I stood at the front of the Contempo Casuals clothing store, where I worked, feigning eagerness with each customer who walked in; I greeted them with a wide grin and a cheerful “Hello!” Once eye contact was made and they greeted me back, walking past me, I rolled my eyes up in annoyance and sighed in exhaustion, waiting for it to be 5:00 PM so I could be free from these people who asked nonstop questions and from standing for six hours straight. I continuously checked the pager that rested on my hip, counting down my departure, excited and nervous about my after work plans; I was about to make the scariest decision of my life at sixteen, getting a tattoo and concealing it from my mother.
Finally, Evan appeared through the holiday crowd of shoppers and entered my store, signifying that it was 5:00 PM. Evan was an attractive boy, 6 foot 3 inches tall, slender, light skinned complexion, green eyes and had the most perfect, post braces, teeth I had ever seen. He was my elementary school boyfriend, turned best friend, and he was at my job to pick me up and take me to get my first tattoo. Since I was under age, I needed someone who was eighteen years or older to accompany me and who better than Evan? The cool guy, who was eighteen, had his license, a car and had just gotten his first tattoo the weekend prior.
Having already decided on what I wanted, there I was, sitting backward in the tattoo chair with Evan directly in front of me. The tattoo man, a overweight Hispanic guy who wore a long beard, a bandana and was covered in tattoos from his neck down to his hands, prepared the ointment, alcohol and needle. As I sat there fully aware of the fact that if my mother found out that I had gotten a tattoo without her permission she’d kill me, I brushed off my nervousness and lived in the moment. The second I heard the buzzing noise of the needle my eyes widened and I looked over at Evan. He grabbed both of my hands and said, “No turning back now Miss Trudi.” I shut my eyes tight as if I were awaiting the plunge of that first rollercoaster drop, and heard Mr. Tattoo Man say, “Honey, be very still, if not, I’ll mess this up and you don’t want that do you?” Shaking my head no with my eyes still shut, I squeezed Evan’s hands for dear life as I felt the first stings of the needle to my lower back. The further along in the tattoo I had gotten, the more I pictured my mother’s face when she would discover what I had done. I mean, how long could I really hide this from her? I didn’t know, but I learned that I succeeded at covering my permanent mark for seven months until that fateful day when she finally saw my tattoo. I was so scared, I think I wet my panties and was apprehensive at her request to enter her room. What would she do to me? Would she slap me across my face? Beat me senseless? Yell at me?
She did it all, slapped me, beat me senseless, yelled at me and I took all of it. After all, I suspected this would be her reaction when my little secret was out of the bag, but the worst was being grounded for the entire school year! I almost died when she ripped my phone out of the wall and took my TV out of my room. I missed most of the good school dances that year and it was awful. I begged my mother to just whip me again, with a whipping it’d be over in five minutes tops, but this punishment lasted what felt like a life time.
Retreating to my room every afternoon after school and sneaking on the phone until my mom got off of work seemed as if my high school social life had ended. When would this hell be over? It came to an end the summer of me entering my senior year; I had certainly learned my lesson and vowed that I wouldn’t do anything that rebellious or senseless again, especially during my last year of high school, with the homecoming game, dance and prom approaching. Looking back at my sixteen year old self my mother had every right to whip my ass and punish me the way she did. Now, as an adult, I’m praying to the heavens above that I don’t have to deal with a smart ass, rebellious teenager, like myself; I don’t know what the future holds, but I’ve learned that pay back is a bitch.
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