"Are you sure you want to do this?" Silas asks me that same day as we are driving to Nice. According to him, the closest tattoo shop is in the city, and it's just about a thirty minute drive from Ladaux.
I don't know why getting a tattoo was my first thought after I woke up from that realistic dream about my grandpa, and I also don't know why it's the only thing that I've been able to think about since, but I know that it's the right decision, and I feel like it's something that I need to do.
I don't really believe in ghosts or an afterlife, but I somehow believe that it's my grandpa who is telling me to get this tattoo.
"I'm sure," I tell him as I'm looking out the window. "I know this sounds stupid, but I think my grandpa wants me to do it."
"That doesn't sound stupid," he assures me. "Why the sudden need to do it now though?"
"I had a weird dream," I lay back and close my eyes. "I don't know, it's hard to explain."
"You don't have to explain it. Grief can manifest itself in weird ways," he sounds so calm as he drives, even though I think that he can clearly tell that I'm a bit agitated. A little bit of that is nerves about getting a needle driven into my skin, but a lot of it is just how much that dream shook me.
"Yeah," I agree with him. "And thank you for coming with me. I don't think that I'd be able to get my idea across to the artist if they don't speak English."
"No problem. I wasn't doing anything today anyway, and I think that this will be interesting," he says with a small smile. "My first tattoo wasn't so bad, so I think that you'll be okay."
"You have tattoos?" I question him, because I've never seen any. He's wearing a plain white t-shirt right now, with jeans, and that's about as much of his skin that I've seen, so I guess that's not so shocking.
"I have two," Silas says, but leaves it at that. "The second one was worse."
"I'm not that worried about the pain," I don't know if I'm lying or not, but saying it out loud makes it feel true. "I think I'm more worried about my mom's reaction."
"Well, I guess now is the perfect time to get it done then, right? On the other side of the world where she can't really do anything about it," he jokes. "Are you going to get it somewhere she can't see it?"
"I'm going to get it here," I run my fingers along the inside of my forearm. "So only if I wear long sleeves for the rest of my life."
"That should be easy," Silas says with a laugh. "You decided on all of this pretty quickly. You sure you don't want to sleep on it for a little bit? The tattoo shop will still be there in a week."
"I'm sure," I tell him for the second time during this car ride. "I know it's stupid to get a tattoo on such a whim but it just feels right. It feels like the right thing to do. I know that I sound crazy."
"You do sound a little bit crazy," he admits. "But tattoos are a rather harmless way to deal with losing somebody. When my mom died, I started stealing beer from petrol stations and I was only fifteen."
"Oh my god," I say out loud, because I didn't know his mom was dead and I suddenly feel terrible for talking all about my own grief when I had no idea that he had his own. Although I don't really think I did anything wrong, I still feel guilty anyway. "I had no idea, I'm so sorry."
"It was a long time ago. Sorry, I didn't mean to make this about me," Silas is quick to apologize. "But maybe it helps that I know what you're going through right now. So even though getting an impulsive tattoo sounds crazy, I get it."
"I always thought my grandpa was invincible," I find myself talking about him more as it seems like we're starting to enter the city, as the buildings are getting closer together and more cars are surrounding us. "I mean, he was old, but he never struggled or looked like he was in pain. He wasn't sick or anything, I just always thought he'd live forever."
"Was his passing sudden?"
"Yeah, I was at a student council meeting when my mom came in and told me that he was in the hospital. I had just had dinner with him a few days before and he seemed totally normal. We didn't get very much time with him to say goodbye, but I'm glad that we got what we had."
"What tattoo are you going to get?" he asks me.
"A wand," I answer him in a soft voice. "It's just something that he said to me once when I was little. He told me to never lose my magic, and we pinky promised."
"What does that mean to you?"
"Honestly, I don't know," I admit to him. "I just think that he meant that I should never forget who I am. Even though my mom has moulded me into this person that she wants me to be, I should always stay true to who I am."
"That's a good message," he says. "I definitely think that it's worth a tattoo."
Even though I know that I don't need Silas's approval, it feels nice knowing that I have it.
It's not much longer until we reach the tattoo shop. The outside is subtle, with brick walls and just the name of the shop on the front. Inside, the walls and floor are dark, but there is a lot of lighting and what look like massage table stations around the room. One of the employees greets us in French and of course, Silas does all of the talking.
He talks so fast that I can barely even catch a few of the words that he's saying. The same thing with the employee, I don't understand anything that he's saying either.
After exchanging a few words, the employee leads us to one of the massage tables and next to the table, there are a few tables and drawers full of supplies. The man grabs a tablet and starts doing some sketching.
"He's going to sketch out a few ideas for you," Silas catches me up. I nod my head. He smiles at me and asks, "Nervous?"
"No," I lie. There's somebody on the other side of the shop getting a tattoo on her leg, and she doesn't seem like she's in any pain at all. She has many tattoos covering her arms though, so I'm sure that she's just used to it.
It takes a while to go through the whole process, but we eventually get through it. He sketches a few simple drawings of wands and I get to tweak a few things with Silas acting as a translator. Once we have the final sketch, the employee prints out the design. He has to print out some documents (luckily, printed in English) that I have to sign, and then it's time to get started. He shaves my arm and then places the stencil on. I confirm that it's a good position, and then it's time to go.
"Lay down here," Silas instructs me, motioning to the bed.
