Tattooed Moon

by Tiana Laveen

  “Does it matter?”

  “It doesn’t.”

  “Why ask then?” She turned away from him, shoving her own bowl aside.

  “Because you want to tell me the story. So, tell me…”

  “It was cream colored, an off-white. She had to have the orange juice, too. It had to be in a certain glass I had. She said the glasses were hers, and that they’d been in her family for years. That wasn’t true. I’d just bought those glasses from Macy’s before I moved her in with me. She threw the cereal at me, telling me it wasn’t the kind she liked.” Milan hung her head, scratched at an imaginary itch under her nostril. “Julian…watching her die was the worse experience of my life. Even crueler though was watching her trapped in her own goddamn body, and her brain failing her, every damned day.” Her voice cracked like a fallen egg against the floor. “She was…miserable. She became combative, not herself. I had to wrestle her into the bathtub most mornings. The cereal became my obsession. I’d stand there in my kitchen, before she awoke, and I’d…I’d count each piece of dried apple. It was crumbly, white dust was all over it from the oatmeal flakes. I still remember how it felt between my fingertips.” She ran her fingers together, as if she were carrying a piece at that very moment.

  “I’d pour the hot kettle of water over the flakes and just watch it; then, I’d add a bit of cold milk, and that would make the temperature just right.” She looked towards his kitchen window, her stomach finally starting to settle. “Every now and again, she’d have moments of lucidness. Like, one time, she looked at me and said, ‘When are you going to get rid of that ugly white sweater?’” Milan burst out laughing but stifled it with both hands, shocked at herself. She felt a prisoner to her own self now, witnessing a show that went on without her permission. In typical Julian fashion, he didn’t react. He just looked at her, and took a final bite of his apple before tossing the seedy core into the trash receptacle, causing a thud. He crossed his arms, cleared his throat, and simply waited. No pressure.

  “It was funny!” She finally burst free, allowing her mouth and heart to have their will. Hot tears streamed down her face, hotter than the tea he’d prescribed to her the day they’d met, hotter than her anger on many nights when she couldn’t rest due to her mother’s incessant calling out, hotter than the oatmeal that landed on her hand as her mother tossed the bowl her way in an angry fit. “It was fucking funny! She hadn’t made fun of that sweater in so long…she hated that sweater! I wore it all the time. It was my lounge sweater, the kind you only wear in the house. She said those words, and it…it made me just want to crawl up under her linty robe, Julian, and die with her right at that second…because then I could die happy, you know?!”

  He nodded, leisurely grabbed a tissue from a nearby box and presented it to her.

  “Thanks…” She gripped it and blew her nose, dotted her eyes then balled it tight in her fist. “I haven’t been able to talk about it until now. Grief is something else…” She shook her head. “People tell you that you should be over it by a certain time, that like, if you’re still talking about it months later, you must just want attention or have trouble coping with life. Some people say things like, ‘Well, she is in a better place now…’ Really?! How the fuck do they know, huh?! How do they really know that?!”

  She sniffed and pulled at Julian’s jogging pants that were swallowing her legs with their length, even though they were the smallest ones he owned.

  “Something unusual, medically strange, happened to my mother. She didn’t get cancer, or something like that. You see, people can understand that, you know?” She looked up at him, wanting something back this time, and realized he was so well plugged into her, their souls were tattooed together. He pulled up a chair and sat beside her, placing his hand over hers. He understood.

  “No woman, even at her age, is supposed to get dementia like that, out of the blue, and have it turn to Alzheimer’s. I had…I had video, Julian, of my mother just months before, living it up at her birthday party. My cousins and me, my friends, her friends, all of us were in that woman’s house with the cake, the music, the presents! She was a gray haired fox!” She gripped his hand tighter. “I gave her a big hug, and she hugged me tighter when I said, ‘Happy Birthday, Mama!’ I had no idea it was marking a chapter in our lives that I’d never get to read again! Never! She was stolen from me; the woman I knew was stolen right under my nose. And in her place was this miserable person who didn’t want to go on, but she didn’t know how to ask me to make it stop, because she didn’t trust me…because she no longer knew who I was!” She stabbed her chest with her finger, the tears once again falling fresh against her cheeks. He squeezed her hand tighter, and leaned in so close to her, she could smell his cinnamon-scented breath. It soothed her in her time of need.

