Deborah Mauldin

ENG 3020 Creative Writing II - Fiction

November 10, 2009

OF BLOOD AND BLISS

Visualizing my torso to be a balloon, I inhale deeply, filling up my body

with great amounts of oxygen until I can sip no more in. Holding for a full
second I release the carbon dioxide, slowly, contracting my abdominal wall,
pulling in my obliques and collapsing my diaphragm to consciously work the
exhale.

Dropping my shoulders and straightening my spine I murmur to the

man behind me.

"I'm ready."

Simultaneously his gloved hands come to rest against my shoulder

blades as a loud buzzing noise fills the space around us. Within seconds and
without warning the stinging sensation begins and my nerves jump to
attention. It has begun. The point of no return has been breached.

While growing up no one ever told me to follow my dreams, explicitly

or otherwise. Since that sort of conversation never occurred, I had never
been informed that to do so would involve pain. Leaning my forehead against
the head rest, I focus on the point of the needle being jabbed over and over
into the skin of my upper back. As the pain registers panic sets in and
messes with my breath control.

"Holy fuck this hurts!" I breath out in shock.

"What? No way," Bri, the sadist behind me, scoffs. "You were in the
Marines for Christ sake! You should be able to handle this, no problem."

Internally I agree. Externally I tell him to fuck off on another barely

controlled exhale. He just chuckles and keeps pressing into my back with his
loud little instrument of torture.

Closing my eyes I work to control my breathing and turn my focus

elsewhere. I force the design I created specifically for this purpose to the
forefront of my third eye. The familiar phrase passes through my lips in a hiss
on another exhale, keeping me committed to my seat like an oral lodestone.

From there my mind wanders down familiar paths past the memories
and facts of my life that claim direct influence over my current pain.

Faces float across the backs of my eyelids as I force steady inhales and
exhales. All the men I've ever allowed to get close to me led me to Bri and

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his chair. Each one in their own way influenced the development of my
single-minded dedication to the principle being etched into my shoulder
blades, but none of them have anything to do with the why of my new tattoo.

No. That distinction belongs to my daughter. A sweet girl of seven, she

is still too young to understand the message I have for her. This message is
the most important lesson I have to pass on to her, which is why I'm putting
it down in ink. My hope is that she skips over the unpleasantness I had to
experience in order to learn this lesson and get straight to the good stuff for
her own life. Preferably as soon as possible.

At this thought another face presents itself against my blind vision. The
last conversation I had with this face overwhelms the static image and I am
caught back up in the web...

"I'm not going to do it, babe." Jake stated firmly.

Twirling more pasta onto my fork I looked up at him, confused. "What

do you mean? What aren't you going to do?" I asked.

"I've decided that I'm not running the R.I.P course next month."

Surprised by this statement, I set my fork down and took a sip of water
to clear my throat. Setting my glass back down, I cocked my head slightly
and narrowed my eyes at him. Suspicion began to creep it's way into my
stomach. "What do you mean you're not going to run the R.I.P? Don't you
need to do that to be a Recon Marine?"

R.I.P. stands for Reconnaissance Indoctrination Program. Marines must

pass the program in order to become members of the elite within the elite.
The Marine Corps is considered an elite fighting force in and of itself, but
Recon Marines are the absolute cream of the crop. The best of the best of
the Few and the Proud.

"I'm tired from all the time I've spent away from you because of boot
camp and infantry training. We've been married less than a year and we've
hardly lived together because of all that," he replied. "Recon Marines deploy
a lot and I just don't want to be away from you more than I absolutely have
to."

Oh no he didn't.

"Are you serious?" I scoffed. "Going recon was your original purpose in
joining the Marines!" I started feeling sick to my stomach. I didn't like where
this conversation was going. Not one bit.

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 "Yeah, well, I changed my mind," he shrugged. "I love you, Kat. It sucks
to be away from you so I'm not going to do it anymore."

Oh yes he did. Jake just traded in his dream for me and I never even
asked him to do it. Hell, I was excited for him to go and do and be all the
things he ever talked about. We were young and fierce with the whole world
at our fingertips. It never occurred to me that he would step down from the
plate to sit at home. The very idea made my blood boil. I wished I hadn't
ordered the fettucini alfredo. It wasn't going to look pretty coming back up.

Taking several deep breaths to calm myself, I had to look away from
him. Once the urge to throw up had passed I glared into his velvet brown
eyes. "You mean to tell me that you've given up on your dream?" I accused
through clenched teeth.

His eyes widened in shock at the poison in my voice. He sat back and
looked down at the table, confusion marring his features. "You thought that
was my dream?" he finally asked.

