All My Life

by Rucy Ban

  I discover Eddie lives in a completely different neighborhood just over two blocks away from my school. It’s a two bedroom apartment on a crowded street. A small but well-organized apartment. Eddie tells me his father is out and we have the apartment all to ourselves. How opportune? I think in my mind. Did he plan it this way? I enter his room and the knots twisting in my tummy intensify. For all of five seconds. Because as I turn around, I see Eddie shutting the door. And when he walks towards me with a slow sure smile on his lips, I swear I can actually feel my heart sprinting away from my body.

  I have no illusions about what we are about to do. There had been enough of an indication the day before. Still it is my first time and I’ve heard stories about how they go.

  It takes ten minutes and thirty seven seconds.

  Just ten minutes and thirty seven seconds to turn my life upside down. It’s painful. It’s messy. He’s not rough but then he’s not gentle. What he is…is a completely different person. A week’s no-contact later, I also discover that he recorded the whole thing.

  It’s been a year now and my life has become my very own personal hell.

  Chapter Two

  I’ve decided on my majors, worked on building my resume, evaded all the extra-curricular activities and continue to slog through the maze of assignments thrown my way. Still. Every morning it’s the same. I clench my sheets and cover my face like I used to when I was younger. A human ostrich. A used, abused and blackmailed human ostrich.

  After it happened, every day as I entered school I would think this is it. Today is the day. My secret is out. Every glance would become a rebuke, every laugh a ridicule. After months of dodging my friends, I’d finally succeeded in becoming an unknown entity. And now? A year later in college? I’m completely invisible.

  I put junk on my face to make myself look alive, eat food to keep my body running, study hard and keep my head down. But then I wake up and I remember. Everything. Every single detail, every single touch, seared on my mind. I saw the video when he’d e-mailed it to me, just a week after that fateful day. I just saw it once. Enough for a hundred lifetimes.

  First Fridays of every month are the worst. That’s the day he waits for me outside my college. That’s the day I have to walk towards him. Ten yards of gravel under my feet, a million shards of glass coursing through my veins and a big ball of disgust threatening to lodge itself out of my throat. Maybe I should let it out. Maybe it’ll hit him right on his forehead and knock him down dead. But then nothing ever happens. My hatred is impotent. All I can do is look impassive and hand over all my pocket money to him.

  Two days ago, he doubled the amount. Says he’s running short on his tuition fees. The irony is not lost on me.

  I’d contemplated going to my Mom. Honestly, I did try telling her once. But I just couldn’t get myself to do it.

  Dog-tired, embittered, divorced, single mother. The labels that have been stuck on her are just too overwhelming for me to ignore.

  Then I’d thought of telling Ian and Becky. But the thoughts of sorry glances and awkward silences set me off that path as well.

  So I did the only thing I could’ve done at that time. I googled the hell out of it. I searched for days, weeks. Sat up through nights. I searched and searched and came up with…nothing. Of course, there were a slew of celebrity dramas listed everywhere on the topic. But my family is no Kardashian. The only thing a sex video will get us is misery.

  After some more digging, I stumbled upon harrowing accounts of people whose ex-partners had released their sex videos under pseudonyms. Put it all behind you. That was the advice posted on a victim’s blog. But the problem is. For me it’s not over yet. Eddie is still very much there in my life, dangling his sword just an inch above my head.

  Going to the Police is also out of the question. I checked their website, even the address of the nearest precinct. Blackmail isn’t even listed as a category on their site. Then I remembered reading something in the newspapers, a while ago. A girl from a local high-school who had reported a date rape. The Police couldn’t find any evidence against the guy. Branded a slut, hounded by his cronies, the girl eventually had to move to another city.

  No. The Police are a complete no-go. Even if it was not my fault, even if it was recorded without consent, if I tell, everyone will blame me. Flirting. Dating. Consensual sex. The rebukes will be endless. And the worst? Everyone will want to watch the video. Every pore, every naked ounce of my flesh accessible to voyeuristic eyes? I’d rather die.

