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At the age of 28, where everyone seems to get their shit together and know what they’re doing with their life, I’m sitting on a park bench, watching kids play like a pathetic excuse of a woman.
Since my name was miraculously cleared and I got out of jail, I work in every kind of job I found. I tried to hold on to every chance, every opportunity I could get to pull myself from the swamp my life felt like. But nothing works. Everything ends up the same way as it always does. I find myself where I used to be, in the dark, miserable, not knowing what to do, and alone.
I don’t realize I’m crying until the world blurs in front of me, the kids who play games turn to abstract images. Wiping away the tears, I see a guy stand next to me and look at me. As my body shakes with sobs, I don’t care who he is or what he wants from me. What shocks me is, he sits next to me without a word and places my head on his shoulder.
“No one should cry without a shoulder to lean on,” he whispers.
His words make me cry even harder. He doesn’t talk again until my tears dry, and my sobs stop. Only then do I lift my head from his shoulder to look at him. He looks younger than me, probably in his early twenties. His eyes are as clear as a sky, and his smile is friendly. A few tattoos peek out under the sleeve of his t-shirt.
“I’m Channing Paxton, but people always call me Pax,” he says.
I know this is where I should tell him my name, but I don’t even know what to tell him. My name, Veronica is too tainted I don’t want to hear it. Nikki reminds me of all the good moments that hurt to remember. And my nickname, Cher, hasn’t brought me any peace since I got out of jail.
“I’m Sage,” I tell him finally.
His eyes roam over my face like he can see through me, but he doesn’t comment on it, only nods. My eyes move back to his tattoos.
He must notice me looking. “They say tattoos can heal a soul or make you stronger. Think of it as a talisman.”
I lift my gaze to his eyes. “Maybe I should get one, then.”
Standing to his feet, he outstretches his hand for me to take. “You’re lucky you’ve just met a tattoo artist,” he says, grinning.
Every fear in my head screams at me not to trust him, but a soft whisper in my heart coaxes me to take a chance. And I do. I take the chance and place my hand in his palm.
We walk the short distance from the park to a tattoo shop.
“I’m working here. The owner comes only when he wants another tattoo. It’s like my own shop. When I have the money, I’ll open up my own tattoo parlor.”
I smile at his eagerness and passion.
When we get inside, he brings me a cup of coffee before sitting in front of me.
“Look, these are the designs we have in our portfolio, but I can custom design something for you.”
Checking out the designs on the folder, I get even more overwhelmed. “I don’t know what I even want to have.”
“Do you want something with meaning?”
I nod.
He rubs the back of his head, looking at me unsure before finally saying, “You can tell me if you want. There’s no better listener than a stranger.”
I take a sip of my coffee, before finally saying fuck it. I’m already at my lowest, what else can I lose? Placing the coffee cup on the table next to my chair, I take a deep breath and start telling him my story.
He listens to everything without giving me pitiful or judgmental eyes. He only shows anger from time to time, and I know that isn’t directed at me. Once I’m done telling him everything, he exhales like my story has exhausted him.
“Phew. No wonder you were crying,” is the only thing he says.
“I want to have a tattoo that will remind me of all this, so I can be healed and stronger like you said.”
He nods, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I think I have an idea what you can have. Do you have a few hours, so I can design one and show you? Or you can come back tomorrow again if you’re not busy?”
I look outside the floor to ceiling window, everyone moves with a rush, with purpose, but I don’t have any purpose or a place I rather be.
“I’ll wait. I don’t have better things to do anyway,” I say and watch him as he starts sketching.
***