  “I was the little girl, she told me, that she prayed for. She wanted to be a mother so badly, but it just wasn’t meant to be, she’d said. And when she’d all but given up, there I was! Nine miscarriages later, there I was! She told me that story a hundred times… She said she never had any issues in the pregnancy with me. She was high risk, but the pregnancy was so normal, so right, one of the happiest times in her life—and when I was born, things went so smooth, the doctors were shocked. It was like she had no history of reproduction issues at all. She said I was her miracle, and that was what she was going to name me, but then, she saw a magazine in the store right before I was born, and on the cover was one of her favorite opera singers, James Levine. It said that he was performing in Milan.”

  She released the tissue from her hand, and held his tighter.

  “She said her stomach was out to here, and she could barely see her bag to get the dollar or two out to buy the magazine. The guy in the store showed pity on her, and just handed it to her. It was her lucky day, she said. When she walked out, she thought about how she liked the sound of ‘Milan’, and wished she could be there to see him perform. Instead, she named me Milan; it was the closest she’d get to it, she believed.

  “I was planning to take her to Italy for a surprise, Julian. But then…she got sick and her doctor told me it wouldn’t be a good idea. The tickets, everything was paid for. I had tickets for an opera house there, too…but she never made it to Milan…” She clutched on to him, barely able to see his damned face through the tears. “The illness…it…it stole my mama…stole my mama right from me, Julian!” Anger had a flavor, and she was choking on the shit with each word she sobbed out, falling deeper into a pool of despair. “It stole my dreams for her, her dreams for me; it stole my best friend! I was…so close to my mother… Some may have believe unnaturally so.” She glanced down at her lap. “But…she got me, she understood me. She had high expectations for me, although nothing that wasn’t realistic, or not obtainable. She helped me. That’s all she ever wanted to do…” Pain crawled up her throat, choked and twisted her passageways. “She was like that with everybody. The forever helper…”

  They were quiet for a while. He softly kissed her cheek, and let her sob against his shoulder.

  Suddenly, Julian’s phone rang, interrupting Milan’s trance-like state. She sat up, startled, as if she’d been awakened out of a foggy dream.

  “Go on, get it,” she urged.

  He leisurely crossed the kitchen and picked up the cordless house phone receiver. She hadn’t even realized he had a house phone. She hadn’t seen anyone under the age of thirty-five with one for quite some time.

  “Yeah…” He put the phone on speaker and marched to the sink to clean up the glasses in which he’d made their green smoothies early that morning. He’d said he wanted to make sure she got some vitamins in her before he took her out onto the slick, ice covered roads.

  “Hey, where are you?” came a woman’s voice. “You’ve got people here.”

  Milan swiveled in her seat, suddenly aware of the day and time. It’s Saturday. Of late, her days with Julian were all blending together, like music remixes.

  “I know…I’m busy. Can
you hold it down?”

  There was a brief pause.

  “You never miss work, ever. Are you okay, Julian?”

  “Angela, yeah, I’m fine. Who do I have today?” He retrieved the dish towel and went over a plate before placing it on a rack to finish drying.

  Milan interjected with a whisper. “Julian, if you need to—”

  “Shhhh….” He turned to her with his finger to his lips, then continued to work in the sudsy sink water. He ran a yellow sponge over some glasses and disassembled the blender parts.

  “Who’s over there?” the woman questioned.

  “None of your business. Now, who do I have on my schedule?”

  The woman on the other end gave a faint laugh, one that seemed all knowing.

  “You have a twelve o’clock with a Kyle Rafferty, and a five o’clock with a Janet Newt.”

