“That’s why I got these tattoos here.” Nessa pointed to where the blue stars of the constellation Phoenix used to be tattooed. “To cover my tracks.”
“That’s intense,” Isabeau said. “How long ago was that?”
“A lifetime ago,” Nessa said, imagining the girl she used to be, the one who took any drug anyone handed her, who would never get married, let alone have children. The one who busted headlong into any and all situations like a blind girl crashing into a plate--glass window with zero regard for who got hurt.
Nowadays, she saw women writing letters online to their younger selves to dispense imaginary advice.
Dear me, she would write. Don’t drink and drive. Don’t try to grow up so fast. Don’t believe you’re invincible, because you’re not. Don’t confuse careless with cool.
Don’t go to that party.
Isabeau scooted closer and looked at Nessa’s left arm, tracing the remnants with her finger. Nessa held still, allowing her to puzzle out the faint markings, their secrets, their codes, the story of Nessa’s life in ink.
“Okay,” she said. “You have to tell me what all the tattoos were, because knowing you, there’s a story behind every one.”
Knowing you. This phrase struck Nessa because Isabeau was the first person since John who could honestly say that, at least to a limited extent. Nessa realized the fact that Isabeau had been drinking was the only reason she was emboldened enough to ask such personal questions.
“You can still see parts of them,” Nessa said. She pointed to the top of her shoulder, where the light green pigments of a flower stem were still visible. “That was a rose, my favorite flower,” she said.
“This one here,” Nessa said, pointing at the faded yellow markings below the rose, “was two cave women sitting on thrones holding stone scepters.”
“Why?” Isabeau said. “What did it mean?”
“It was the name of my favorite band in high school.”
Isabeau thought. “Hanson?” she said, and had a little giggle fit.
“How could that possibly mean Hanson?” Nessa said, laughing.
“I don’t know. I’m not the music person you are.”
“It’s Queens of the Stone Age,” she said.
Isabeau pointed to Nessa’s arm again. “This one looks like it was graffiti.”
“Right,” Nessa said. “That was under a bridge I used to live near.”
“What did it say?”
“Who knows? It was just gobbledygook, like other taggers. It was just to remind me . . .”
“Remind you of what?”
“Of how far I’ve come, and how I’m never going back.”
“Is that why you tried to have the other ones removed?”
“What do you mean?”
“Because you’re not that girl anymore.”
Wow. That was more insightful than Isabeau could ever know.
Nessa took a deep breath, then held her left arm out so that Isabeau could see the tattoos she’d kept. In purple script, Candy with two dates side by side.
“What does this mean? Who’s Candy?”
Nessa couldn’t speak as Isabeau’s gaze traveled from the tattoo to Nessa’s eyes, which were filling with tears. “Are those dates?” Isabeau said. “Like a tombstone?”
Nessa laid her head back on the couch cushion and closed her eyes. Exactly like a tombstone. If Candy could have known that Nessa would be carrying this sack full of guilt with her wherever she went, she would’ve lightly slapped Nessa, like she always had whenever Nessa was acting stupid. Somehow, Nessa hadn’t been able to stop Candy from doing it, hadn’t been able to help laughing. She’d loved and hated it.
“Oh,” Isabeau said. “She was your best friend, wasn’t she? The one you mentioned?”
“Yes,” Nessa said.
“She died seven years ago,” Isabeau said, looking at the date. “I’m so sorry.”
“Things happen to you,” Nessa said, opening her eyes and looking at Isabeau. “And there’s nothing you can do about it. You can’t go back. You can’t change it.”
Isabeau hugged her, and Nessa let her. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
Isabeau looked closely at the remnants of the script tattoo below that one. “The Glimmer Twins,” she read aloud.
“Candy and I got matching tattoos, same place, same size,” Nessa said, wiping her eyes.
“And what’s this date here?”
“My anniversary.”
“I thought you and John were only married five years ago.”
“We were. It’s my sober anniversary.” In spite of everything, Nessa was proud of this one. She’d made her way out. Stayed sober, no matter how much stress she was under.
Isabeau stared. “Hey. That’s the same date that Candy died.”
“I went cold turkey,” Nessa said, shivering in remembrance. “The absolute worst. Worse than childbirth, but you get a prize at the end of both.”
“Oh,” Isabeau said, but didn’t ask any more about it.
They sat in companionable silence for a bit, then Isabeau said, “That heroin confession was a pretty big one, so I’m going to tell you my big secret.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Nessa said, not sure she wanted to hear it. Being entrusted with other -people’s secrets carried a heavy price, one she wasn’t sure she was ready to pay.
“But that’s what friends do,” Isabeau said. “Right?”