  My only hope is that it will go away. Just one more year. Every Friday, as I hand over the cash that’s what Eddie promises me. Just one more year and he’ll delete the file. The file plus all the back-ups. A word he keeps dropping in every sentence. A word that has become my nightmare. Back-ups. How many servers have it? How many accounts? Just one click and it can go viral, destroying my life forever. A sex video! How did I get myself into this?! And what in God’s name will I do about the added amount he wants?!

  I tried asking Mom but all that did was complicate things. She flatly refused and followed it by an hour-long interrogation session. Can’t blame her. I’m in college now and I should have stopped taking pocket-money a long time back. And to actually ask for more is not just shameful, it’s downright humiliating. My life has become an ever-increasing pile of rotting, festering denials. Just one more year. Just 12 months, 365 days and 8760 hours.

  That day as I cross the road, a poster stuck on the window display of the new shop catches my eye. The last year has seen a complete overhaul of the shop named ‘The Prick’ and the apartment right above it. Every day as I walked past, I used to hear the ripping and hammering echoing from indoors.

  Now the poster advertised, ‘Wanted – Fresh blood $9/hour.’ I stop right in my tracks and stare at it, wondering if it is a genuine job advert or a wacky blood donation drive of some sort. The door jiggles open and I step back in surprise. The woman whom I’d seen earlier, more than a year ago, is now standing there, looking at me. Judging by her face, I guess early forties but going by the fitted shirt and the classy cotton flares, I could be way off.

  “You interested, honey?” she asks in a thick Southern accent.

  “Err…is this for a job?” I ask and she smiles.

  “Got no vampires in here, sweetheart. If you wanna know about the job, you can come in.” She holds the door open and I don’t know whether to run away or take her up on the offer. What I do know is that I really need that extra cash and $9/hour seems too good of a promise to pass up. I enter the shop.

  The door shuts behind me with finality and I try not to freak out. I have never been claustrophobic. Not even afraid of the dark. But then the last year happened and it turned me into a different person.

  I notice another girl sitting behind the shop’s counter. Asian. Around my age. Her presence gives me a little strength. At least enough courage to walk in and look around the shop.

  The shop’s decor is chic and minimalist. Burnt red bricks for walls and a large tan couch placed right next to the wood-topped counter. I walk across the polished concrete floor to a mounted rack filled with design sheets. Beside it two hydraulic leather bed tables stand spotlighted in the center. A tattoo shop! Though it definitely looks more suited for customers owning Ducatis rather than Harleys.

  The Asian girl gets off her stool and walks towards me. “Hey! ’Sup?” she says, smiling warmly.

  Betty Crocker hair, kohl-lined eyes and a polka-dotted summer dress covering her tiny frame, this girl seems to be a study in contrasts. I like her already.

  I give her a chin raise and her smile stretches into a grin.

  “Ink or metal?” she asks abruptly.

  “Sorry?!”

  The older woman calls out from behind. “Nalini dear, she’s here for the job.”

  Nalini gives me a once-over, shrugs and then goes back to the counter. The woman hops on top of one of the bed tables and waves me towards the other. I spring onto it as well and suddenly, i
t feels like I’ve snapped back in time. Idle swinging legs, toothy smiles, sticky syrupy lips, grubby fingers and endless, unceasing chatter. The woman’s voice cuts through my summer haze.

  “Do you have any experience in this?” I look at her face. It looks impassive and cold. But the aloofness doesn’t touch her eyes. They have a sparkle of kindness in them. Or so I think. I don’t know squat. I can no longer trust my own judgement. She might be a serial killer for all I know.

  I shake my head in the negative.

  “Any experience at all?”

  I shake my head again and look at the girl. Head down, she is flipping through a magazine but I know she’s completely tuned-in to the conversation. I shift my eyes back to the woman. Her brow is furrowed with concern.

  “You go to school?”

  “College. Freshman.”

  “How old?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “Isn’t that too young for college?”

  “I’m the youngest in my class.”

  “How much did you get in your last Arts class?”

  “A.”

  She cocks her head in response. “Wanna learn how to tattoo?”

  I finally allow myself a smile.

