The Final Edition

Whitney Whittecar

Final Essay

May 2nd, 2012

The Past Never Goes Away

Jess

“Hey Josh, can I have another?”

“You bet, darlin’.”

My old friend pulls another glass from under the bar, reaches behind him for my favorite whiskey, and grabs the sweet&sour. I watch as he pours the perfect proportion of each—topping it off with three cherries. We’ve known each other for seemingly decades, our old souls finding each other just a few short years ago. He places the drink on my cardboard coaster, flashing the kind of heart wrenching grin that makes most girls swoon.

“You’re an artist,” I say.

“I know. I’ll be right back—don’t go anywhere.” Josh bustles down to the other end of the bar to pour drinks for a couple of his regulars. In no time, he’s right back in front of me with that same grin and stands against the bar, finally able to take a small break. "I didn’t expect to see you tonight…how ya been?”

The longer his eyes bore into mine, the more I can feel my face get warm. Damn that grin.

“I’m good,” is all I could muster, looking down, nervously stirring my perfect cocktail. “It’s been awhile...”

His cheerful attitude fades, super-fast. “Yeah, it has. You never come around anymore, Jess. Don’t return my calls, texts, the notes I left at your office. Hell, I had to call Maggie to make sure you were still alive. Like you dropped off the planet and I didn’t get the damn memo.”

As Josh rants, I can feel the tears welling up. A few months ago, I did just leave—skipped town for couple weeks, drove across Washington with nothing but a small suitcase and a few hundred bucks. Left my phone on the kitchen counter. I called Maggie from random places every few days to tell her I was alright; she mentioned Josh went a little crazy. Well, maybe that was me.

“Josh, I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“Aw, Jess. I didn’t mean to make you cry. It’s really good to see you. You look great.” He leans across the bar to swipe my cheek, his hand lingering longer than it should. I can’t hold his stare, and as he retracts, my eyes flash to his left arm. Black ink peaks out from where t-shirt meets skin and Josh follows my gaze, only to quickly pull at his sleeve. My own hand reaches for my own left arm, feeling a pang of sadness.

“I’m getting mine covered,” I blurt. Instantly, I regret it, but the words just keep spewing out. “I hate it. It’s ugly and wasn’t done properly.”

“Oh yeah?” This time, Josh is the one looking a little choked up. “When’re you doing that?”

“Today. Tonight.”

“Tonight?” His face falls. Regret.

“Yeah, in like an hour. I wanted to have a drink or two, you know, to make it hurt less.” It’s now I realize any chance I have of making things better between us just evaporated. I can almost physically feel Josh pulling away from me, shutting me out, even though he has yet to budge. He isn’t looking at me anymore, my face isn’t warm.

“I’m going to check on everyone. Be back.”

My old souled mate won’t come back. He heads to the other end of the bar.

“Josh. Wait.”

“What, Jess? What could you possibly want?”

I pause. Looking.

“Love you, still. Always have, always will.”

With that, I slide off my stool. Tears cloud my vision as I drop some cash on the bar.

I shouldn’t have come here.

Carly

“I’m on the right track, baby,

            I WAS BORN THIS WAY…”

I can’t help but belt Gaga as it bleeds from my speakers at a red light, running late. Windows down, the guy stopped next to me even sings along. Phone in the passenger seats buzzes and I glance to see who could be calling: Jess. Shit. Before I could answer, it goes to voicemail but she doesn’t leave one. God, she’s probably pissed.

“Don’t hide yourself in regret,

            just love yourself and you’re set.”

Light still shines red as I hum, double-checking my reflection. “Damn, girl,” I whisper to myself. My purple and teal streaked bangs are pinned up perfectly, contrasting with the brunette mane I inherited from my mother. Make-up is flawlessly Fifties, dress cocktail style, bright red pumps, coordinating supremely. I feel fabulous.

“Whether life’s disabilities left you outcast,

            bullied, or teased…”

Green light! My heavy foot shifts from break to accelerator, breaking first from the pack to fly down Main Street. I’ve been late before, but damn. Never this late. Someone should be at the shop to let Jess inside, but who knows what the hell those boys are up to anymore. I might have to get mean and nasty.

With all these thoughts, I approach the shop in record time, and my foot shifts again, this time to the brake. Jess stands outside in the shadows and smiles a tiny smile as I flounder out of my car. “I AM SO SORRY!!” I yell to her, still gathering supplies to take inside.

“It’s ok. I haven’t been here long.”

“Ah, you’re too nice. Are the guys here?”

Jess chuckles before answering, “Yeah, but they locked me out. I tried banging on the door…”

“Shoulda flashed ‘em.” Only now do I really notice Jess’s face; something isn’t right. “Lemme just find my keys.” After what felt like eternity, I flipped the deadbolt and heard the ding of the door as I yanked it open. “Hey!” No answer. Strange.

“Where are they?”

