lifted my shirt, and pointed to the back of my hip under my jeans. "Right here."
He licked his bottom lip and looked at the skin there for a long minute before gazing back at my eyes. "Are you sure? It'll hurt there."
"It'll hurt everywhere."
"Touché." He took his jacket off, too, and the button-up shirt that covered his black wife-beater. All of his tattoos were on display then and I couldn't help but move forward and let my fingers dance across them to explore. He shivered and chuckled. "Ticklish, remember?"
"Yeah," I said softly. "I remember." I ran my finger across a black cross on his left shoulder blade. "I really like this one."
"Thanks. It's my friend's…memorial."
"It's really beautiful." I examined his shop closer and looked at the chair with interest. "You still do a lot?"
"About one or two a weekend. Usually just friends, or friends of friends." He leaned his hip against the counter edge that held all the tools. He watched my every move and it made me feel more beautiful than I ever had before. Even with Andy saying the word, Mason's honest gaze was so much more potent. It went right to my gut.
"OK, what do we need to do?"
"If you're sure," he tested again and looked at me closely, "I'll draw something up and we'll get a print on your skin. Then I'll…get to it."
"OK, but I don't want to see what you draw."
"What?" He stopped.
"I want it to be a surprise."
"Emma," he protested. "Come on. You can't ask me to do that."
"Why not?" I asked softly. I went to him slowly, loving the way his throat worked through a gulp. I let my hand grip the front of his shirt. "I trust you."
He sighed. "What the hell did I do to deserve it?"
"You brought me back to life. You made me able to live again. I'd still be in that hospice bed if you hadn't pushed me and gave me the want to get better. You know it's true. Mr. Garner was always too busy. He would never have put the time in for me that you did. You took care of me."
"Anyone would have."
I shook my head. "And you never pressured me to be anyone but myself. You didn't even know me before, but you still wanted me to be me. Plus…it's not like I'm asking you to put a Mike Tyson on my face. No one will see it on my hip but me…and you."
His eyes closed for a second and a flash went across his face before it was gone. "OK. I'll draw something up."
"Are these yours?" I asked and flipped through a huge album of pictures of tattoos on all sorts of people, on all sorts of body parts.
"Yep. That's my résumé." He chuckled as he got some weird paper and tools out.
"Can I look at it?" I said, setting it on the counter and leaning on my elbows.
"Of course, baby."
I bit my lip at that and he locked eyes with me. He smirked at being caught saying such a thing and then turned around with a smile to start his drawing. The smile stayed permanently on my face as I looked through the artwork Mason had created. And it was art.
The way he put all those colors together that I wouldn't have known would even look good. The way he drew something in a way I would have never thought to do. Though I was so grateful that Mason was there when I opened my eyes in the hospital, his talents were definitely here. I wondered why he worked at the hospice at all when he could do this full time.
"How come there are only guys in this book?"
He looked back for a second. "I've never tattooed a girl before."
"Really?" I said with maybe too much satisfaction. He smiled in his profile as he worked.
After about a half hour, he said he was done. He left the drawing on the table and got some things ready. Then he beckoned me to the chair, which he laid all the way down flat. I was so nervous, in a good way. I absolutely couldn't wait to see what my skin was going to have when he was done.
"All right, uh…" He eyed me strangely, his eyes jumping from my jeans to my face. "The pants have got to go, at least down to your knees."
"It's fine." I kicked my shoes off and unbuttoned my jeans. The carpet was thick and cool under my socked feet. Mason's heavy eyes watched me the entire time. I slid the pants from one leg, then the other and laid them across the counter. And I was immensely thankful that my underwear were cute today. "Lay down here?"
He nodded. "On your stomach. I'm going to rub some cold antiseptic on you first."
I got situated and waited for him. When he came back, he rolled a small stool next to the chair and sat down. "I've got to pull these down on the side just a bit, OK?" His fingers hooked in my underwear, and I nodded. He tugged the side down and tucked a small cloth under the waistband to keep anything from getting on them.
I leaned my head on my arms, but looked back over my shoulder once more before letting him have complete control. He had gloves on and a small cloth that held the stinky, brown antiseptic in his hand. He held my eyes as he bent down and kissed my hip where he was about to put his artwork. I sucked in a breath. "Ready?" he whispered.
I nodded and turned to lay my chin on my arms again. I felt the bite of cold from the antiseptic, then him wiping it away, laying the paper over my
skin and peeling it off. Then the whir of the needle began. One hand rested over my skin around the area and the other held the machine. "Here we go. Last chance to back out."
He waited, but when I didn't say anything, he began. The sting was considerable, but not unbearable. I could tell that he was being as gentle as possible. Don't ask me how. And every time he hit a particularly sensitive spot, and I hissed through my teeth, he hissed through his in sympathy.
I bit my lip so long and hard that it was practically numb by the time he was done an hour later. All my muscles ached from being tense for so long, but when he said he was done, I was more than happy to get up and move around. He helped me up and said, "I'll let you look at it in the mirror, but then we've got to tape it up, OK? It'll have to be bandaged for a while."
"OK," I said eagerly. I couldn't wait to see what he'd done. I knew I was going to love it. I was just curious as to the degree of love. Would I jump him right here and force him to hand over the mind-blowing kiss he'd promised? Or was I going to burst into tears because it was so beautiful?
There was a full-length mirror on the door and he stood me in front of it. I probably should have been embarrassed to be in my underwear, but I wasn't. This was Mason. He was in a box on the shelf all by himself. He was the one person I could be myself, utterly and completely, with.
"Let's take a look at it, shall we?" he taunted and smiled as he turned me around.
My eyes glued themselves to the beautiful white and ethereal green dragonfly. It looked like it was…glowing on my skin. Just like the ones on my ceiling did. I found myself crying on the spot. So between jumping him and bursting into tears, I was apparently going for option two.
"Oh, no. Emma…" He turned me to look at him and I fought him to turn back. I couldn’t stop looking at it, but he took that as anger. "Dang, I'm so sorry. I should have known not to do it when you've been upset."
"I love it," I said through my tears and laughed. "I love it so much."
"Really?"
"Yes, really," I promised and turned a bit more. "It's like you read my mind."
"See, this is why I don't tattoo girls. I've never had a dude break out in tears before." I punched his gut lightly, making him laugh. He sobered as he said, "But they didn't look as beautiful as you do right now either."