  Weekdays, 5 to 8 in the evenings and weekends, 10 to 3 in the mornings. After handing over a portion to Eddie I’ll still have some money to spare. Who knows? Maybe God has finally decided to throw some luck my way.

  Chapter Three

  Day one at work and my first lesson is a detailed lowdown on needles and machines. Lining needles, shading needles, coil machine, pneumatic machine, bat barrel, sanitary tube, hook tavern and then the inks. Back-light, glow in the dark, natural or just plain…ink.

  By the second week, I can easily distinguish between the various needles and even load up the machine. From then on starts the extensive practicing on oranges and observing Agnas at work. Agnas. That’s the woman with the vampire hangover. Apparently, she doesn’t just work here. The frizzy-haired, 45-year-old also makes up for my surprisingly sweet-natured employer.

  Agnas lives in the apartment right above the shop and while she takes care of the tattooing, Nalini does the piercing. What I do is study their work and watch them as they interact with the customers, the way they dig out their stories and ease their worries. From what I’ve gathered so far, most of the people walk in looking to satisfy a whim but then there are some for whom it goes much deeper. A memory, a life-changer or maybe just as an inspiration. As sociophobic as I’ve become, discovering these people’s stories is one of the the best parts of my job.

  The other is having found two people I can talk to, without any danger of pre-conceived notions or judgement. While Agnas is kind and patient, Nalini’s personality is as quirky as her clothes. She’s introduced me to the coolest songs, the weirdest YouTube videos and the funniest person in the whole world. Her boyfriend Josiah. A Swedish import. Josiah eats like a beefcake, looks like Tom Hanks from when he was stuck on that island and dresses like he’s vacationing on one. He’s also the lead singer of an indie band, gainfully employed by a dance club in our neighborhood.

  Nalini and Josiah have tried to take me along on the band’s weekend performances but I’ve desisted so far. I don’t want to push Mom over the edge. As it is, she hasn’t really taken to my new found interest in body art. I remember the look on her face when I had told her about my job at the tattoo parlor.

  In no certain words, she had told me she didn’t approve of me shifting focus from my class work. In certain other words, she had prophesied that spoiling the body the good Lord gave us was an act so heinous, there might even be a law against it. And finally, she had used her scarier lower decibel to pronounce that she didn’t approve of me ever…EVER getting a tattoo on any portion of my skin.

  I’d wanted to tell her she didn’t have to worry about that last bit. My pain threshold is embarrassingly low and she being my mother, should have known that. But then she doesn’t really know anything about me anymore, does she? Sometimes I think she doesn’t even want to. Like she can’t wait for me to start working and get out of her hair.

  Truth be told, I can’t wait for it either even though my reasons are completely different. One more year and then freedom. Free of Eddie and his suffocating reminders in my life. Free of this ugliness that has sprouted between Mom and me, the constant questions, the shaking of her head at my monosyllabic answers, the constant fear, the gut-wrenching shame, the guilt and worthlessness. One year. Just one more year and I’ll be finally fucking FREE.

  One Saturday morning, I happen to witness something as I’m working in the shop. Something that makes me realize what a big gaping hole my life really is.

  It’s nothing drastic. Just a simple everyday thing. A guy kissing a girl.

  Now I’ve been an unwilling witness to many couples getting all hot and heavy right in the middle of a busy subway. But there’s none of that cheesiness happening here with this kiss. And for a few seconds, I just stand there rooted behind the counter, just like a neighborhood busybody spying from the window display. Shocked, unnerved yet completely unable to look away.

  He has her up against the wall right across the street, with her leg hooked on his hip, his broad sculpted shoulders covering her almost completely and his thick arms positioned on her either side.

  My eyes trail down to the blue stilettos digging into his faded jeans and then up, to the red nails clutching a fistful of his white shirt and just like that, a beat I’d long forgotten starts thrumming again. That portion of my heart which held something precious? Which I’d long thought dead? It starts beating again.

  I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until I see his long fingers clench into tight fists as he restrains himself and pulls away.

