by Tiana Laveen
That was the kind of shit that made Julian want to punch a bastard dead in the middle of their throat. He wasn’t the overly sensitive sort, but he was a spiritual person—one that revered life, understood death, and embraced both. He had a healthy respect for the living and the dead. Who the hell had the right to define what time frame was long enough to grieve?
I wonder what she likes to do to relax?
He surmised from her attire that she was a career woman, probably had some stressful job that wasn’t making things any easier. He sighed and made his way to the copy machine, opened the top and placed the sketch under the hood to make a couple reproductions. Once he returned, he found her sitting a bit higher, the obituary put away and a forced grin on her slightly reddened face. Her eyes, still glossy with recently fallen tears, pulled at his damn heart, which bled a little on her behalf.
Iron and Wine sung, ‘Fever Dreams’ in the background.
“Okay, here you go.” He handed her the drawing back. “Read that information and if you have any questions, any at all, call me. Um, hold on.” He gently took the packet from her lap, and scribbled another telephone number on the front page. “This is a number to reach me at in case for some reason I’m not here.” He scratched the side of his head, no doubt ruffling up his hair, possibly undoing the bun he’d loosely braided that morning, jamming an ink pen inside of it to hold it in place. One thick spiral of black hair hung over his face now as he met eyes with her.
“Oh, okay. Thank you, Julian—”
“My last name is Savant, Julian Savant. Like I told you, I own this place, and we take a lot of pride in our work, so,” he shrugged, “you have nothing to worry about. You’re in good hands.” He put his palms up, as if surrendering.
“Thank you so much. I’ll uh…” She sniffed and rose from her seat, grabbing her purse. “I’ll take this information, look it over and maybe come in sometime next week.” She began to walk away. “… Maybe tomorrow, but I know you’ll be busy and I—”
“Wait a minute, Milan,” He gently touched her shoulder, forcing her to turn and face him. “I told you that we can pull curtains, and we have a private area.” He pointed towards the back. “If you tell me now, I can ensure that you have one for tomorrow, if you’d like to come in. Just make sure you have all your paperwork completed, and that will save time. I’m not trying to rush you, but I do want you to come back and get…”—he paused, feeling his heart moving faster than his mouth—“…get something beautiful, in honor of your mother. You deserve this.” He felt like his mouth wouldn’t shut up, but he was compelled to tell her this, and he meant every word.
I wonder if she likes white guys…
She smiled weakly at him and nodded. “Okay.” She took the tissue he’d given her, relaxed her grasp around it, blew her nose gently into it, and looked back into his eyes. “What times do you have available tomorrow?”
“Uh, that’s a good question!” He laughed as he made his way past her and up towards the front of the room where Angela was busy on the phone and with a customer. He impatiently tapped her leopard print covered shoulder causing her shirt to bunch a bit beneath his touch. He then did it once again, with a bit more urgency.
“Hey,” he whispered. “Pull up my schedule real quick for tomorrow.”
“I don’t need to, you’re booked solid. You know how Saturdays are around here. We even had to turn some people away.”
“Shhhh!” he reprimanded as her voice carried. Angela reared back like a snake ready to strike.
“What do you mean, shhhh?!”
“I mean, shhhh! You’re talking too loud!” His face flushed with hotness as his brows dipped low in anger. “Look, I need you to clear off my last appointment for tomorrow night.”
“What for? Never mind, I can’t do that, Julian.”
“I didn’t ask you for your opinion, Angela. I’m not giving a request, I’m telling you,” he said sternly. “Now look, call the customer, and tell them I will give them thirty percent off due to this late notice, and then reschedule them for either Sunday afternoon, or Monday morning, their pick.”
Angela sighed, nodded in understanding, and returned to the customer and an incoming phone call while he stomped away, back towards Milan.
“Okay, it just so happens that I could get you in tomorrow night. Does seven sound okay?”
“Hmmm, can I think about it?”
“Of course you can, just let me know as soon as possible.”
“Okay, well, schedule me for it, and if I change my mind, I’ll let you know.” Her eyes sparkled with bubbling tears that threatened to resurface and possibly a dash of consternation, too.
“Alright. Yes, just sleep on it.”
“Sleep on it?” She laughed dismally as she spun in a half circle. “I don’t know what sleep is anymore. If you do, send it my way.” She chuckled as she began to maneuver towards a growing crowd in the incense-swarmed lobby.
He stood there and watched for a second, then called out, “Hey! Uh, Milan, can you come back here for a second.” He curled his finger, motioning for her to come close.
There it was, his heart beating a bit faster again. The woman looked at him in confusion, but complied.
“You know,” he smiled sheepishly, “I run a little shop in here, too.” He pointed to an adjoining area, covered with rich, burgundy curtains, one side pulled back with a gold rope as if a playhouse stage were soon to be revealed. “I could stand to take my own advice, but I have some natural things that I sell that aid in sleep, in relaxation. You want to come take a look?” His brows lifted in hopefulness as he pointed to the partially exposed area.
