Untapped Potential

I felt their eyes on me as soon as I walked in. Rowena was there, as was Heath. They were both working on clients, but had a mechanical reaction to look towards the entry whenever the door chime activated. Mikey was supine on his chair, phone in hand. He shot me a quick glance, and went back to reading whatever he had on his phone. I walked up to the counter, and waited patiently.

         Rowena sighed, and whispered a small apology to her client before getting up to meet me at the counter. “Go home, Phil.”

         I pulled a folded sheet of paper from my left shirt pocket, and handed it to her. “I’m not picky. Whoever’s available today would be fine. I can wait.”

         This was likely one of those moments when Rowena Garcia wished she wasn’t in any position of leadership. She shook her head and tried to hand the folded sheet of paper back to me. “We can’t do this for you.”

         “But, you haven’t even looked at it,” I said, and reached for the sheet, aiming to unfold it for her.

         She swiftly placed it on the counter, flattening her hand over it. “Phil, we appreciate you as a client, but this has to stop. It’s not healthy.”

         “Listen,” I said, as I gently removed the sheet from under her hand. I unfolded it to reveal a sketch I’d made an hour ago at a nearby café. I flipped the sheet to face Rowena. “You know I can’t draw, but this should give you an idea of what I want.”

         The manager of my favorite tattoo parlor still paid the sheet of paper no heed. “And, where should we put this one, huh? Better yet, which existing one did you want this one to go over?”

         “I’m glad you asked,” I said, and twisted my torso, pointing to a spot on my left arm’s triceps. “I was thinking you could put it over this tiger here, and—”

         “It’s not going to happen, Phil,” Rowena said, gesturing a ‘stop’ sign with her right hand, as if needing to drive her point even deeper. “You just had that tiger finished two weeks ago. It hasn’t even healed.”

         “It’s healed enough,” I said, starting to get frustrated. “I really need to get this done!” I had not meant to raise my voice, but it was all Mikey had to hear, apparently. He got his six-foot-three frame up from his chair and started to walk toward the counter. I felt my body stiffen, and instinctively backed away but only by a few inches. I raised both hands in front of me. “I’m sorry for yelling. Truly, I apologize.”

         He took the sheet of paper from my hand, and set it down on the counter, smoothing out the creases. He tilted his head to the left, like a dog would as it was trying to understand the world around it. “What’s it supposed to be?”

         I twisted the sheet of paper so that it was oriented correctly for him. “It’s a chimera.”

         “Oy,” Rowena said, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose.

         “I’m not sure if it’s from Greek or Roman mythology,” I continued, “but it’s an animal that’s essentially a lion that has a goat’s head sticking out of its back, and its tail is a snake. It’s pretty badass.”

         “That is pretty badass,” Mikey said, tilting his head to the right this time, seeming to wish my badly drawn chimera matched the colorful description I just gave of it.

         Rowena snatched the sheet, held it up to my face, and started tearing it into smaller pieces. I let out a noise akin to what I imagined a Chihuahua would make if I had accidentally stepped on it. For additional dramatic purpose, Rowena then allowed the torn pieces of paper to float down onto the counter, with some falling to the floor. “Sorry, Phil,” she said, swung around, and returned to her client.

         I crouched down to grab the pieces of paper that had fallen at my feet, and gathered them along with those on the counter. Mikey reached across and gave me a couple of friendly pats on the shoulder. The burly man clearly doesn’t know his own strength that I nearly lost my balance. “Dude,” he said, and chuckled. “I think you have a problem.”

         At that, I watched in dismay as he returned to his original position on his chair. I turned around to leave but not before stopping to see my reflection at the full length mirror by the counter. What I saw was truly amazing—my entire face, my shaved scalp, my arms, and nearly every inch of visible skin displayed killer body art, most of which were of my own design. And I pictured very clearly in my head the other impressive ink-work hidden by the pesky clothing I had on that day.

         I stepped out into the street, and had to shield my eyes from the unusually bright Portland sun. I decided that I should head home, disrobe, and stand in front of my full-length mirror in my bathroom to stare at my complete body of work. I’m hopeful that I would discover an untouched patch of skin (even as small as an inch or two) that is screaming for ink. The exercise was likely futile, but if I find it—when I find it—I’ll come back here.

         “Just you wait, Rowena,” I murmured, then headed to my car to drive home.



Word Count:  926
Written for:

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