I Fell in Love with Hope(69)

“Oh no, we don’t have any money,” Sony says.

The man opens his mouth, and nothing comes out for a moment.

“But you want tattoos?” he asks.

“Yes!” Sony says. “We are tragically ill. Neo, this sickly young chap here, he’ll probably drop dead tomorrow!”

Neo nods his chin. “Sup.”

“Uh, hi–Boss! I need help up here!”

Emerging from behind another wall, a man considerably balder than we are marches out of his office.

“What the fuck do you want, Carl?”

Carl points at us cluelessly. “They don’t have money.”

Bald boss cocks a brow at us. “You don’t have money?”

“We have six dollars and ninety cents,” C says.

Sony snickers. “Hah, nice.”

“Get out,” Bald boss says, then turns back to Carl. “There. Was that so hard?”

“But–they’re tragically ill,” Carl says.

“So?” Bald boss smacks the back of his head in a very Eric sort of way. “We don’t take pity cases because they claim to be pity cases.”

Sony clears her throat. At this point in time, the remaining tattoo artists in the parlor have already started looking in our general direction.

C bends down to our fearless leader’s level. “Sony, before you open your mouth, please remember that I’ve never been beaten up before, and I don’t know how well I’d handle it.”

Neo holds his manuscript against his chest, nudging C with his elbow. “It’s fine. I’ll teach you.”

“Sir! A moment of your attention,” Sony calls.

Hikari looks at me. “She’s gonna get us arrested, isn’t she?”

“We may not have a method of payment, but money itself is a scheme!” Sony begins, quite theatrically, for that matter. “A story is worth more than a crumpled bill. Money is an illusion of security. And yeah, yeah, money can’t buy happiness, but you can’t skip over the most important part: Money can’t replace happiness. It can’t replace a memory of dancing on a rooftop or the adrenaline you felt running away with your friends.

“So we all agreed that the crumpled bill is worth something as a society. Do you know what conforming to society is, sir? It’s cowardly! I mean, look at us! Sure, our diseases don’t make us who we are, but diseases are like pets. When you’re out with one in public, some people are repulsed, some are intrigued, but everyone is watching. It’s all they can see. And Death may as well be a pet leashed to our wrists.

My point is that we don’t have the luxury of being cowards. We’re like everybody else. We’re like you even. We just know the value of today is infinitely greater than the value of tomorrow.

So take a risk! Make a lousy investment and tattoo some people with missing body parts, security be damned! Because you know in your heart that sharing this story and a few laughs will have more value than making a few bucks ever will.

“Now. Are you going to take the pity case or not? Cause I’m about to faint from lack of air here, so I could really use somewhere to sit.”

Sony’s voice falters at the end as she lays her upper body weight on the counter. Hikari helps her remain upright from behind while bald boss stares in bewilderment. He blinks a few times, his jaw slightly parted.

Then eventually, he marches back into his office, grabs a coat, and starts to leave.

“You. Sit in that chair,” he says to Sony. “Carl, you take them.”

“Boss?”

“I’m going out for a drink.”

“Sony’s got that effect on people,” Neo says.

Hikari and I look at each other and shrug. None of us are really shocked at Sony’s bullshitting abilities. We’re just impressed they worked.

Carl leads us to one of the hydraulic chairs. Sony plops herself down, shimmying in excitement. Carl puts on his gloves, gathering his supplies.

“Um, that was amazing, by the way,” he says.

Sony blanks. “What was?”

Carl points back to the front desk. “What you said.”

“Oh, that?” Pride licks Sony’s teeth. “I stole it from a book.”

“Everything’s stolen from books anyway,” Carl says.

“Everything’s stolen,” Sony rebuts, poking his nose ring as if he’s a close friend and not some stranger, although Carl doesn’t seem to mind. “Or it will be. By us. We’re killer thieves.”

Carl smirks. “Where do you want the ink, honey?”

“Right here. In the middle,” Sony says, taking off her sweatshirt and pointing under the crest of her collarbones, the peak of her sternum.

Carl nods and explains the process to her, says it might sting a little bit and if she’s on any medications, she should tell him before he starts.

Sony and C listen attentively. Neo, for a change, half here, half in his own head. He props his chin on the manuscript against his chest, swallowing once.

Sony looks at him out of the corner of her eye, then she glances at the pocket of her sweatshirt, the one Neo is wearing. One of her mischievous little grins lights her face.

She grabs Carl mid-speech and pulls him closer to her. Carl stutters over his words, and deftly shuts up when Sony whispers in his ear, “It has to say this, pss, come ‘ere.” I don’t hear the rest, but Carl looks up as she talks, as if memorizing her words.