Marked

Like the causes we believed we fought for, we knew we could make this contraption work. Like every big movement, we had all the pieces but little organization. We had drawn out the plans. The guitar sting hooked up to the battery through leads and was then threaded through a pen. The spring inside the pen had to be bent so that it held tightly to the guitar string while still having its spring capabilities. Seth had the pen in his hand.
“Let’s see if it works.”
Shippley touched the guitar string leads to the battery. It made a buzzing noise and the other tip of the guitar string came in and out of the pen.
“It works!”
Our homemade tattoo gun was up and running.
Shippley went first. I was the only one who could write calligraphy so his tattoo was my task. I drew on his left forearm with a sharpie and used a ruler to make sure it was straight. Seth handled the leads. I dipped the tip into black ink and put it to Shippley’s skin. A guitar sting is thicker than a regular tattoo needle so the outline was thick. It was a good thing I used a sharpie because when we had to wipe the blood from his skin the outline didn’t erase. I added the green and blue shading and before long it was Seth’s turn.
This time I handled the leads and Shippley did the tattooing. We stenciled it on Seth’s lower back and within an hour the second tattoo was nearly finished. Shipp added the blue and green and then it was my turn.
I sat on our kitchen floor next to the kerosene heater. Seth couldn’t draw so we figured it would be best for Shippley to do the tattoo. He touched the guitar string to my left shoulder blade and through the pain I felt the hope of the word being scarred into me. I felt proud that my first tattoo was being created by my best friend. And together we felt we were sticking it to the man because, at this time, tattooing was illegal in the state of Virginia.
When Shippley got to the “I” he was directly on my spine. My right arm moved. We all stopped; Shippley with the needle still in my back. The examined the gun and slowly pulled it out of me. My arm moved again. It turned out that the guitar string had shifted and was going too far into my back.
“See if you can move.”
I slowly got up. I walked around moving every limb and twisting my neck.
“Nope, I’m fine.”
I sat back down and we continued. He added the blue and green and my tattoo was finished. As we each stared in the mirror we became the words. They became our calling cards; what we were known for in the Virginia Beach punk scene. Shippley was “Liberty.” Seth was “Freedom.” And I was “Unity.”

want or can't

I Don’t Want to vs. I Can’t.
Shaun’s kitchen had more counter space and a gas stove which made it easier to cook dinner at his place. We were celebrating that time when you’ve been dating long enough to know the others favorite movie or top five bands. We were young enough to know every freckle and curve of the others body rather than knowing the others point of view about anything remotely important.
“What are we making?”
“Maklooba. It’s a Jordanian dish.”
“What is that?” He pointed to flowers I was pulling apart.
“Saffron threads. Don’t worry, they taste good.”
Shaun looked at me with both disgust and apprehension.
“Just wash the chicken and cut it up.”
I knew we were to the point of asking real questions. I wanted to avoid this part at all costs. In the past, when I had answered these questions, the answers always ended up being the reason for my relationships to end. I figured if I just made a delicious, authentic dish any conversation would be forgotten.
“So… do you believe in God?”
I should have made a plan B.
“That’s kind of a hard question to answer.” My eyes remained on peeling the eggplant.
“No it’s not. You either believe in God or you don’t.”
“Do you believe in God?”
Shaun pointed to the Buddha tattoo on his arm insinuating where his beliefs lay.
“Having a belief in something is not that black and white. I mean what are you even asking me? Do I believe in an omni, omni, omni god? Do I believe in divinity? DO I believe that there’s a supreme being that undoubtedly exists and I am well aware of the nature of that being?”
Shaun turned from the sink. “What the fuck are you talking about; I’m just asking if you believe in God.”
“Well with what I study it’s really hard to answer that. Every single day I examine arguments for and against the existence of God. To tell you the truth, whether pro or con, all the arguments are sound and valid.”
“Jesus. If you had to answer, in the simplest way possible, what would you say?”
As if speaking to the eggplant I replied, “I’d say I’m a philosopher and that I don’t know.”
“So you’re an atheist.”
“No. I mean that I don’t know. I don’t know if there is a God and because of that I don’t think I should claim myself as something either way. Beliefs are too personally important and when it comes to God I have no clue.”
Shaun moved me away from the drawer to pull out the cutting board. I gave him a quick smirk, looking behind him to make it seem as though I was looking at him.
“So, with what you study…does that mean you don’t have an opinion about anything?”
“No. There’s tons of crap I have an opinion about. I suppose the God topic is just too far removed for me.”
Shaun points to the cut up chicken. “What do I do with this?”
“Put it in the sauce pan.”
“So give me an example of something you do have an opinion on.”
“I can’t.”
“No opinions?”
“No, I mean if I tell you an example, you’re not going to like it. This is boring for most people.”
Shaun sits on the counter next to me, while I finished mixing the rest of the eggplant and saffron.
“Come on. It’s not like whatever you say is going to make us or break us. Queue sera sera.”
I throw the eggplant into the pot. “Don’t be so sure.”
“Shut up. Tell me.”
For the first time I looked at him.
“I don’t believe in free will.”
“What? How can you, of all people, say that?”
“Because there is more evidence on the side that we don’t.”
“You used to be homeless and now you’re in college. You didn’t choose that? No credit for your hard work?”
“I’m not going to believe in something just because it benefits my ego.” I returned to the sauce pan.
“So you don’t know if you believe in God but you do believe in fate?”
“I don’t believe in fate either. I believe in determinism. That’s totally different.”
“The Fucks that?”
“Okay, so look. When we push a ball the reaction happens because of certain physical laws. We don’t float into outer space because of certain physical laws. Shit physical laws, especially cause and effect, govern everything down to the neurons in our brain. So tell me why is there this thing called the will, that no one can say what it is or where its located, but it is the only exception to physical law.”
I exhausted my breath, took a sip of wine and kept stirring the saucepan.
“So you and me. We’re not together because of fate. I totally agree. But we’re not together by choice either?”
The sauce pan was about to boil over.
“Help me flip this onto the other dish.”
Shaun grabbed his lobster oven mitts making them walk across the counter to the sauce pan. He helped me flip the pan on the glass dish and together we put the dish in the oven. Shaun took the oven mitts off and looked to his feet. Suddenly but very gently, he grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me close to him. He bent his neck down and pressed his lips firmly against mine. The kiss was not vulgar but lasting.
“I didn’t just choose to kiss you?”
“Would you have kissed me just then if we weren’t talking about free will?”