"You’ve said as much, Jake! You never talked about being just a
Marine. It was always being a RECON Marine that you raved on about. You've
been getting ready for this R.I.P. course since before you went to boot
camp!" I was quickly losing my calm at this point. "Don't insult my
intelligence by now claiming that it was never your dream."

"So?" He shrugged again. "I just don't want to do it now. What's the big
deal?"

My back stiffened. "I'll tell you what the big deal is! I refuse to take the
blame for you bailing on running the R.I.P. course. If you don't want to
because you're afraid you might fail, or for whatever other reason you might
have, that's fine. I don't really care. But frankly the idea that you're not
going to do it because you don't want to leave me makes my skin crawl."

"What the fuck, Kat!" he exclaimed. "Just what the hell is that
supposed to mean?"

"It means, Jake, that I don't want to be blamed as the reason for your
regret at not having gone through with it. The idea of you blaming me for
this pisses me off to the nth degree."

"And what makes you think I would do that?" his eyes narrowed at me.

"Because one day I'm going to piss you off and you're going to wonder
why you even married me. Then you'll begin to regret all the things you
didn't do because of me."

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 Jake snorted. "Yeah, l don't really see you being able to piss me off that
badly, babe."

Oh? Suddenly this just got really interesting. "I talked to a recruiter
today, Jake. I'm reporting to Parris Island in five weeks, right after you deploy
to Okinawa."

"WHAT THE FUCK KAT!" All eyes in the restaurant turned to our table.
"Why?" he hissed at me.

Raising my left eyebrow, I cooly replied "Because it's my dream, Jake."

That was the last conversation of substance I'd had with my first
husband. Not knowing how to handle the apparent bomb I'd dropped on him,
Jake withdrew from me. I had no idea that our marriage was so fragile that
we'd just shattered it completely. By the time divorce proceedings began the
foundation we'd built from adolescence had completely eroded away.

Jake left me with two things of which I am forever grateful for. The first
is the motivation he unintentionally provided me with to join the Corps
because that path led me to my ability to overcome pain and heartbreak.
The second is our childlessness.

If there is a hell that I am glad to have avoided it is that of having

children with different men.

Bri's needle moves over to the top of my right shoulder blade,

distracting me from my thoughts. "How you doin' kid?" he asks. I can't help
but grin at his term of endearment. Why he calls me kid I'll never know, but
it's good to hear and never failed to set me at ease.

"I think I'm okay. The urge to kick your ass has passed, if that means
anything," I smirk at him over my shoulder.

Bri lifts the needle away from my skin and runs a cloth over the area
he'd just inked. With a raised eyebrow he clucks his tongue. Shaking his head
at me as if bringing a wayward child to task he shoos me out of the chair.

"Go take a break chica. Pop some ibuprofen if the pain is too much and
drink down a bottle of water. We'll start back up in a couple of minutes."
Standing, Bri stretches and pops various joints while I gingerly peel myself
off the back of the chair, trying not to stretch the skin of my upper back.
Thanking the gods of ink for the foresight to wear a halter top for this
session, I walk over to the huge picture windows at the front of the shop.

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 My back is fucking stinging but it matches the mood I'm in. Staring out
the window, I breath around the knot of anger in my chest and th pain on
my back while considering the dichotomy surrounding me.

Behind me is a room that drips with the sharp edges and industrial
mood of a fully functional body art establishment. Tattoo artwork decorates
every vertical surface not covered by mirrors while metal and chrome finish
off every other. Music pumps through the space, heavy with rough guitars
and raspy voices telling some story of angst and despair.

The personality of Bri's shop is quintessentially that of any other body

art shop in the Western world, but it is the location that sets it apart from all
the rest. Studio 907 is not located in some strip mall in a seedy part of town.
It sits on Harbor Road in Sitka, Alaska, right across the street from Crescent
Bay. Bri's shop has a straight-shot view of the raw, primal beauty that is
coastal Southeast Alaska.

Jagged grey rocks edge the bay of bone-chilling yet achingly beautiful
waters. Small islands cluster together sporting miniature rain forests of
evergreen cedars and spruces. On this day the rare sun shines and the sky is
utterly devoid of clouds. The glass surface of the bay reflects the light and
the washed out blue sky contrasts the emerald island forests in my line of
sight.

Bright, shiny and even slightly warm, it's the kind of day that lifts
moods and sparks sheer, unadulterated joy in the hearts of Southeast
Alaskans. But I'm not feeling it. I thought that returning yet again to my
hometown would somehow help me to gather myself enough to carry on. I'd
used this tactic many times in the past, coming home when I needed to
recover from life and regroup myself.

