Joy and Tiers (8 page)

I shrug and look down toward the ground before I answer, “I don’t know. For a long time, I didn’t show it to anyone. I did it just for me. Whenever I exposed my arms, I would cover it with makeup. It just got to be a habit, I guess.”

Tyler’s eyes narrow as he scrutinizes me. “If that’s not a load of horse feathers, it should be,” he announces.

“What?” I ask, shocked at the vehemence in his voice. “What does that even mean?”

“Obviously, there’s more to your tattoo than just some stars and hearts most people have done when they turn eighteen so that they can check it off their bucket list. I’m pretty new to the world of tattoos myself, but I know that represents days’ worth of work. So, you don’t put yourself through that kind of torture unless there’s a story behind it. So, if you were brave enough to endure it, why hide it?”

Once again, his instinctive level of insight into what makes me tick surprises me. Most people are content to accept the wisecracking, bubblegum chewing, fashionista character I created and don't even try to find out who I am underneath my façade. Tyler already seems to realize there is more to me than what I project. It’s more than a little terrifying.

“I’m not sure there’s an entirely logical explanation for my actions,” I respond with a self-deprecating laugh. “Are you sure you want to hear this? It could be a pretty drawn out story.”

Tyler nods as he grins. “Aren’t those the best kind?”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” I caution.

“Quit stalling, I want to hear this. It’s a work of art. So, tell me your story— you’re not ashamed of it—are you?” he asks as almost an afterthought, with a look of confusion on his face.

“Oh, Geez no!” I exclaim, my shock is evident. “At least not in the way you think. The decision to get a tattoo was totally personal for me. I didn’t care if another person ever saw it, especially, my parents, because they despise tattoos and made their feelings widely known. I started covering it so I would have one less thing to fight about.”

Tyler reaches out and traces the intricate design with his fingertip. “The level of detail in this is downright phenomenal.”

“Thanks, I agonized over the design forever before it finally came together.”

“You drew this yourself?”

I let out a chortle of laughter as I respond, “You don’t know me well enough to know how funny that is. But, I leave the serious drawings to Tara. I’m limited to stick figures and cake sketches. In this case, there was an intern in my dad’s office who specialized in Asian art. He and Tara worked on it together via email until it was just right. I thought we were going to drive each other crazy before it was all said and done.”

“It must’ve taken a while,” Tyler observes sympathetically. 

I sigh as I remember, “Yes, it did. That was a long year for lots of reasons. I worked on rebuilding my life at the same time I got the tattoo. I think I kept it covered because it felt like it was my secret map to escape what had become a life that wasn’t mine.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, waiting for me to explain.

“Well, I got a new piece of the design as an inspiration to take the next step of my journey. For example, the koi represents personal strength and overcoming adversity. So, when I faced having to press theft charges against the man I thought was going to marry me,” she explains. “Looking at the tattoo reminded me that my identity was not his and even though he made me feel helpless, I really wasn’t. The koi also represents determination, courage and desire for success so in a way this gave me the strength to apply to culinary school.”

I point to the delicate blossom that’s interwoven into my piece. As I describes it, Tyler reaches out and lightly follows my words with his fingertips. The effect is mesmerizing; the tattoo feels like a living thing on my warm skin.

“The next portion I added was the lotus flower. The Lotus is a metaphor—it represents elevating myself. The lotus is born at the bottom of a muddy pond. The plant pushed its stalk up through the mud and murky water to the surface where a beautiful blossom eventually grows. I felt like this was the process I was going through by defying everything my family wanted me to do and striking out on my own to go to culinary school. They were throwing all sorts of mud in my direction, metaphorically and otherwise. It had gotten downright nasty in the LaBianca household before I left. Sadly, things have never quite been the same.”

Ty reaches up and wipes away a tear which has gathered on my lashes.

“I’m sorry it was so rough. What happened when they found out?” he asks as he places his hands on my waist as if they had every right to be there.

“They weren’t happy, but I just kept adding with each milestone. I added the last piece after I graduated from culinary school. The waves represent movement, strength, fluidity, and life. Mine is open—symbolizing the expanding of the soul and spiritual awakening. The wind represents change because I never want to feel as stuck as I did after I found out that I was betrayed by the person that supposedly loved me. I was strong enough to branch out on my own and get a degree in culinary arts so I’ll never be that reliant on another person again.”

Tyler gently kisses my forehead. “See? I told you. Horse-feathers. Someone as smart and beautiful as you wouldn’t randomly scribble on your skin without a great story behind it.”

“I guess I never thought it would mean anything to anybody except me,” I explain.

“Well, I find it—and everything else about you compelling,” Tyler responds.

I back away and give him a saucy wink as I comment, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to distract me from this game of lawn bowling.”

Tyler grins at me as he responds, “I have absolutely no idea what you mean. Wasn’t I winning?”

Boy, she wasn’t kidding when she said she is competitive. I have competed with former Olympic athletes who aren’t as cutthroat. I briefly toyed with the idea of just letting her win the bet so she could name the stakes. However, it becomes clear about ten minutes into the game there’s going to be no “lettin’” going on here. She is beating the pants off me fair and square. She is such a good player my competitive juices are going crazy, I feel like I’m back on the football field facing down a linebacker. It’s been a long time since I’ve competed just for fun. It’s exhilarating to be playing for silly stakes like pastries. I wonder what price she would exact from me if I cheated? I think just for fun, I’m going to encourage her to make my punishment pretty harsh just to see what she might have in mind.

I’m feeling pretty pleased with my creative plan when all of a sudden she tosses one of the beanbags from the children’s game from the lawn bowling set at my head. “Earth to Tyler Joseph Colton, is anybody home? I’ve been trying to get your attention for three minutes. You were not only a million miles away; you were in another solar system,” Heather comments with a bemused grin.