She smiled and wrinkled up her nose. “Oh, Julian, I don’t know. I’m not really into stuff like that.”
“Do you take aspirin, vitamins?”
“Well, yes, when needed.” She nodded.
“Well, this is better for you, and more effective. There are people who come here just for this shop, because my prices are lower and my herbs are fresh. This is my specialty.”
“You’re an herbalist?”
“No, but I know a lot about it. I’m into medicinal, holistic healing. I’m into us, as human beings,” he pointed to his chest, “healing ourselves from the inside out, not the other way around.” He cleared his throat and took a step back, not wanting to sound pushy or crowd her personal space. “I mean, it’s totally up to you. You don’t have to buy anything; it’s just that when you said you couldn’t sleep, I thought I’d offer. You should be well rested and relaxed when getting a tattoo. I just thought I could be of assistance.”
“Well.” She looked over her shoulder, then shrugged. “I guess it couldn’t hurt to look.” She followed him inside the shrouded area where people moseyed about, holding tiny brown wicker baskets filled with a bit of this and that.
“There are all sorts of natural herbs that aid in sleeping,” he began as he picked up various boxes, showing them to her. “Right here is a chamomile blend. It’s gentle. If you fall asleep, it will help you stay asleep. See? Nothing creepy or strange about that.” He grinned as he handed her the box. The woman laughed, a gut born chuckle that warmed him like a homemade bowl of steamy, vegetable soup.
“And right here is a dietary supplement with melatonin.” He pointed to a white, plastic bottle. “I’ve used it a few times myself, and it really does work. Matter of fact,” he said, grabbing it and tucking it under his arm, “I think I should take some right now.”
“Not right now! You have customers!” she joked, causing them both to laugh together this time. He liked how her dark eyes were now turned up at the ends and half their size as she rolled in gaiety. The apples of her cheeks rose and her lush lips framed a prize-wining grin.
“You’re right, that would be a bad idea.” He winked. “I’ll save it for later.” He didn’t miss her expression slightly change as he openly flirted with her. He knew what he was doing, but it was happening, and he was having a hard time corralling it—not that he tr
uly wanted to.
“Now, this is way more heavy duty. This is called valerian. If you take this, you shouldn’t take anything else with it, not even a Tylenol. It’s safe, but if you are really struggling to fall asleep, this will give you a one-two punch. It has no adverse side effects, but I’d set an alarm, that’s for sure.” He grabbed a basket, freed her hands and placed the items inside.
“Just a little advice, too,” He continued to navigate the narrow aisles with her trailing close behind. “Sometimes you may not need any of this at all. You may just need to listen to some relaxing music on low, take a nice warm bath then get into your favorite pajamas.”
I bet she wears over-sized T-shirts and shorts to bed…
I’d love to find out…
“And keep the room pitch black, you know? No lights, no television, no cell phone. Everything turned off, completely. The outside world just pushed away.”
“I do tend to fall asleep with the television on,” she admitted.
“Is that what your boyfriend or husband likes?” He glanced at her casually over his shoulder until she’d caught up with him, then looked her directly in the eye.
“No.” She grinned a bit shyly. “It’s just me. I was taking care of my mother for a while towards the end, so…” She paused, her lips twisted as she glanced away from him, breaking their eye-lock. “I didn’t have time for a social life, nothing like that, anyway.”
“Ahhh, I see.” He slowly nodded and tried to throw on a face as if he were truly sorry, but he wasn’t… far from it. Relief flooded through him like a gentle ocean wave, leaving behind nothing but a trace of paradise across his pallet.
“Well.” He shrugged. “Hopefully after you get some shut eye, in the morning, you will feel much better.”
She looked down at the basket, perusing the items, turning them here and there with a discerning eye, clearly reading the small print and taking in the illustrations of plants and the like.
“I think I’ll just try the chamomile tea.” She set it aside as they approached the counter, then opened her purse and removed her wallet.
“No.” He put his hands over hers, not missing the way she sucked in her breath at the touch. “It’s on the house.”
“Awww, thanks, Julian. That is very sweet.”
But I bet you’re sweeter… Wish I could find out…
“You’re welcome.” He watched her walk out the small shopping area, then look over her shoulder at him as he was now the one left behind. They both stood there for a moment, just staring at one another. He waved and she waved back, a slightly crooked grin on her face before she disappeared out the front door. The customary chime rang as she exited, letting him no with no shred of uncertainty that an angel had vanished from his mist. He stood for a long while, relishing that moment until a grunt and impatient tapping of a foot brought him out of his quixotic daydreams. Angela now stood right beside him, and he hadn’t even noticed.
“I take it she’ll be your last appointment tomorrow?” Her matte red lipstick appeared slightly shiny as she slicked the tip of her tongue over her upper lip and eyed him up and down, an ‘all-knowing’ expression on her face.
“If I have it my way, she will.”
“Mmmm hmmm, just as I thought!” She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowed in mock disapproval.
“Mind your business.” He grinned, thumped her on the nose and walked away.
“Don’t get comfy!” she screamed out. “You have an orange back lizard crawling up a grape vine in ten minutes! We’re prepping now!”