Sitka has always been my haven, an oasis that I run to where my soul
could breath freely and I can revel in the natural arms of the mountains and
ocean and in the company of my family. But this time I am not experiencing
the same comfort and renewal. I know why. I have changed and there is work
to be done before I can relax. I am not merely vacationing here again. I have
moved back home to build a new life.

Bri interrupts my musings. "All right woman, get your ass back in the
chair," he growls out. If I didn't know any better I'd be offended, but Bri is
one of the gentlest souls I've come across. I was shocked to hell to learn that
a tattoo artist had set up shop in little old Sitka. I was even more shocked by
his talent and his very active practice of Buddhism. Sitka does not actively
cultivate such things. Bri is from out of town, naturally.

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 Rolling my eyes at him I again assume the position, straddling the seat
and gripping the back of the chair. He snaps on another pair of gloves while I
focus again on my breathing.

In for five counts...hold two...out for five counts...hold two...repeat. This

time I don't lose it as the needle begins to move across my skin.

"The first two words are outlined," Bri tells me. "I just have to finish the
third and then I'll do the shading. You doin' okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, I'm good," I murmur. The pain has taken the edge out of my
voice. "How much longer?"

"About two more hours, I think. I'm about halfway done."

Settling back into the rhythm of my breath I close my eyes to search

out the memories again. I had decided that this would be a part of the
experience. While Bri worked across my back I would work across the
memories of those events which altered my life so much that I ended up
here, making this stand. Back to work I go...

The conversation with Jake in that old Italian restaurant had set in
motion the end of our marriage. I defied his wishes and went off to Parris
Island to become a Marine. After graduation I headed out to Monterey,
California where I was to become a linguist. I had wanted to study Russian
because of the cultural heritage of Sitka, but instead chose Arabic at the last
minute. It was the hardest language offered to Marines and I had something
to prove.

Inwardly musing for the millionth time "What would my life have been
like had I learned to speak Russian instead?" I am once again floored at the
simplicity of that choice against the vastness of how life has unfolded from
that point.

It was in my Arabic class that I met William.

William was a zoomie, an Airman First Class in the Air Force and a bit of
a good ol boy from Idaho. We sat next to each other in class but I didn't pay
him much attention. Too wrapped up in my own drama, I was a walking case
of nerves and just didn't have it in my to be sociable. My divorce was going
horribly, I was struggling with the language, and life in the barracks was
harder than I had expected it to be. I was lonely and miserable and couldn't
see very far beyond the tip of my nose or the brim of my cover.

It was a single touch that jolted me into awareness of him. Not just
awareness, but hyper-awareness. It was close to the end of the class day. The
room had taken on the relaxed glow of the afternoon and I was barely aware

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of what was going on around me. My hand rested idly on the edge of my
desk and it shocked the hell out of me when I felt his fingers caress mine. I
looked at him and realized his position mimicked mine and that he had
touched me on purpose. WHAT THE HELL!?

Bri's needle passes over a sensitive spot on my spine, instantly ripping

me back to the present. I grip the back of the chair hard and hiss.

"Thank god I only have one spine!" I grind out through clenched teeth.

Bri chuckles darkly. "Wait till you decide to get work done on your ribs.
That shit hurts worse, trust me."

Not reassured by this I restrain myself from cussing him out. He is,
after all, the expert.

Struggling to regulate my breaths again I dive back into my memories

of William. It was a brief whirlwind affair. The time we spent together was
filled with experiences I'd never had before. William was different from Jake
in every way. He was curious about life and spirituality, where Jake adhered
doggedly to the dogma of his father. He introduced me to mythology and the
work of Joseph Campbell.

That fact alone echoes loudly across the years. It was Joseph Campbell
that uttered the words Bri etches into my skin.

The conversations we had always challenged me to explore beyond the

boundaries of what I knew. I shared my love of Alaska and my pride of being
a Marine with him. He taught me about the world of blues guitar music. We
explored each other's minds and bodies with abandon. With him I was
entirely sensual and he fed my body and my soul.

William loved me passionately and well and once I'd had the taste of it,
I didn't want to let him go. But I didn't have any choice in the matter. His own
duty took him out of my life. We graduated from school and were sent to
separate duty stations. I left Monterey alone, bereft and heartbroken. We
didn't keep in touch. Not long afterwards I found out through an old
classmate that he had become a father.

Fuck. The memory of finding out that news still guts me. He was my
greatest love.

