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The Tattoo Anniversary

James Bates

    “It’s okay, there’s nothing to worry about,” Caleb said in a gentle voice. Then he plunged a hypodermic needle into the man’s thigh and watched as his eyes closed and his breathing steadied. Quickly, with nimble fingers familiar with the procedure, he secured the man in seconds, binding his wrists and ankles with thick straps of leather. When he was finished, he breathed a sigh of relief. The hard part was over. Finally, he could relax.
    Earlier that evening Caleb had sat in the shadows of the small town bar sipping diet coke, watching as a bearded, burley guy chugged beer after beer for five straight hours. By ten o’clock he was stinking drunk and the bartender cut him off, telling him to leave before he called the sheriff. The guy took out his car keys and waved them mockingly before standing up too fast and losing his balance. From his table a few feet Caleb stood quickly, reaching out a hand to steady him.
    “Easy there, buddy. I’ve got you,” Caleb said, taking the keys and putting them in his pocket. He put his arm around the man’s shoulder and said to the barman who was critically watching the whole thing, “It’s okay. He’s a neighbor of mine. I’ll make sure he gets home all right.” The bartender shook his head in disgust and turned to his other patrons, glad to be rid of the unlikeable jerk.
    Caleb’s thin frame and wiry arms were taut as he gripped the big man’s shoulder and maneuvered him through the crowd, out the front door, and into the soft warmth of an early June night. Moonlight glowed on a nearby lake, the evening frogs were in chorus and sweet honeysuckle drifted on the breeze. Most people would have considered it a beautiful evening, but Caleb could have cared less. He had a job to do. He propped up the drunk against his hip and guided him across the gravel parking lot and out to the street where he’d parked his small RV.
    “Let’s get you inside, pal.” Caleb opened the door, wrestled the inebriated man up the steps into the tiny living space, and lifted him onto the table. It may have been the change of light, or the change of scene, but he momentarily stirred out of his alcoholic fog. “Wha...? Where am I?” he slurred, moments before Caleb stabbed the needle into his thigh.
    With the drunk unconscious, Caleb set about getting ready. He laid a plastic sheet on the floor. From the cabinet above the small sink, he took out his tool kit and put it on the table. He positioned a bright portable light next to the tool kit and affixed a miner’s light around his head. Finally, on a nearby counter, within eyesight, he set a framed photograph of his son, Ethan, standing next to his cherished blue bicycle.
    When he was satisfied all was the way he wanted, he opened the man’s shirt, taking a moment to notice the smooth hairless chest. Caleb smiled to himself. Good. He wouldn’t have to shave him. Then he opened his tool kit, selected a needle, inserted it into its holder and began to work.
    While he moved the needle gun back and forth across the man’s chest, Caleb thought about his beloved son and the accident that occurred four years earlier. Ethan had been only seven years old when he’d been run over while bicycle riding by himself on a warm summer’s evening down a quiet street near their home. He’d been killed instantly. From that day on, the lives of Caleb and his wife Samantha and four year old daughter Becky had been changed forever. To this day, he can still recall too vividly the blood smeared fragments of a twisted blue bicycle frame reflecting the flashing white lights of the ambulance at the chaotic scene. The drunk’s blood alcohol content had been twice the legal limit. He was given seven years in prison, and he could rot there forever as far as Caleb was concerned.
    God, how he’d loved Ethan. Still did. From the day he was born, there’d been an instant bond between father and son starting the moment he’d held the tiny baby in his arms. While growing up, Caleb had taken it upon himself to be by his boy’s side as much as he could, caring for him and teaching him everything from tying his shoes and learning to read, to creating Lego models and how to ice skate. Ethan had been the light of his life, his reason for living. With his death, though, Caleb had been damaged deep inside on every level and, try as he might, he couldn’t fill the void left by the loss of his son. For weeks afterwards, he lived in a fog; emotionally crippled.
    He almost lost his job. Caleb was a high school art teacher, and as much as he loved teaching, he’d lost the will to get himself to school and stand in front of a class. He was granted a leave of absence and was given three months off. It didn’t help. His grief continued to hang over him like a shroud. It was relentless. When the time came to return to his classes he forced himself to go, taking up where he’d left off, teaching introductory drawing, determined to do his best. In some small way he felt that it’s what Ethan would have wanted.
     Who knows how long things would have stayed that way if not for a student in Caleb’s drawing class who, soon after his return, brought him a poster from the novel, The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. Caleb was immediately enthralled with the detail of the design, the subtle colors and flow of the lines. He agreed to help the student, and from that moment on his life started to turn around. He loved the artwork of the tattoo on the poster so much he not only started making his own drawings, he signed up for a class and learned the art of tattooing.
    As the anniversary of the first year of Ethan’s death approached, Caleb came up with an idea and discussed with it Samantha,“I need to do this, honey,” he told her. “I think Ethan would appreciate it.”
    Samantha wasn’t sure about Ethan, but she agreed. “It’s insane, but I think I understand. Go ahead. Just be careful and make sure you come home to us.” In the end, if it helped her husband heal, she was okay with it. Nervous, but okay.
    Caleb’s idea was to use his skill as a tattoo artist to make a statement. He bought an old RV and fixed it up in preparation for what was to become a yearly ritual.
    That was three years ago.
    When he was finished working on the bearded man, Caleb directed the light and peered closely. He dabbed some blood away with an antiseptic cloth and took a moment to admire his work. He’d used his tattoo needle to print, I will never ever drive drunk again. It took up a large portion of the man’s chest.
    “This looks good,” he said out loud. Then added, “You should be proud, jerk, It’s the best work I’ve ever done.” The big man didn’t bat an eye.
    Caleb put his tools away and cleaned up. He waited until the streets were empty before dragging the unconscious man outside and hiding him in the bushes by the side of the bar, figuring that the guy would come around by sunrise. Then he got in the RV and left town, already feeling the energized rush he always received when a tattooing was completed. It was a feeling he could get used to.
    He pointed his RV down the single lane county road and drove east, bright headlights cutting through the summer night, heading home to Samantha and Becky. He checked the time, four in the morning. He’d be with them in less than twelve hours. He couldn’t wait.
    An hour from home he pulled into a wayside park and turned off the RV. He climbed into the back and took out his needle gun. He pulled up his shirtsleeve and exposed the tattoo on his left forearm; a tattoo he’d drawn when he was first learning. It read, “Ethan Lives,” in black letters that were enclosed in a bright pink heart. Underneath it were three smaller hearts, one for each year since his son’s death, one for each tattoo he’d etched onto the chest of an unsuspecting drunk. When his gun was ready, he made a fourth one.
    Then he put his equipment away and started up the RV and headed for home. As he drove he dabbed away some blood from his newly tattooed heart. The pain didn’t bother him, it made him feel more alive. He was already looking forward to one year from now and another anniversary and another tattooed drunk and another chance to show his son that he’d never forget him.

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