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.”