Tattoo Removal
I sat in the waiting room; Frank Sinatra’s “Nancy” played from the ceiling speakers. I looked around at the other people waiting. They sat and read magazines or watched a documentary on dolphins that played on a muted television. I don’t know why they play shows like that. I guess it’s supposed to give the feeling of relaxation. It didn’t work for me. I never felt relaxed. A nurse in white scrubs came in from the little waiting room office. All the people looked up from their magazines and away from the television to stare at her. She looked at a chart and called my name. I got up with a nervous feeling and followed her down the corridor to the doctor’s room. There was a funny smell in the air. It was a combination of burnt skin and potpourri. I sat down in the chair. She asked me questions about my medical history. Heart issues? Seizures? Sensitive to light?
No. No. No.
She said the doctor would be in soon. Take your shirt off and wait. I did. I looked in a mirror that hung above a sink and saw my tattoo. On my right shoulder her name was written. “MARIA” She was beautiful. Her hair was as black as an olive. Her eyes were dark as cups of Columbian coffee. And her skin was sweet and creamy as butterscotch. I remembered all the good times we had and the love we made in her bed. I remembered when she tried to teach me some salsa moves that my white-boy hips couldn’t compute. My hand brushed the ink and images of her floated into my mind like south-of-the- border bubbles. One by one they came. They landed on my brain and soaked in. They were permanently painted. As I sat in the uncomfortable chair the doctor came in and asked if I was ready for the removal. I looked at him. No, but we got to it anyway.
BIO: My name is Darren Grippando. I am an alumnus of Long Beach City College. I have recently transferred to California State University of Long Beach and only have two more semesters until I graduate with a degree in English Education. I have focused a great deal more on my poetry over the past year and feel that I have grown considerably as a poet. I would like to thank all the students of my previous creative writing classes at Long Beach City College and the professors there who have inspired me the most; Frank Gaspar, Anthony Starros, and Karen Rose. Without their support I do not know where I would be. Thank you all.
