writing prompt: why are you crying?

Start time: 11:17 pm

I had been waiting for this day for a year, almost exactly to the day. In a closer timeframe, I had been in a virtual tizzy ever since Scott confirmed that he could work on my back tattoo on Sunday, around 11 am or noon. It had meant I had to stand up an old friend for a brunch date, but so be it: it was a small price to pay.

I got there and we started talking about selection, layout and such; after a brief fling with tracing paper and masking tape, we agreed upon placement and we were set to begin. My adrenaline was already coursing through my veins, and it was about to get worse. I settled into the chair as Scott revved up his machine, in sync with the music wafting through the convention hall. As soon as he touched my back, I remembered. What it really felt like to get a tattoo. A lot of people will tell you it's not big deal, depending on placement. As for me, I handle short-term pain, like getting a piercing, really well. It's as though by the time my mind wakes to what is going on, I can consciously say, "It's OK, it's over", and my body settles down again. Tattoo is different; I knew I was in for approximately three hours. It hurt. Most of the time, it felt like someone scraping insistently back and forth with the corner of a razor blade. OK, so it's a set of closely packed needles - same difference. Actually, what I really can't stand is the outlining, with the finer needles. That sends my adrenaline through the roof, as my body tries to compensate for the overload of sensory information it is receiving.

Unfortunately, I have a really weird reaction to adrenaline overload: I want to cry. There is absolutely no emotion behind it - my body has this really weird instinct to want to sob. Big heaving sobs, the likes of which I haven't emitted in public in well over three decades, I would assume. I really can't explain what it is, but I realized it was the adrenaline when the first two times I ever did speed, I had the exact same reaction. A good three-minute bout of bawling set me right back on my feet. So at the first break, after two birds it was, I believe, I went into the hall washroom, locked myself in one of the stalls, and as silently as I could, let my body's natural reaction take over.

I hiccupped and wiped my reddened eyes, trying to keep the wailing to a minimum. After about the aforementioned three minutes, I pulled myself together and headed out to the mirrors, which this convention hall is so abundantly blessed with, and began to admire my back. As soon as I did so, another lady, dressed in the finest pinup regalia, turned to me and asked whether I was OK. Oh gosh, someone had heard me. I'd managed to ebb the flow of tears, but I wasn't sure I was back to speaking level yet. "Why are you crying? Is it because it hurts?" she asked gently.

"Not even," I replied. "It's the adrenaline that makes me cry." That last bit came out as a sob again. Oh no, how embarassing. "I really can't explain."

She smiled at me, as she continued to wash the red grapes she had brought in one of the sinks. I'm sure she must have thought I was certifiably insane, but she didn't let on. I begged a handful of grapes off her and managed a pretty put-together smile. I thanked her for caring, but mentioned I should be getting back to my tattoo artist. She smiled back and we parted ways.

I lasted the next two hours in more or less reasonable shape, although I think I seriously caught Scott off-guard when he saw tears streaming down my cheeks. At least I wasn't racked with sobs, so he could keep working. By the end of the day, my ravens had taken flight, I was out my tattoo budget, and I was entirely content. See you next year, Scott.

End time: 11:35 pm

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