As I look down at my arm now, I see a familiar marking that will be with me forever. It’s my first tattoo. My first tattoo still lays heavily in my mind, not because I feel regret about getting it, but because it holds special significance to me since it was in memory of my late aunt. It was July 2nd, and I was driving to Underground Art, a tattoo shop in mid-town Memphis, whose name screams stay away, but that was what drew me to the shop like a magnet. I had made the drive to the shop a few times in the past to make consultations on the design of my dream tattoo, but this time felt longer than any other. By my side I had my best friend Alanna who made my trip even more nerve racking, by insisting on telling me during the whole drive that it was going to hurt like nothing I ever experienced before. As if I wasn't nervous enough, I had already run the possible pain through my mind hundreds of times that day alone; her added comments didn’t help me at all.
As I pulled in the driveway of Underground Art I felt even more nervous than ever before. I looked upon the walls of the royal blue house. From the outside no one would ever guess that this house covered in graffiti would be a tattoo studio. Still hesitant about actually going through with this tattoo, I sat in the car and stared upon the pieces covering walls for a few minutes. One piece in particular held my attention in a trance. It depicted the image of a monkey king holding his staff and dancing around. Realizing that my appointment was soon I got out of the car, but as soon as I did I experienced a sort of out-of-body feeling as if I was not moving my own body. Before I knew it I was at the front door, but I didn't remember the walk from the car. My body was moving on its own, and I was just along for the ride. As I entered the shop I was hit with the smell of clean, not the kind of clean you get from using pine-sol, but the smell of hospital operating room clean. I saw a glass display counter ten feet in front of me, but from my point of view the walk there seemed miles away. As I approached the counter I was greeted by Vanessia, the tattoo artist who was going to be giving me my tattoo. She had her long brunette hair tied in a ponytail, and she was wearing a black apron over her clothes to prevent ink stains. From her looks you would think she must have been a rebel child growing up. She had tattoos covering her arms and the gauge earrings that punk rock wannabes wear in their ears, as a big F U to the “Man.” I had met her twice before when I did my consultations. She looked at me with the sweetest possible look of "can I help you?" But I was too frozen in fear of what I was about to do to say “I’m your seven o'clock,” the words wouldn’t leave my lips. I felt what a deer must feel when it walks into the head lights of an oncoming car as it crosses a dark highway. All I could do was look around and my eyes landed on a row of plaques that had Underground Art voted as one of the best tattoo shops in Memphis. As I read the plaques, I seemed to regain control of my body and I stumbled out the words “I’m your seven o'clock." She simply looked at me with an inviting smile and said in a somewhat excited, but also mature voice, “Great I have final draft of your tattoo ready for your approval and we can get started soon.”
Needless to say I was still nervous, but when she brought that tattoo outline to me it helped calm me. As I gazed upon what would soon be a part of me I grinned from ear to ear like the Grinch that stole Christmas. I had just seen the perfect renaissance cross if there had ever been one. As I looked at the outline I admired the rustic look of the cross, how she added thin cracks to make it appear old, and how the crown of thorns was tilted ever so slightly to add depth to the design. I even liked the incorporation of clouds and the rays of sunshine that radiated from the cross as if it was glowing from its own light. I had just seen the tattoo of my dreams, scratch that, it was even better. Seeing what I was going to get permanently added to my body look that beautiful calmed my restlessly beating heart and gave me a glow of peace.
As she prepared the equipment for my tattoo I sat down in the waiting area with Alanna and a guy and his wife who were waiting for him to get his fifth tattoo. As I took my seat he says “so it’s your first tattoo huh?” I looked so shocked as if I had just been caught red handed. Did I really look that scared to get a tattoo? I simply responded “yes,” in a voice that can only be described as a nervous shake. He only responded “don’t worry kid we all felt the same way you do once, if you can handle the outline your home free.” “Was that really all it took?” I thought to myself “was the outline really the worst part?” With that I was finally able to relax and continue to look around the room sitting. I had hardly noticed the art that hung on the walls of the studio all of which were done by one of the studio’s many talented artists.
It seemed as soon as I had gotten used to the shop it was time for me to get my tattoo. Vanessa came out of the back with a few sterilized tattoo needles and called me and Alanna to the back. She motioned for me to sit in what must be the most awkward looking chair I had ever seen. It was built like a normal rolling desk chair but with a long armrest on the right side that went from my armpit to my fingertips. But as I sat in it I realized this chair was a perfect fit, it was very soft and leather, which is to be expected after all it is meant for sitting long periods of time. Just by sitting in that chair made me calm down to a completely tranquil state. This was sharply interrupted, by the foreboding buzzing of her prepping the tattoo guns needed for my tattoo. All I could think about was a bee just stinging me over and over again, now I was back to my frantic state of worrying. I tried to think of anything I had done in the past that could help me get through the event. So I said “I have given blood twice before so this should be no problem since I’ve been stuck by bigger needles.” Even then she burst my bubble by saying in her best reassuring voice “A tattoo is different than being stuck with a needle. It is more of a scrape than a poke.” All I could say to that was “that doesn’t help my nerves at all. actually it makes me feel worse about the whole thing.” She reassured me that it would be alright and to just relax. I started to fall back into my tranquil state of mind as she rolled up my sleeve to apply the outline to my arm.
She then told me in what I can best describe as a sweet nurturing voice “I will start the outline up top of your clouds with very little ink so you can see if you want to go on.” I simply nodded my head and prayed for the best as I prepared for the pain to come, with Alanna looking on with eager eyes at the sight. I heard the buzz of the tattoo gun and saw it touch my skin but there was no pain. It was more of an annoying tickling sensation than anything else. She looked at me and asked “do you think you can handle more of that?” All I could say was bring it on. An hour and a half later, I was getting out of the chair and checking my arm in the mirror. I loved it and I knew if my aunt could see it she would love it too. That whole time I was ready to experience pain like no other but instead of giving up I chose to stick it out, and I found out it was not as bad as I thought. I learned to never let my fears about the unknown stop me from doing what I want.