  “What is Kyle getting?” He turned the water on, rinsed the black rubber of the blender under a hot stream, shook the contraption then placed it on the drying rack.

  “Um, says here a cobra climbing up a pole with some sort of insignia, I believe it is military.”

  “Okay, check Alex’s schedule and if he can’t squeeze him in, call Gail and see if she can come in and help.”

  “But she isn’t finished with her apprenticeship.”

  “Doesn’t matter. She is doing that just so she could work with Clyde, add it to her resume. She’s already licensed. She is really good and could handle that fine. I’ll be in for the five o’clock.”

  “Okay. I’ll call you back if either Alex or Gail isn’t available.”

  “Alright.”

  And then he hung up.

  Milan kept staring at the man, knowing he’d done all of that for her. He was giving her a place to fall apart, but she felt so guilty. Julian was clearly an overachiever, but left that dual-edged burden alone, tossed it to the side as if it were nothing while he focused completely on her and her needs, solely. She hadn’t had someone take such care of her in a while, so much that the sense of neglect all became hot with rawness and sudden awareness. She’d become accustomed to being ignored.

  After a few moments, he dried his hands off and sat down beside her again. He took her hands in his, ran his thumb over her fingers as he smiled at her, the way a long time sympathetic friend would.

  “Now, where were we?”

  “You were supposed to be at work…” She chuckled, swiping another tear away from her eye.

  “I’m supposed to be wherever I chose to be…and I chose to be with you.”

  “Hmmm, you like me doing this to you? Breaking down like this…”

  “I can’t stop what you’re doing. I don’t want to stop what you’re doing.”

  “I feel so…”

  “Weak? Grief isn’t weakness. I can’t leave you alone because you’re stronger than me.” He reached across the table and put his shirt back on, allowing it to hang loosely open.

  She looked at him for a long while, then turned to stare down at the half eaten cereal just sitting there, coagulating. Her head hung a bit lower, and his grip on her became a bit tighter, until somehow he’d picked her up before she’d even noticed he’d released her hands and stood. And then, he sat her on his lap, and held her head to his shoulder. She gripped his shirt in a tight grasp, quietly crying, saturating the damned thing. She vibrated against his hard body and all he did was gently kiss her skin, stroke her cheeks and slowly rock her against him…

  Now, she wasn’t sure what made her sadder. The fact that she’d ultimately released her hurt and pain, or that she looked him in the eye, and finally said it…

  “It’s true… Mama’s really dead now…”

  The sickness, the funeral, nothing made it completely real until that very moment. She looked around her surroundings, foreign to her, yet somehow familiar. She sat on a strange man’s lap, but he was no longer a stranger. In fact, that morning he assured her that she was his, and he wasn’t going any damn where. Peculiar emotions assailed her, although they, too, weren’t that odd upon closer inspection. No, those emotions were old, rotting and stewing. She had simply pretended they weren’t there, but they’d fermented, stunk up the place. In some bizarre way, Julian made her feel comfortable enough to toss the blood soaked rug of negativity off of them, reveal the rubbish and cart the mess out to the trash. The stench still lingered, reminding her of what once was, but at least, this was a start.

  Yes.

  This was a start down the road of recovery, and he was right there by her side.

  Spring-cleaning had commenced…

  ‡

  Chapter Nine

  Three weeks later…

  The needle dove deep into the flesh of the patron, and the guy sighed with sadistic pleasure. Angela appeared unable to keep her teasing to herself, and it was rather unnerving. He was sick of all of them. It didn’t help that Alex also chimed in, an unlikely culprit, but the true ringleader was Cedrick, who went for the jugular.

  “Whew!” the man would shout in a garish fashion, his pierced tongue wagging about in some oddly obscene way. “J-man has been gettin’ laid!” He then took a poll to ask who’d seen the woman. No one would confirm it either way. Julian was tight-lipped about his personal matters, but he already knew they were on to him. The number one suspect was the stacked honey brown sweetie that kept coming up to the shop every now and again, dropping off vegetarian lunches for her sweetie when he’d complain of being swamped at the job. She’d show up dressed to kill in her form-fitting yet professional dark suits and her hair always styled to perfection.