"I lied. I'm nervous," I admit to him as I lie down, facing the ceiling. "I'm really nervous."
When the artist picks up the tattoo gun is when I really feel my stomach plummet to the ground.
"No nervous," the artist tells me, "only little pain."
"You'll be okay," Silas assures me. "Just keep talking to me, it's easier if you just keep your mind off of it. And squeeze my hand if it becomes too much."
After saying that, he takes the hand of the arm that won't be getting tattooed and holds it in his own hand. His hand is so much larger than mine, and so much warmer. I feel very comforted.
"Okay," I try to take some deep breaths. Maybe I really didn't think this through enough. This was a really dumb idea. My grandpa would think that it's funny that I just randomly got a tattoo. He would laugh even harder when he saw my mom's face go red with anger.
My mom and grandpa got along really well in all aspects other than how she raised us; man, they really butted heads when it came to me and my brother.
"Ready?" the artist asks me with the tattoo gun about an inch away from my arm.
"Oh god," I groan and then I nod. "Ready."
Squeezing Silas's hand really hard, I feel the needle make contact with my skin. In all honesty, it doesn't hurt as much as I had been preparing for. It feels like a deep cat scratch moving along my arm. Certainly doesn't feel good, but it's not horrible either.
"I think that maybe I've already lost my magic," I find myself saying to try and get my mind off of the stinging burn. "I can't think of the last thing that I've really done for myself."
"I think what you're doing right now is proof that you haven't lost it," Silas reminds me.
"Yeah, I guess that you're right," I mumble, looking up into his eyes. Those fucking eyes tear me to shreds. "Okay, let's talk about something else."
"Try to talk to me in French," he suggests. "Now is the perfect time to practice."
"Okay," I take a deep breath and I try to focus on the vocabulary I know so that I can form a relevant sentence. I want to say that it only hurts a little bit, but I don't know the word for hurt or pain, so I just say 'it's not bad', because I feel confident that I can say it correctly. "Ce n'est pas mal. Comme un chat."
"Tres bien," Silas encourages me. "Tu es pratiquement un local."
He speaks slowly enough that even though I don't know the words that he's saying, they sound enough like English that I can understand him.
"Je suis faim," I try to say that I'm hungry, but once I say it I know that it's wrong. Before he can correct me, I add, "Non. J'ai faim."
I see him smile at me from where he's hovering above my head, but he doesn't mention my slip up. "Que veux-tu manger?" he asks me what I want to eat.
'You' is my first thought, but I obviously don't say that. It's been so long since I've been touched by a guy that being around Silas so much is really starting to get to me. He's so handsome, his bright eyes and sweet smile are absolutely driving me crazy.
Instead, I just say, "Ton favori" because I don't know what I want, or what they have available around here, so I'd rather just go for something that he likes.
"C'est finit," the artist says as the needle stops digging into my skin. I look over at it and I see a thin, long wand pointing up my forearm. Knowing that I really went through with it and that it's finally done, a smile spreads across my face.
Silas helps translate so that I can pay and we can get out of the shop to go to lunch.
"There's a bistro down the street," he says as we're leaving. "I wouldn't say it's my favorite, but it's pretty good."
"Okay, that sounds good," I follow him down the street. I wish that I could show off my tattoo to everybody on the street, but the artist had covered it with a piece of plastic so that it can heal.
"How's it feeling?" Silas asks me.
"It burns a little bit, but it feels alright," I answer him. It just feels like a bad sunburn right now, it's nothing I can't handle.
"When do you think you'll tell your parents?" he asks me with a small laugh.
"Probably never," I answer honestly. I probably won't tell my mom, even on our daily call tonight, because I know that she'd lose her mind. She might even try to convince me to come home early. Once I get home, she might see it, since the weather will be hot and I'd look ridiculous wearing long sleeve shirts. I'll just have to prepare for that when I see her in person. "My dad has a tattoo, so maybe he'd be okay with it. But my mom will blow a gasket."
"I think that tattoos tell somebody's story to share it with the world. To me, they make somebody more beautiful," he says as he walks through the front doors of the cafe for lunch. He then grins at me, and it feels like my heart stops for a moment. "Not that you need any help with that."
Immediately, I start to blush and a shy smile starts to creep onto my face. I definitely was not prepared for a compliment like that, and it left his lips so casually and smoothly. Like it was just any other sentence that he could have said.
"Are you blushing?" he teases me with another beautiful laugh.
I look away from him and mumble an embarrassed, "No." Even though that's a lie, and we both know it. I can't help but laugh-- maybe even giggle-- and then hide my face in my hands to hide my blush.
"Aww," he continues to tease me.
"Just order," I insist once it's our turn to order at the counter. I can understand a lot of the menu, but Silas has to help me a little bit, and he also orders for me. When it's time to pay, I hand the employee enough money to pay for both of our meals.
"You're paying?" Silas questions me.
"Not like this is a date or anything," I say quickly, still feeling very flustered by his compliment and then the teasing afterward. "Just you came all the way out here to help me with this tattoo, I just wanted to say thank you."
He seems to be very entertained by my persistent blush and flustered appearance now while we wait for our food. And, again very smoothly, he says, "Oh okay, Maisie. I can pay next time to say you're welcome."
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Song: Favorite T-Shirt (Acoustic) - Jake Scott