Ink is forever, love is not.

He wasn’t mad at first when I got my tattoo.
Mostly because he was asleep.
I’d been out real late with the snakes and sudz were being sucked on and a lot of shit got shot, so when I got home I had to slip into bed so as not to wake him.
Not cause he got upset about me being out late.
He was real good about that, although sometimes he would worry, if I forgot to call.
Although later on our roles would reverse when he got a little notoriety as a Chicago writer.
I would get worried when he’d forget to call.
He never forgot to call.
Until the end when he was sleeping at some other girl’s house.

No, I’ld slip into bed just ‘cause I didn’t want to wake him.
Then next morning though…

9 – You got a tattoo without me? How could you get one without me?!
Me – I don’t know. It just happened.

I realize that was kind of dick.
He’d been saying that we should get tattoos for a long time.

Me – But I’m telling you, that’s the kiss of death.
9 – I’m not asking you to marry me. We could just get tattoos at the same time, not even of each other.

I have an issue with marriage. Mostly that I think it’s bullshit.

Me – But there’s no tattoo I want.

Not until I saw that snake.
I walked into the Double Door.
Riptide pulled up his white cotton shirt sleeve to show me the damage.
It was the toughest thing I had ever seen.
The snake they had chosen was from Kurt Vonnegut’s Breakfast of Champions.
He wore it like a badge. It almost looked homemade.
He wears that tattoo like it’s his job.
I immediately wanted one.
Then Trip showed me hers.
Low hip.
“Jesus Christ!” I thought.
It looked like she was branded. I fell in love.
Then Gultch ponies up and Wydow reveals it.

Me – I can’t believe you got them without me.

So on St. Patrick’s Day later that week, it didn’t take much
Only about 2 “whatever’s cheap” to get me to the parlor.
Ambush was coming too.
He had his money stashed in a cigar box and it made me really happy that that was how he saved.

We were the last ones in the chair and the inkers were just glad we weren’t getting some sort of retarded shamrock or a fighting leprechaun.
It only hurt as much as you want it to.
As much as it takes to make you smile.
As much as it takes to feel good.

Over the course of nine years, 9 had thought about getting lots of ink:
Bootsy Collins glasses, a “77”, a flag of Chicago, my name, The logo for Featherproof, a simple map of the Chicago rail system. We talked about it a lot. We never went.

I’m not sure what it means that I won’t get a tattoo with my boyfriend and best friend of nine years, but it I will get one with the improv troupe I’ve been a part of for one year.
I’m sure it’s obvious though.

I hope he finds a girl some day to get inked with.
Not for each other, just at the same time.