New Ink | 8 February 2022

“Jesus Christ, Aaron.  Your surprise for me is that you got another tattoo?  Where the fuck are you getting the money for all this new ‘art’?”

“Well, uh…that’s kind of what I’ve been trying to talk to you about.”

BNR Response

“Try harder.”  I exhaled forcefully, wishing I could physically expel my disgust for him through my nostrils.  No joy.  Still there.

“Well, it’s complicated.  I mean, first I got fired from Radio Shack and then Freddie needed me to repay that poker loan-“

“I’m hearing a lot more reasons why you don’t have money and why you shouldn’t have spent hundreds, well, scratch that, you shouldn’t have paid ANYTHING on that god-awful neck tattoo.  Where did you even get it done?  It looks like a toddler had some sort of fit that resulted in stabbing you repeatedly with a Bic pen.  You know what?  You know what?!  It doesn’t even matter.”  I push my hands deep into my pockets, fists clenched.  I drop my head and squeeze my eyes shut tightly as if blocking out direct sunlight, willing the words to stay inside me.

“I know, I know.”  Aaron paused, head hung, shoulders slumped.  He winced and cowered as if waiting for me to hit him.  Goddamn it, I’m angry but I’m not going to lay a beating on anybody.  His fragility enraged me.  “That’s not all.  I had to sell the Pinto to cover the ink.  Harley said that gets me halfway there, but I still needed $500 to cover the rest, so...”

“The REST?!  Ok, you know, this is all fascinating, Aaron,” I condescend, “but I don’t quite understand what you want me to do about any of this.  In fact, I fail to comprehend just how I got sucked into your warped little doom loop in the first place.  Let’s walk this out for a second: we had one date, where I ruled you out as anything other than a cautionary tale about online dating, and then I made the very unfortunate mistake of inviting you over for a movie night where you proceeded to get plastered and ask to sleep over.  The next thing I know, I catch you on my doorbell cam stealing the furniture off of my porch.”

“I-“

“No, A-A-Ron, let me finish.  The only reason I even took your call today was to see if you were going to return my vintage glider.  That sucked, man.  That was my bubby’s glider.”

“Well, I already sold it to Dino to cover gas to the Nickelback concert on Saturday, so...”  Aaron’s sentence faded out and he wouldn’t lift his head let alone get close to making eye contact with me.  I felt an unfamiliar combination of pity and anger swirling in my chest, accompanied by the sting in my nose similar to chlorine as my eyes unexpectedly welled up.    

“Look, Aaron.” I cleared my throat, pushing my empathy in check.  “I don’t know what to tell you.  You seem like a decent human, but fuckin-A do you make piss poor decisions.  I just need to ask that you not involve me in your antics anymore.  That means that you stop texting, you stop calling, that you stop sleeping in my yard, that you stop giving my number to your loan sharks.  Stop stealing from me, and stop getting my name tattooed on your body.”  I catch his eye and hold him there.  “We cool?”

“Yeah, Carrie.  Yeah, I get it.”  He pauses with his mouth open like he’s going to say something else, and breaks eye contact, his feet kicking the dirt by my wood pile.  “There’s just one more thing.  That other $500?  That I owed Harley?  I mayyyyyyy have told him that he and Squee could meet us here to get it.  They should be here in like-“

Cue the squeal of El Camino tires in my front drive.  Goddamn it, Aaron!