By Jaye Duncan
It began as an idle thought and quickly became an obsession. Yes, the time was right. Anticipation and excitement created a sensual high. There was something a little risqué about it. The seedy atmosphere of the place heightened the illusion. It was in the midst of Chinatown between a strip joint and an open-air market that sold unidentifiable animal parts and bizarre vegetables. Strange sounds and smells came from open apartment windows and recessed, darkened doorways. The area was both exciting and lurid. A choice was made and it was time to begin.
The woman reclined on a chair and bared her thigh to a man she’d only just met. He sat down amid instruments and colorful supplies and began to work.
The hum of his machine was reminiscent of a dentist’s drill. The pain she felt was like nothing she’d felt before. Well, maybe that wasn’t quite true. There was the time when she was twelve years old and went flying through the air and landed on a pile of broken soda bottles. When the doctor had to dig the glass shards out of her leg, it was kind of like this. In fact, the two sites were only inches apart on her leg.
“But the pain would be worth it,” she told herself “and it would be over soon.”
During an hours’ misery a magnificent bird of paradise was born. Red, green, orange, yellow, fuchsia all blended in a vision, beak open, a touch of evil in his eye. Before he’d come to life she was already thinking of the next time.
It was strangely addictive. Some considered it a vice. How could they? It was totally harmless. But something made it very alluring to a certain few.
The possibilities were endless – though the space was limited.
Two months later she had to have it done again. The plan was just to go in for a look around. A quick fix, but not the real thing. No, that wasn’t good enough. The choices were enticing. The atmosphere said, “Come on, let’s have some fun.” A delicate flower in a delicate hue was decided upon. She bared her breast and was amazed at the lack of pain and the short time it took. What a rush!
Only days had passed and she was back. The flower was crying out for a bird – a hummingbird. It was a unique little thing – turquoise and lavender with a peach throat and yellow breast. Nature could not have done better. And next the ankle and buttock and back. A bluebird, a parrot, a peacock.
She began to hear the sound of each bird call to her. She was a human aviary. Couldn’t the people around her hear the birds – all these damned birds squawking and chirping and twittering and singing and warbling and whistling constantly?
Wasn’t there anything she could do?
Then suddenly it came to her – yes – one more time she went through the door marked Tattoo. She prepared herself and reclined. The now-familiar buzz of the needle was hypnotic as the artist began his latest magic. As the tiger began to emerge, the birds stopped singing.
Jaye Duncan’s life “has always been quite like a soap opera. Someday the story will be revealed…”