  He knew how it looked to many; they were a visually odd pairing, but he knew better—they blended perfectly. Most importantly, he liked what was happening to him. He was open and ready to take it all in. He’d arrived.

  He was in love…

  He thought about her all the time—a telltale sign he was in this deep. With work no longer center stage, his heart waved a red flag that said, ‘Fuck you and your damn shop. I want that woman.’

  Instead of his work suffering however, it got even better. Being in love made a special beauty come out, one he believed wasn’t as strong before Milan walked into his life. He hated to admit it, but his art was many times led by his emotions. Now, the ink manifested a bit richer, the elements a bit more detailed, an extra minute or two was taken and he smiled a bit more, too. At least according to Angela… That didn’t stop her from ruining his mood, however. In the last few days, the nuisance of a woman had tried to make him look at the accounts. The invoices were a mess. She chided how Julian wasn’t taking this seriously, and he would end up being a taxation nightmare, more than likely owing way more than he actually should, due to poor recordkeeping.

  Initially, he blew her off, believing he could fix this situation at the last minute, as he always did. It usually involved long hours of sitting at his dining room table, combing through bits and pieces of wrinkled receipts and cursing the day he was born. He’d get through it, but now that business had exploded, no way could he do this on his own anymore.

  “Julian!” Angela called out after another customer left and he began the process of cleaning his tools.

  “What?” He looked over his shoulder; sure he didn’t want to hear whatever she had to say. The woman seemed to think better of it, but made her way over to him, red patent leather Mary-Janes clicking on the floor, a twisted black and red rose tattoo snaking up her pale leg.

  “Why don’t you ask your girlfriend to take a look at this for you? She’s a certified accountant, right?”

  “And how do you know that?” He grimaced as he tossed a bag of bloodied gauze in the trash.

  “It was in her paperwork.” Angela smiled coyly.

  “You are so damn nosey.” He grinned, then thumbed her chin before turning away.

  “Well, why don’t you?”

  “Because it’s my business, and it’s not for her to fix.”

  Angela sighed loudly. He peered at her reflection in th
e mirror, catching her placing her hand on her hip, her bright red 1940s pin-up style attire bunching as she twisted about, angst and frustration clearly on her face.

  “Typical man, shit…” She huffed and crossed her arms. “Why can’t you just admit you need some help? I don’t have time to fix all of this. Look, your popularity is a problem in this case. Your business has more than tripled in the last year, Julian. You can’t do this by hand anymore.”

  He looked past her out in the lobby area. Three customers were waiting, two of them thumbing through magazines, and they would soon be joined by at least two more in the next hour. He’d already resigned himself to the fact that he needed to interview applicants and hire two more artists, something else he dreaded.

  “Look, she might not even charge you.” She winked at him. “Just ask her to take a look at it, please?!”

  “Nope. Get back to work,” he barked. “The phone has been ringing off the hook.” He pointed to her desk as if she’d lost direction. “That isn’t a church bell, you know. When are you going to answer it?” he snapped.

  He turned his back towards her once again, but could feel her heated glare. Finally, she stormed off. Giving a sigh of relief, he fell into his chair and spun around, taking five to steady his mind. Reaching into his pocket, he slipped out his cellphone and called the one person who could ease his tension and make it all better.

  “Hey, baby,” he crooned, unable to wipe the smile from his face. He checked the time. “Just callin’ to check on you…” He ran his hand down the front of his black jeans as he leaned far back in his chair.

  “Hey there to you, too!” He could hear the smile in her words. “What are you up to?” Her smile—the prettiest thing she ever wore.

  He glanced over at the waiting area.

  “About to take care of another customer and then make some calls…need to hire a couple more artists.”

  “Yeah, that’s good though, right?”