My First Communion

They were on a mission. The only questions were why they wanted me and what was their plan. I was in some sort of training it seemed. An afternoon boot camp where my grandmother was some sort of general and Roger was a high commander. He made me call him father. They made a bunch of us kids gather at this old building with stone statues. They taught us of their leader; the one with all the power in the universe and whose son brought miracles to earth. Something was amiss. Aliens? Sorcerers? The Irish Mafia? Who knew? But they wanted me to be a part of it.

There was two more steps. Something called a "confession" and a ceremony. They said if I did it I would live forever with that almighty guy. Ha! Bribery. What my grandmother and Father Roger did not know was that my dad was a punk rocker. He taught me to fear bribery and stick it to the man. Anarchy was in my genes and thus, I needed to fight!

Father Roger brought me to his room. Well, well father. Here we are, left to our own devices. "Michelle, tell me of your sins." Oh no! He's on to me! Keep it cool. "No sins, Father." "You haven't been mean to your brother?" His powers are greater than I thought. He can read minds. "Well, I punched my brother and then cried and told my mom he hit me so he would get in trouble." Nice Diversion. "That should only require one hail Mary." Mary, they've taken down Mary. My Mom knocked on the door. "I'm here to pick her up." I'm saved from your treachery father! "I'll bring here to the church at six." Traitor!

Apparently my mom was in on it. She dressed me in an itchy, white dress and even a veil. I did not realize their plan was so low. They were going to marry me off into a cult at the age of seven. I could no longer trust anyone.

They dragged me to the creepy building of statues and forced me down the isle. They made me stand in front of Father Roger and all these wrinkly people. Father Roger started speaking in another language which confirmed my cult suspicions. Before I knew it he had forced something into my mouth. "The body of Christ." What?! Cannibals! I spit out the body showing my tongue to everyone. That's right! I rudely disapprove. But it was not over. Father Roger proceeded to hand me one of two goblets. This one smelt of grape juice. Poison. You'd have to do better than that Father. I know the other glass has something better in it because you wont give it to me. I grabbed the other goblet and drank every last drop. and...no wait...not feeling well....little woozy. They tricked me. This was the glass with the poison. All of the sudden my guts came out of my mouth. Touche Father, Touche!