*
It was six in the morning, and for the first time in weeks, Milan had slept like a newborn baby. She’d forgotten how good it could be, and boy did her body and mind appreciate it. She flung the thick, cream-colored sheets off her long, bare legs, then stood and stretched.
“Mmmmmm!”
Distending left and right, she pushed up on her tippy toes, causing her over-sized black T-shirt to rise, brush against her hips. She turned to her nightstand and smiled happily at the ripped open bag of tea, and the teabag in the cup, with its string hanging gracefully over the rim after a job well done.
Drank it all up…it was tasty, too…
Making her way out of her master suite, she moseyed into her chocolate and taupe kitchen and retrieved a ceramic bowl to make some maple oatmeal. The slightly chilly morning had put her in the mood for the comfort cereal of rolled oats with just the right touch of cinnamon to top it off. As she got her spoon out of the island drawer and started the hot water, she glanced over at the shiny, onyx kitchen table and took notice of the pile of paperwork with ‘Soul Inscriptions’ written in big, black font across the top of the first page.
Oh yeah…
Taking small steps towards it, she reached the stack and sat down, crossing her ankles as she leaned comfortably to the side in the chair. Flipping through, she read page for page, only pausing to get back up and finish making her breakfast. She returned to her seat, slowly stirring the aromatic breakfast, the sweetness wafting, causing her stomach to fuss as she continued to painstakingly read each sheet. Reaching forward, she grabbed an ink pen that had been lying there from the evening before and signed her name on the bottom of each page in between bites of warm deliciousness.
Swallowing, she continued on, then accidentally got a dollop of the oatmeal on the final page. The light brown blob set pitifully, soiling the sheet in an unsightly way.
“Damn it…”
Milan rose from her seat, grabbed a napkin off the island, and did her best to rub at the stain until all that remained was a semi-wet splotch. Somewhat satisfied, she slumped back down into the seat, signed the last page, and turned back to the front page, noting Julian’s number. She cleared her throat and finished the meal, savoring the final morsels. Her mind drifted to the previous evening, one filled with her doing what she hoped she’d stop soon—cry.
It dawned on her right then, too. She hadn’t had oatmeal in months. She knew why; it had been a conscious choice, but she shoved the thoughts out of her mind. Instead, she drifted back into the moment when her face became wet while she’d sat in front of that man, making a damn fool of herself. She hated public scenes like that, but once she felt that dry lump in her throat, there was no going back. Before she knew it, the tears were flowing, and she thought she’d been all cried out. Mom was gone. Mom had been gone, in most respects, for over a year.
No, not physically—that happened all too recently—but she had checked out quite a while ago. That was the worse part of the shit. The woman’s once steel-trap mind had rotted like a two-day-old apple core left out in the searing sun. Her body wasn’t functioning properly, skin-hugging bones, becoming one and the same. The woman didn’t know who she was or where she was at, the majority of the time, her hazy eyes dancing about in wonder…
It had been an uphill battle with no end in sight, and emotional exhaustion set in as hired hospice nurses tended to the woman while Milan used up all of her family emergency time. Soon, she had to return to work, because it would have turned to unpaid leave, and she simply couldn’t afford that and pay for Mom’s medicines and treatment, too. She’d known the end was near. Hospice was ready, but her heart wasn’t. She’d grip her mother’s frail hand, and just sit there beside her, listening as the woman moaned and groaned, and oftentimes woke up frightened from a sound sleep, like a little child certain that a hideous, malevolent monster dwelled in the recesses of the their bedroom closet. Yeah…the one with the brand new yellow curtains…
“It’s okay, Mom…” she’d whisper as she’d dab at her mother’s moist face with the carefully folded edge of a cool handkerchief. Katrina’s eyes had become more and more expressionless as time passed. How very cruel the disease was, stealing the most essential bits and pieces of what the woman loved most—her treasured memories, wrapped in golden delight yet slipping away as if they were hot and greased with the greatest of ease. What a vicious, calculating, evil way to go.
A quintes
sential personal legacy was aggressively erased, leaving a woman behind who didn’t, at any given time, know her own name, what day it was, where she’d been, or where she was going. The child she’d birthed and the ones before that never drew breath had neither appellations nor distinguishable faces, and the people she loved were distant, cloudy blurs, never to be clear and memorable again. Milan had been told in church as a adolescent that there was a place called Hell that was heated with ever-lasting flames designed to singe the flesh over an entire demonic lifetime. The place was a dungeon of travesty and wrapped in brimstone, but surely, what her mother endured was her own private viewing of such an experience.
All Milan could do was mourn her while the woman was still technically alive, and she hated herself for at times looking down at her mother in that bed thinking the unthinkable. A thick breathing tube ran out of her mother’s nose and catheter attached to her form while she barely moved under the stiff white sheets. This only spurred on the obsession as she listened to the woman’s at times labored breathing, and her eyelids flutter just so. The deliberations haunted Milan, chased her, and made her look them in their dirty faces, making her feel all the guiltier.
