He pulled away from me, his whole body jerking. “Who are you and what did you do with my petty, albeit adorable, friend?”
I shrugged. “Maybe I grew up.”
His face eased. “Yeah. I’m starting to suspect maybe you have.”
Armed with my JanSport backpack （admittedly, it was so much more practical than any designer bag I owned）， I made my way to Dennis’ first. This past month, I’d made it a point to visit him and his wife once a week. Sometimes I brought snacks and coffee. But this last time, I was short on cash. Maybe after I managed to sell my old designer items to consignment stores.
Ethel opened the door for me, all smiles. “If it isn’t my favorite girl!”
After weeding out their garden and staying for a cup of coffee （“Doing something for others will make your soul feel good,” Ilona told me）， I bid them farewell.
“Where are you headed?” Dennis asked.
“Sunset Boulevard.”
“That’s miles away!” he thundered dramatically. “Let me drive you.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “No chance in hell.”
“And what about on earth?” he sassed. God, I loved his dad jokes. I was so glad to have him back in my life, even if not as my driver.
“Not here, either.” I paused, frowning as I thought about it. “You know, Dennis, I loved that we were a team for so long. You were my favorite part about Los Angeles. Still are.”
But not for long. He and Ethel were heading back to the East Coast soon, to reunite with their family in Maryland.
“But is it weird that I love taking the bus? There’s something really great about just sitting in front of a window, watching the city zip by, with your headphones and just…disappearing for a little bit.”
Dennis’ mouth widened into a satisfied smile. His eyes shone. “Yes.” He clucked his tongue. “I feel the same way every time I read a book. Goodbye, Hallie.”
I saluted him, winking at Ethel. “Until next week, folks.”
I arrived at Misfits and Shadows, my favorite tattoo shop, half an hour early.
This was a first for me. I was usually in the habit of being late for everything. It made me feel important, sought-after. Not anymore. I was now thriving on being organized, calculated, and always on time.
In one of our bi-weekly sessions, Ilona pointed out that perhaps I was feeling so down about myself because I never gave myself a chance to succeed.
“Always late, never prepared. It’s almost like you want to fail, Hallie, so you can prove to yourself that yes, you are, in fact, all those things you believe people think about you.”
Misfits and Shadows was as wacky and colorful as the rest of Sunset Boulevard. The building itself was all black. Instead of a sign, there was purple and pink graffiti with the joint’s name, decorated with three-dimensional skulls and roses. The artists here were the best. Back in my heyday, when I had very little to do with my time, I would spend hours sitting here, planning my next design with them.
I stared at the name of the tattoo shop, took a deep breath, and turned around promptly, walking in the other direction.
I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t handle failing.
It was horrible, and cowardly, and stupid, but it was the honest truth.
Hearing the word ‘no’ was going to undo me.
My phone rang in my pocket. I tugged it out, punching a placebo button on the light to cross the street.
Mom
It wasn’t the first time she’d called this week.
It wasn’t going to be the last time, either.
I should feel bad, but I didn’t. It was complicated. Ilona assured me that it was okay to take some time, step away from the situation, and examine my feelings before I faced my family.
Weirdly enough, I didn’t feel the dread and embarrassment that usually accompanied a call from my mother. Just a dull ache in my chest—an ache that burned a little hotter, a little deeper at the thought of giving up on the opportunity to try to make something of myself.
Not answering Mom was a choice I could undo.
Not showing up to my first intern interview would be something I’d definitely regret.
I pivoted, stomping my way back to the tattoo shop with purpose. I was still fifteen minutes early. I pushed the glass door, tornadoing to the reception counter before self-doubt weighted down my legs again. The place was packed, as usual. Misfits and Shadows didn’t accept walkins, and it wasn’t hard to see why. They were the busiest parlor in Los Angeles.
“Hallie!” Meadow, the receptionist with the Chelsea haircut, three lip rings, and an abundance of green eyeliner greeted me. “You’re here. Want something to drink while I get Grady?”
Grady was the big boss. The owner. The guy who inked all the famous people in town. He hadn’t been accepting new clients in a decade or so. I’d managed to squeeze in with him only twice, when he was in a good mood and had last-minute cancellations.
A ball of anxiety lodged in my throat. I swallowed hard, pushing through it.
“If you don’t advance yourself—who will?”—Ilona.
“Water would be great.” With a side of Xanax.
“Sure. Have a seat.”
I did, tucking myself between an excited couple who came to get matching tattoos and a large biker who kept fingering a tattoo on his arm he was obviously re-doing. I hugged my backpack to my chest, reminding myself that this place was like home. I’d been here dozens of times before. Knew who each of the four stations in the studio belonged to. Recognized the red vinyl chairs each artist had—and remembered that Grady’s had a huge rip in it.
If he said no—I would be all right.
If things are not failing, you’re not innovative enough. Elon Musk’s words, not mine.
Meadow returned with a glass of water. A few moments later, Grady appeared—a scrawny, thoroughly-tatted, aging rock star type of a man who enjoyed muscle shirts and collecting pencils from all over the world.
“Hal. Good to see you.” He stopped in front of me.
I stood up, slinging my backpack over my shoulder, feeling like a kid. I reached to shake his hand. “Thanks for having me.”
“My pleasure. Let’s talk in my office.”
His office was at the back, and totally isolated, which was a relief, because I didn’t want an audience. The minute I sat down in front of him, he laced his fingers together, sitting back.
“Why do you want to become a tattoo artist?”
“Because it’s my passion. It’s what I think about every morning and every night. Because I want to change lives. I want to help people hide their scars. Enhance their personalities. Their beauty. Who they are. Because the more time I spend on this earth, the more I believe that self-expression is one of the most important gifts we owe to ourselves. And because…” I took a deep breath, bracing myself, preparing to say something positive about myself for the first time. “Because I think I can be damn amazing at it with the right guidance. And I think you’re the best in the business.”
By Grady’s slight smile, I could tell he was satisfied with the answer.
“You’ve been a longtime client,” he pointed out.
I nodded. “As I said, you are my first choice. My only choice right now, to be honest, for an apprenticeship.”