A TATTOO! That was totally it, dude. I would totally get a tattoo. That would fix everything. (It did not. Do not do this.) So we wound up at this super-sleazy parlor, the kind that only ever gives cheap, bad tattoos to impulsive young people. And I picked out what I wanted: the word “hope” on my arm. It wasn’t smart or original or cool. But it seemed like a good tattoo for a frightened person. Every time I looked down at my arm, I would receive instructions on what to do.
And yet when it was time for me to sit down in the chair, I got really nervous. This place was sleazy. The needle was going to hurt. This was permanent. I couldn’t make a decision like this on the spur of the moment. My friend looked at me and said I was freaking out for no reason, and she was going to do something that would ensure I could not back out.
So she sat down in the chair in front of me, and she got the same tattoo. I watched her. The whole time, she reminded me of how unforgivable it would be to wimp out now. And I believed her, so when it was time for me to sit down in the chair, I was able to do it. And it really did hurt less than I expected. And there it was. My friend and I had the word “hope” on our forearms, and for the rest of our lives, no matter what happened, we would have some part of us that was the same.”
I think it’s nice
that my piece about Kelly, and how I got my tattoo with Kelly, and how I Learned The Meaning of Lady Friendship, came out right after she took me to the hospital. Although, also, some of the awkward conversations about it after the fact should probably be included in an appendix. (via sadybusiness