To bury my heartache I threw myself completely into the Corps. For two
years I worked my ass off and climbed the ranks. Sick of being a fantastic
linguist but never deploying because of my gender, I bartered my
reenlistment for orders to recruiting duty so I could get out of my unit and do
something new. Graduating in the top ten percent of my class at recruiter

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school gained me the ability to pick my duty station assignment. I had
nothing to lose when I chose the western region of the country and threw a
dart at the map.

My daughter owes her life to that stupid dart.

I went to Seattle and started recruiting out of an office in the affluent

northwest part of the city. I walked those streets and halls like it was my
footsteps that turned the earth. I was a damn good Sergeant and a damn
good recruiter. Working sixteen hour days was nothing to me and I loved my
job fiercely. I lived high on my successes and was happy with the course my
life had taken.

I didn't want a relationship but I sure as hell didn't mind the attention
that I drew. I looked good in my uniform skirt and heels and I truly wasn't
above using the sex appeal to talk to potential applicants or weasel
paperwork out of my coworkers.

Mark was one of those coworkers. He worked in the main office

processing applications for the new joins, a reward position for being the
highest producing recruiter at the station.

Five months after I arrived in Seattle he asked me out for drinks. Six
weeks later I walked into his office. I closed the door behind me and said
three words that changed everything.

"Two pink lines," I whisper below the buzz of the tattoo machine.

It was in that exact moment when my hard-earned career began to

end.

I knew nothing about Mark, save his performance as a Marine and his
suave ways of dealing with me at work and on our date. Yet when he asked
me to marry him I said yes. The fact that I didn't love him the way I had
loved William just didn't register with me because I was scared and unsure of
everything.

I didn't want to have an abortion but I didn't want to be a single

mother, either.

Mark convinced me that he was head-over-heels in love and that he

would take care of me and our baby. I was confident in his record so I chose
to believe him. The only thing keeping me from regretting that decision is the
position I find myself in now. Namely, mother to a beautiful girl and
straddling Bri's chair, cursing as the needle hits another sensitive spot on my
spine.

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 Mark and I had our shotgun wedding at The Little White Wedding
Chapel in Vegas at 3 o'clock in the morning. We thought that was hilarious
and laughed about it on the drive back to Seattle. Little did I know that it was
the last laugh I'd have for quite a few years.

Fuck. I do not want to cry in the chair.

"Bri, I need a break. Where's the bathroom?" He lifts the needle and
wipes across the lines he'd just finished.

"Through that door," he motions towards the back wall. "Try not to let
your back rub up against anything, k?"

"Sure thing," I mutter as I peel myself out of the chair again. Making a
beeline for the bathroom, I close and lock the door behind me. I want to lean
up against the wall and cry, but instead I slump over the sink, turning on the
water to mask my sobs. This is the part I've dreaded.

Legs shaking, I prop myself up and glare at my reflection in the mirror.

My insides twist and heave as the dark memories of my daughter's early
years and the loss of my career roll through me like acid.

Katie was born while I was on active duty. I still had a contract and I
couldn't leave the Corps just because I'd had a kid. Things just didn't work
that way any more. Thus began three and a half years of exhaustion and
frustration and failure. I worked to make my numbers but just couldn't
produce the way I had before getting pregnant. Katie could be with the sitter
for only so long and working on the weekends was out of the question for
me.

My relationship with Mark was terrible. He blamed me for his being

passed over for promotion. We fought constantly and he took to drinking.
More than once I fled our apartment with Katie while he made holes in the
walls. I wanted to leave him but I couldn't afford the cost of daycare and all
the other bills on my pay alone. I tried to make Mark leave but he wouldn't
budge. I had nowhere to go and no one to help me.

Mark had extended his contract to end when mine did. After nine years
I left the Corps with nothing but a severe case of exhaustion. He left the
Corps with promises to get a good job so that I wouldn't have to work. My
instincts told me get a job as a linguist, but I was so tired that I ignored
them. Instead I hoped that he'd make good on his promises.

We ended up moving in with his family while he looked for work.

Mark joined the Reserves to bring some money in, but never landed a
job that he wanted. He refused anything that wasn't related to law

9
enforcement. We were destitute and completely dependent on his family for
everything. His mother and his brother targeted me with their rancor,
blaming me for the problems that their beloved boy had in moving on with
his life.

Snide comments, overt blame and even physical confrontations were

all part of the menu when it came to my brother-in-law. My mother-in-law
employed gossip and a cold shoulder to make her feelings known. I was
completely reduced to nothing by these people and Mark did not move once
to stop any of it. He figured it was a small price to pay for their support. I
lived in perpetual fear of their abuses and it killed me to have lost the
strength and stature I once held as a Sergeant of Marines.