  I don’t know why but it feels like I’m the one being released. I suck in a deep shuddering breath. Holy! Wow! To be kissed like that. Oh, to be loved like that.

  A heavy sadness engulfs me. This is it, isn’t it? This is what I’ve been waiting for. Like those woeful girls who fall apart when their high school romance fails them. Like them. I’ve been waiting. For someone to come along and rescue me from my life. How pathetically Victorian of me. Feminism probably just rolled in its grave and woke up with a wracking cough.

  “Pathetic,” I mumble to myself.

  “Yowza! Whatcha sayin’? Not pathetic in the least. I’m kinda hoping he’ll do me next,” Nalini says with a wistful expression on her face. My eyes widen in shock and she lifts her hands up in surrender. “Oh! Okay! I have a freaking boyfriend but I’m sure if Josiah met him he wouldn’t blame me for cheating. Maybe he’d even beat me to it.”

  The image she paints in my mind is so goofy it makes me throw my head back and laugh.

  Nalini places her hands on her hips and stares me down which only makes me laugh harder. I haven’t laughed like this in quite a while. It feels good to let out all the pent-up hysteria.

  As I wipe my tears, Nalini pouts and turns back to the counter. I straighten up as well and start to get on with my work but then I catch someone looking at me. It’s the same hunky stranger! The one with the mad kissing skills! He’s still standing across the street but now he’s all alone, the girl is nowhere to be seen.

  I stand there watching him rub his chin while staring intently at me. I want to look away, I really do but I’m unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to tear my eyes away from his. Like blazing summer oceans they hypnotize me with their intensity. Even from across all that distance I can feel the prick of his irises, the sear of his gaze. Jesus. What is wrong with me? I have to look away. I need to…

  “Wanna get a cuppa?” Nalini’s voice breaks through my trance and I drag in a lungful of air. I quickly turn my back to the window but my knees feel so weak that I have to grip the counter for support. Would I ever learn? Guys like him? They were the worst kind. All looks and no heart. Guys not like him? They were all deceiving, freaking asshats.

  “Yes, I’d love to!” Nalini mimics
my voice, obviously irked by the lack of any response. But as soon as I give her a small smile, she relents. Hooking her arm through mine, she tags me along to the little kitchenette at the back of the shop.

  One great thing about Agnas? She loves her coffee. That’s why she’s invested in this huge espresso machine that makes earth-shatteringly divine coffee.

  Colombian coffee and pop tarts. That’s what I thrive on these days. It’s a good way to go.

  Just as I finish brimming my cup and Nalini starts filling hers, we hear the front door ding announcing the arrival of a customer. I walk out with the cup of coffee near my mouth and find a guy standing there, his eyes fixed on the leather bed tables. And…it’s the same hot guy! Without thinking I take a big gulp of my coffee and it goes burning down my throat.

  “AAggggh!” The cup of coffee slips from my hands and I clutch my neck in horror because my throat suddenly feels like it’s on fire. “Ohhhh!!!Gawd!!!Oh!!Aaggggh!” My knees give way and just as I crumple to the floor, I see mad kisser rushing towards me.

  “Hey! Water! We need water!” the mad kisser hollers and picks me up with his hands under my shoulders. Legs dangling like a rag doll, he carries me across to the nearest bed table and places me there. My body is too singed to feel conscious about his palms being in such close contact to my assets. My mind obviously, is still working. Overtime.

  Nalini rushes out with a sloshing glass of water and I gulp it down in one shot.

  “I’m shorry. I’m sho sho shorry,” I mumble. As the burning subsides, the awareness of his hands and their position on my body increases. I think he realizes it then as well, because he immediately snaps them off as if he just got burnt. Agggh! Now with that distraction gone, every bump, every pore of my tongue starts screaming for attention.

  “Better?” the mad kisser asks, his head bent down to my level. His eyes two pools of tempting concern. Dear God. Please give me strength. I can’t fall for one of them again. Have I no sense of self-preservation?! I straighten my spine and stare straight into his eyes. Concern, my bum. First he saunters in looking all Adonis-like, making me scald my tongue and then looks at me like he’s not the one to blame? Asshat.