The Shark

In the meantime, Graham had tattooed the cluster on my right shoulder: the shark (because they're ruthlessly efficient, graceful and beautiful), the Greek/Celtic cross (because I'm of Greek and Irish decent — "Grish", my father says) and my father's name, Nick (who remarked, "that BETTER be me!"). When I went in for the cover up, I had no idea what Graham was thinking. He took out a red Sharpie and drew freehand over the rough, thorny vine. I loved the design even in that infant stage. Much better than anything I could've conceived of. He really honored me when he did this tattoo — made me feel like a goddess. I love the clean lines and modern graphic nature of it, yet there's something baroque about it...something about the intricacy of it makes me think that. I've wondered if he'd designed it over and over in his mind while I was procrastinating, avoiding the pain of the cover up, before he sat me down and drew it out in 3 minutes flat on my skin. I'm glad that it's the one tattoo of mine I get to see every day. Of course, he looked at me like I was a complete spaz when I went in for the color and handed him Pantone chips to match — THEN I felt the full brunt of superiority and disdain.