As soon as the boy stepped through the rope, as Rick latched it back to the pole it was connected to, he realized he was in his domain now. It was the feeling of stepping into another realm, it felt a lot different on this side of the counter.

“Ok, where do you want it?” He asked. 

“Right arm.” Said the old man’s voice suddenly from the armchair behind the counter. 

The boy thought he was asleep! But knowing the old man, he was probably meditating this entire time. 

The boy looked at Rick. 

“Right arm.” The boy repeated.

“Ok.” He said seriously. “You’re going to have to take the right side of your shirt off, because if you roll your sleeve up, it might roll down while I am working, or rub away the stencil.” 

The boy nodded, removing his arm from his sleeve as Rick pulled out a razor. 

He sprayed the boy’s arm with water, then carefully shaved away the tiny hairs from his bicep. He wiped it away with a paper towel, then sprayed his bare arm with alcohol, slowly laying the stencil upon his arm. 

The boy was reminded of the peel away tattoos he got as a kid, because when he pulled the flimsy stencil paper away from his arm, there was a perfect outline of a dragon. 

“Check it out in the mirror to make sure it’s positioned correctly.”

The boy got up and looked, turning his arm side to side.

“Looks good!” He said as he turned around to face Rick. 

Rick sprayed and sanitized the tattoo chair, and motioned to the boy.

“Have a seat.” He said. 

The boy sat down, as Rick started to prepare his inks and tattoo gun.

“Once we start, we can’t stop. But knowing who your family is, and the meaning of this tattoo,” he placed his hand against his leg with a slap, “you should be fine.”

Rick sat down, his glasses on as he tested the tattoo gun, giving it a couple quick buzzes.

“I have stress balls here.” He pointed to a bowl of squishy rubber balls on the back of the counter. “Feel free at any time to request one.”

The boy sat back, relaxed, closed his eyes, and began to breathe. He heard the buzz of the tattoo gun, felt Ricks gloved hand against his arm, and felt the immediate sting of the needle as it whirred, piercing his skin with quick succession as Rick began to outline the dragon.

During the session, Rick asked the boy about himself. He told him of his work at the shop, losing his grandmother, finding his grandfather, and even recounted his night journey to him. Rick, the ever present listener, recalled his days as a soldier when he first learned how to tattoo during war, his battle with addiction, how he had lost his only son, and his journey to God and the church. 

He was a very good man, the boy thought, even though he suspected Rick took some satisfaction in the pain he inflicted.

But as the session went on, the boy found that what he had said was true. It did hurt, but somehow, it felt good. He smiled at this, finding a deep respect and understanding for the man who sat across from him, drawing his blood with a needle and ink.

It reminded him of mushrooms. It was a sort of alchemy, an exchange for the purpose of transformation.

“You wanted color right?” Rick asked as he wiped away a smudge of ink.

“Yes.”

His arm was sore, red, and raw from the numerous ink wipes caused by the dry paper towels, but it was complete. 

Rick sprayed a non alcoholic sanitizer on his arm and slowly cleared away the remaining ink. What was left was a shiny, bright red and yellow dragon breathing a breath of flame as he kicked in a karate stance.

“Hold on.” Rick said, as he held up his phone to take a picture of his work. “That’s a good one.”

He motioned for the boy to go to the mirror. He was amazed by what he saw, it was almost as if the dragon was alive, moving in static motion. He smiled, thanking Rick as he put his hands together and bowed in earnestness, a deep acknowledgment of the master tattooist that sat before him.

“We’re not done.” He said, motioning him back to the chair.

The boy sat down, and Rick took out a small container of a funny, but good smelling ointment.

“Apply this whenever it gets dry for three days, afterwards no more of this, use a non scented lotion like this.” He produced a small pocket sized tube of lotion. 

He handed both to the boy, and then applied a shiny coat of ointment onto the boy’s tattoo, before placing paper towels over the tattoo, securing it to his arm with surgical tape.

“No direct sunlight, no pools. When you take a shower, use your hand and soap to wash it, don’t scrub it.” He said sternly, holding one finger up as a warning. 

The boy nodded his head, and gazed down to admire his freshly covered tattoo. Rick gave him a big smile, which he gladly returned.

“It hurts so good.” Said the boy, and they laughed, the old man included as he stood behind the counter watching. 

The boy thanked his tattooist, and the old man gave him 5 $20 bills. He leaned in to whisper to the boy.

“Always tip your tattooist.” He told him. 

The boy went back around to where the rope was.

“Rick.” He said.

Rick the tattooist came around to where the boy stood.

“Yes?” He asked.

“This is for you.” Said the boy, giving him all 5 $20 bills.

The old man closed his eyes and smiled, he knew he was going to give him the whole hundred.

“Thank you.” Said Rick with another smile.

Before the boy walked out the door, he turned around, placed his hands together, and bowed.

Next Chapter: Alchemy