I stayed in that hell because it was the only roof I could put over my
Katie's head. The pain I felt at the loss of William was nothing in comparison.

It was the War On Terror that finally saved me. Six months after we left
the Corps, Mark was called back to active duty with his Reserve unit to
deploy to Iraq. Finally, we had the means to support ourselves. I moved Katie
and I out of his family's house and never looked back, but the scars they
gave me never faded.

"Yet another reason for getting this tattoo," I remind myself. If I can
teach my daughter to aspire for self-sufficiency, I hope to save her from
damages caused by the frailties and cruelties of others.

Splashing cold water on my face, I scrub away my tears just as Bri

knocks on the door. "Are you all right in there, chica?"

"Yeah, I'll be out in a minute!" I yell back with false bravado. Taking a
few deep breaths to steady myself, I open the door and head straight back to
Bri's station, keeping my head down so he doesn't notice my puffy eyes.

"Okay girlie, just a bit more to go. Only the shading is left. Maybe half
an hour," Bri soothes quietly. He's not fooled. He knows why I bolted.

I settle back into the chair for the home stretch. There isn't much left
to go over, both in my head and on my back. The pain from the needle isn't
so pronounced anymore. It has reduced to a throbbing ache, a physical
metaphor for the wounds of my relationships.

Closing my eyes I think of my time apart from Mark. While he was

deployed I dug down deep and found the strength and discipline that I'd
acquired in the Corps. I once knew what it was like to be empowered by
accomplishing my goals so I began work on earning a bachelor's degree at
an online college. I also began a yoga practice because I wanted to heal my

10
body and my mind. I especially wanted to heal my soul from the sideswipe
that was the previous four years.

When Mark returned from Iraq he made no effort to help himself

overcome his own exhaustion and pain from his deployment. He had no
interest in me or his daughter. He spent his time sleeping, playing video
games and drinking with his buddies. By this point Katie was old enough to
start kindergarten and so I got a job working from home as a web designer
for a publicity firm. Three months after he returned, Katie and I moved out
and headed north to Alaska. He didn't notice till he returned from a bender
one week later.

I have not divorced Mark, yet, but the papers are in with the lawyers.
He still hasn't come to visit Katie.

My cell phone rings and Bri hands it to me. It's my mother.

"Hi Kat, how's it going so far?" she asks.

"It hurts like a bitch, Mom," I reply with sarcastic cheeriness. "There's
nothing like willingly letting a needle jab into your skin over and over and
over and over..."

"Ok, I get the point smart ass," she snarks back at me. "When do you
want us to pick you up?"

"You can start driving now. Bri says it's just a few more minutes so he
should be done by the time you get here."

"Ok. Oh, I have a surprise for you!" she gushes through the phone.

"I'm totally down for a surprise as long as it comes in some form of

painkiller," I hint to her darkly.

"We're just down the street and I have ibuprofen in my purse. See you
in a few!" and she disconnects the call.

Curious as to what my mother has up her sleeve, I'm antsy for her
arrival. Katie is coming with her and I want to show off my new ink to my
sweet daughter before Bri puts on the bandage.

"Damn, I hope the blood doesn't trip my little girl out," I exclaim.

"The blood from your skin or the blood in the design?" he asks.

I can't help but giggle. "Both! Ah well, what's done is done. She'll either
love it or be grossed out. Either way, she'll not forget it and that's the whole
freakin' point."

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 "I think more than just your daughter will be moved by this piece,
chica. I've never seen anything like it before," Bri comments quietly as he
smoothes petroleum jelly across my back.

Strolling through the shop door my mother comes straight up to the

chair. Without a word she hands me an envelope from my lawyer's office. My
finalized divorce papers are inside. "How appropriate" I think to myself as
Katie stretches up to kiss my cheek.

"Hiya Mom! Can I see your tattoo now?" she asks brightly.

"I just finished it up, angel girl. Come take a look," Bri answers for me.

Walking around to where Bri sits, Katie studies my tattoo for a moment.

Quietly, she asks "Mommy, what does 'Follow Your Bliss' mean?"

With memories of William echoing softly through my mind I rise up

from Bri's chair one last time and turn to kneel before my daughter. Looking
Katie square in the eyes, I tell her "Don't worry, baby girl. I'm going to teach
you all about what that means and how important it is."

The knot of anger in my chest dissolves unexpectedly as I clutch the

envelope and reach for my daughter, for my life.

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