Tattooed

"When I was in third grade my father was going to take me to the beach. Just me. It was supposed to be a special day with just the two of us. We had never done anything like that before and I was beyond excited. It felt like months before the big day, but it was probably just a few days. I recited all the things we were going to do, play frisbee, build a giant sand castle with a moat, bury me up to my neck, jump the big waves all the way out, because I was going to have his attention and Robert wasn't going to be there to steal it."

Francia watched his lips move, the way his nose moved on certain syllables. It was mesmerizing. In truth, she couldn't really follow his story, the bar patrons were too loud.

"I cried and cried. Robert teased me relentlessly during the car ride, making the most of my misery. The first thing I did when we got there was to throw the frisbee into the ocean, all the way in.  That set the tone, me getting yelled at and Robert gloating."

Francia watched Marley's left eye twitch a bit, and understood they were having a moment. He was having a moment. She was witnessing.

"I was alone, at the edge of the ocean, sulking, digging around the wet sand. I remember so clearly how I was plotting to go in by myself and pretend to drown so they would regret ruining my day. My plan was to run as fast and as far as I could into the water. I was scared but determined. So I took off like a shot. It turns out you can only run so far before you fall, which I did  immediately. My failure of what I had built up to be this perfect day was complete. I remember thinking that I was the biggest loser. And just as I stood up, a woman walked in my path. She was huge, gigantic, and completely covered in owl tattoos. I watched her heaving back, the owls dancing on her skin like they were getting ready to fly. I stood watching her for a long time, her flying owls that never left her skin, they were so beautiful. Finally, she turned around and said my name, asked if I needed help. She was my teacher! More humiliation, with snot running down my face, she lifted me up so gently and we started to talk. Somehow, knowing her secret tattoos allowed me to open up with my secrets. And she listened, really listened. She was my favorite teacher. And that's when I knew I wanted to be a teacher."

The beginning

The bar was smelly, smoky, sticky. Francia had no place to lean, lest she takes home the gummy film on her silk sleeve. She backed away from the bar and checked her phone. Unsurprisingly, Grace was late. She vowed to wait five minutes more before leaving. She stood awkwardly between the stools packed 3 deep, and the wall of beer mirrors when a tall, slender angle-faced man said "excuse me" to squeeze through. Francia felt his bony ass graze her hip with a small thrill. She followed him toward the back where it was a little roomier, but harder to spot Grace if she ever decided to show. 

"I'm following you."

"I'm leading you."

And that was that, they met. 

The comfy couch

They stopped at a food cart in the square and waited in line for the bearded man with gauges in his earlobes to hand them free samples of his craft cola. They each took one, putting on gloves to drink it, warding off the chill where air meets bottle. "Of course it's in a bottle," said Francia. "A can would be unartisinal." They walked briskly, window shopping, chatting, mocking, laughing. Marley threw his bottle away but Francia was still drinking as they entered the furniture store. "More than a collection, it's a concept," claimed the stark poster as they entered. Francia drank the last of the soda and handed the bottle to Marley as though he was her mother. Wordlessly he put it in his pocket until he could find a garbage. 

They walked through the store, full of people, an unshaven French man holding his phone in front of him like a child with an imaginary toy, as he discovered the wonders of mid-century modern. "Adorable!" He shouted to the phone, bumping into anybody between his phone and the object of his desire. They plopped onto a purple (eggplant) velvet sofa, looking at the grid of sectional options, unable to decipher the color coding and the names of the furniture and fabrics, named for children of the 1920s -- Anna, Kendrick, Helena, Lillian. They waited for a sales clerk to notice them and ask if they needed help, but since they were clearly not Russian billionaires or Chinese tourists, they were duly ignored.

Marley's snore woke them both up. They were sweating in their coats, one glove on the floor. Looking around, no one seemed to notice them. "We've been here an hour," Marley said, looking at his watch. They gathered their clothes, and as they walked away, Francia noticed a dark spot on the sofa where the soda bottle had dripped from Marley's pocket as he slept. 

9th Street

They both sighed silently when they saw the E 9th St sign, niggling memories unspoken. "Let's see if there is a 12," Francia suggested. "Yes," answered Marley. She turned left, they scanned the houses for numbers, shrubs blocking many of the doors and mailboxes, overgrown, a little wild, tumbledy, verdant, weedy, pretty like an old eccentric aunty. "Ha, there it is," she said. The house was green and wood with a porch and three worn chairs. They sat in the car staring, just as a very old woman came through the door carrying a glass. As though they were watching television instead of a real human, they stared right at her. The woman looked up just then and smiled and waved as though there was always someone sitting in a car in front of her house staring at her.