It takes a second to bring my brain back into real-life focus before I can answer her, “Honestly, Gidget. I was thinking about how to lose graciously. You’re kicking my butt. I seriously thought I would have the advantage here because I played so many games with rocks and sticks and other found objects in the desert.” I walk over to give her a very politically correct high five. “I figure there were very few people on the planet that could match my skills honestly. But it looks like you might be up to the task. Just how much of this do you play again?” I ask facetiously.

“Well, my grandfather was retired and he didn’t have much else to do during the summers except entertain me and play senior citizen games. Therefore, I’m an expert at lawn bowling, croquet, and shuffleboard.”

“You deserve to be admired. You whipped my butt like whipped cream,” I concede.

“Okay, I won’t gloat,” Heather says good-naturedly. “But, I did try to warn you. I’ll go easy on you. My punishment — or reward as the case may be, is that I want you to cook me dinner for a change because I’m always making the meals for everyone else.”

“It may indeed be a punishment. You have no idea whether you may be eating Lucky Charms for dinner, or I might have a hankering for pop tarts and chili dogs all in the same meal,” I tease.

Heather wrinkles her nose at me as she says, “Well, that’s just a risk I’m going to have to take. I trust that your mama taught you better. No fan of Julia Child would raise her boy to serve pop tarts and chili dogs in the same meal. So, I’m guessing you’re just pulling my leg. But, if you’re not, I’ll just have to be adventurous. Either way it will stretch my culinary horizons.”

“When I want to be—I can be a pretty decent cook; I just tend to be lazy when I’m cooking for just myself. Pizza and microwave meals are easy when I have nobody to impress, but me. I’ve been working some pretty crazy shifts with the Sheriff’s Department so I’ve been relying on easy. Tell me, my lady, what would you like to eat?”

“Oh no, that’s where the dare comes in. You have to guess. I just have to show up with my appetite and my table manners.” Heather quips.

“Oh wow!” I exclaim. “You are brave. Perhaps I should take advantage of your bravery and see how far it goes.”

“Umm Ty— did you forget that I’ve gone to culinary school? I doubt there’s anything you can fix that would scare me. I’ve pretty much eaten it all. The good, the bad, the ugly and the totally unmentionable that I’d rather not talk about,” Heather replies with a full body shudder.

I have to laugh at her antics. As I think about it, I suspect she did have to eat some pretty nasty food at culinary school. Not all students are created equal, and someone has to eat the food of the people who didn’t do so well. Heather strikes me as the type of person who would eat everyone’s food and try to say something nice about it regardless of how terrible it was.

“What was your favorite course in culinary school?” I ask with studied nonchalance.

Heather chuckles as she responds, “Nice try Cowboy. Apparently, you don’t need fishing poles and worms to go fishing. Okay, I’ll give you a couple of hints. Although you probably could have guessed. Pastries were clearly my favorite. I also liked working with savory food on the grill. I can make a cut of flank steak do things that would make you cry.”

“It sounds like a plan to me. Let’s settle the great pasta debate first, so I know what I’m up against. Then we’ll even the score up with dinner here,” I offer. “Are you ready to go take a walk around the ranch?”

“Do we have to? I feel perfectly safe in this one spot,” Heather replies as she looks around anxiously. It’s then she spots Fannie Farmer munching on some fortified alfalfa I’ve placed in a special feeding trough outside of her barn door. For fun and whimsy, I placed a straw hat on her head to help keep the flies off. It also gives her a very cartoonish appearance and makes her look extremely non-threatening—as if she ever could look threatening.

“Aww look!” Heather exclaims. “Isn’t that the cutest thing you’ve ever seen? She looks like she just came from a Beatrice Potter book or just escaped from the 100-acre woods and is going to run into Winnie the Pooh any second. I half expect Piglet and Roo to come bounding around the corner. How do you get her to leave the hat on?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. It just fits around her ears. I suspect she finds it less annoying than the flies so she would rather just leave it there. Or, perhaps she knows she looks fetching, and she feels especially beautiful and likes to wear it.”

“Oh, I agree she does look beautiful. But how does she
know
she looks beautiful. Did the other horses tell her she looks beautiful? Are they jealous of her amazing fashion choices?” Heather asks her eyes twinkling with amusement.

“You know, I never really thought about it. But, I do know it’s way too soon after lunch to be delving into matters this philosophical. Would you like to go ask her?” I suggest.

In what I know is a huge show of bravery for her, Heather nods slowly as she lets out a deep breath. “Yes, I think I would. She doesn’t look as scary as I thought she would. In fact, she looks rather sweet. She hasn’t eaten any small children recently has she?” Heather asks with wide eyes.

I am tempted to guffaw with laughter, but I’m not sure that she’s not asking a serious question. So, I shake my head solemnly and answer, “No, not recently. She usually restricts her diet to horse feed, hay and a few treats like sugar cubes, carrots, and apples.”

“So, you’re telling me she’s not that much different from me. She’s a little oversized, and has a huge sweet tooth?”

I can’t stop myself. I glower at Heather. “No, she’s not just like you. You are not oversized. In my eyes, you are just right. But, you are correct, she does have a sweet tooth that would rival a five-year-old’s. Just keep some sugar cubes in your pocket and you’ll become fast friends.”

“I don’t know if I’m brave enough to try. Do you think she will bite me? What if I get scared? Do you think I should try? Am I thinking about it too much? What if I chicken out? Are horses like dogs? What do you think I should do?” she spews in a stream of consciousness.

“Heather, I can’t answer all of that for you. Only you know if you can find it in yourself to be brave enough to do it. I do know that Fannie is the sweetest horse I’ve ever come across. I’ll be right here, just do what you feel comfortable with,” I reply as I hold out my hand and offer to escort her over to the barn.