Page 122 of Rigid

I clenched my jaw. “Go.”

The needle, a four-pronged shading rig, dug into my flesh.

The blue ink of the snake’s belly was an aqua color, and reminded me of the ocean. It was the one place I could always find solace, regardless of what was going on in my life.

As the needle tore away at my tanned skin, and replaced it with a permanent ink, I felt like I was gaining one thing, and losing another.

The artist drilled into my skin until the needle ran dry of the ink, and then he’d dip it in the well, and start the process again. The pain was almost intolerable, but I wouldn’t give up for any reason, I knew that much.

What I gained from the completed tattoo would last a lifetime.

With each drop of ink, my fear was slowly rising from my soul, leaving me feeling cleansed.

I gained a torso covered with my greatest fear.

A snake.

I would never again fear the most repulsive creature created by God. In fact, it would become part of my very being. I wasn’t facing my fear, I was embracing it.

I was becoming it.

The pain shot through me like an electric shock. Every muscle in my body tensed. The third of three solid days of tattooing, and my skin resembled hamburger.

But, it was the only way.

I closed my eyes, took my mind to thoughts of raising another child, and of Sandy and I walking along the beach with all our children at our side. Playing in the waves, and finding seashells, we’d walk the coastline for hours to find the perfect spot to set up for the day.

If our baby was a boy, he would grow up to love the ocean, respect, it, and probably be a surfer.

If our baby was a girl, she’d grow up to be just like Eddie. Strong, resilient, and bold.

“Have a look, Boss,” he said.

I opened my eyes. “You done.”

He wiped a towel across my stomach. “I think that’s it. Never seen that before.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Fucker falling asleep when he was getting drilled on the chest.”

I shot him a look. “What time is it?”

He glanced at the clock. “4:00.”

Somehow, I’d lost four hours. I slipped off the side of the chair, turned toward the mirror, and looked at my reflection.

The snake started at my belt, and ran all the way to the top of my chest. According to the artist, the design was a Chinese theme, and was considered a symbol of healing, rebirth, renewal, and protection.

It may have all been in my head, but I felt different already. I was sure of it. I nodded at my reflection. “Fucker’s perfect.”

“Appreciate it.”

He cleaned the tattoo, covered my torso in plastic wrap, and then I put on my shirt.

“Can I leave this shit on for, say, an hour or so?”

“No problem. When you remove it, be sure and wash the plasma off. You’ve got plenty of ink, you know the drill.”