“It’s Man-Merkin Monday. So who knows?” I scan my new friend’s face. “Gimme a few to get set up and we can get started, mmk?”

Sir Charles

With one fierce motion, I’m jolted awake.

She wraps her gloved hands around my neck, prodding and fondling, sticking the needle right in my nose. I quiver in protest. The usual pain runs the length of my body but I fight her to the bitter end. Persistent, she wiggles until I can’t hold off any longer. It’s in place.

Now comes the worst part.

Her arm moves quickly; before I know it, she has my ass-end gripped in one hand, malicious prongs in another and I’m suddenly attached to the machine. Knobs adjusted; she pops her foot up and down. I can hear the electricity before I feel it. Then I’m hit with almost twelve volts. Knobs readjusted, foot down. Just over eight this time. That must be sufficient because she lets me be. Still. I wish she’d wipe that evil grin off her face.

I know for fact she isn’t done; we’re just getting started. Talking, talking, blah, blah, blah. White towels are torn and folded next to me, the bottle of green solution stands in its spot. I’m overwhelmed with anxiety. I really do hate being involved, even though it’s my job.

Let’s just get this over with.

Jess

“What was I thinking?” I yell to no one but myself and slam my hand against the steering wheel. “Going to see him like that. And then I TOLD HIM my plan.” This time, it’s my head that makes contact, right where the airbag is located. I leave it there for a few minutes, letting the tears fall. Without moving much, check the time on my phone.

Shit.

I’m going to be late.

“Pull yourself together, Jess.”

Wipe my face, check my mascara; reapply one coat. No, two.

I take a deep breath, “Remember. You want to do this. Carly is waiting for you.” With that, I shove my keys into the ignition and fire up my old clunker.

It’s a manual, but I’m on autopilot. Minutes later, on Main Street, in front of the shop, I park. She’s nowhere in sight and I find myself grateful for the few minutes of solitude. Looks like a couple of the guys are inside, but I decide to wait here. Gaga plays from the radio, I listen to “Born This Way” and think of Carly: this fun, confident artist that just does what makes her happy. She has a great husband, three gorgeous children.

I almost had a baby with a great man.

Another tear squeaks out of my left eye but I catch it before it goes very far. Carly pulls up a few spots away. I shake my head as if the memories will be erased, as if my brain is an etch-a-sketch. Grab purse, leave phone. Plaster the best fake smile across my face.

Let’s do this.

Josh

Damn her! Jesus, I didn’t need that. She comes walkin’ in here like she never left, lookin’ better than I remember, only to leave again.

I shoulda known she wouldn’t stick around.

Now she’s off, lettin’ some scumbag cover her work. Wasn’t done right, my ass. Mine looks fine!

*smash*

Dammit. Another glass.

“Are you ok, Josh?” One of my regulars, who happens to be my best friend, looks at me funny.

“Yeah man, I’m good. No worries.”

No fucking worries.

Sir Charles

Ah! I had just nodded off again when she picked me up, and without any warning, shocked the hell outta me.

I guess we’re starting.

Carly

“Hey Jess, I think I’m ready for ya. Come on over lady!” As she sits in my black leather chair, I pour ink while still keeping an eye on that face of hers.

“So, my dear, how are ya?”

Silence. Man, I have to get this girl talking.

“What did you do today?”

“Went and saw Josh.”

Josh. That name sounds familiar, but I couldn’t place him. “And..?” Hopefully she will keep talking.

“It didn’t go that well. Are we still adding filigree to the top half?” she asks, looking at my stencil of her new tattoo.

Subject change. Oh well. I won’t make her talk about if she doesn’t want to. “Yeah, of course! I was going to freehand it, if that’s alright.”

“That’s cool.”

Jess watches my every move as I place the stencil, draw the extra parts, and get approval. She’s unusually quiet, but maybe the pain will open her up a bit.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

And with that, me and Sir Charles begin.

Jess

The pain is excruciating. Almost unbearable.

But I have to watch. If I look away, it hurts worse.

Carly is doing her best to make small talk without being too nosey. I didn’t mean to mention to her that I saw Josh earlier, but I don’t think she remembered the story and that’s fine by me.

Turns out whiskey doesn’t help with the pain.

If this keeps up, I might tell her that I didn’t want to leave his bar tonight, that I wanted to stay there just to hear his voice, even if he wouldn’t talk to me. I might tell her that when I left a few months back, it was to go to a clinic in Washington, not because I was sick, but because I couldn’t have a baby right then. Not right now. I might tell her that no one—except for Maggie—knows the truth. I might tell her that Josh would be pulverized if he heard, and I can’t walk around sharing the same ink with him. I might tell her that doing this will hurt him less, will allow him to eventually, to maybe, forgive me. Maybe. I might tell her that I still love him, that this pain here is nothing compared to what’s inside of me.

Yes, turns out whiskey doesn’t help with the pain.