Chapter 3 Heaven
Heaven
I let out a shaky breath and try not to laugh at the way Jake is looking at me. “Stop,” I snap.
“What?” He chuckles, leaning against the kitchen island. “I just don’t know why you’re so nervous. It’s just my mom. You love my mom. My mom loves you.”
“I do love your mom. And she might love me, but that doesn’t mean she has to love my work.”
Jake sputters out, laughing, “What? are you talking about? Tell me one person who hasn’t absolutely loved your art!”
“Uh, the list is actually kinda long. Remember Mr. Hargrove said my self-portrait was uninspired.”
“Whatever. Hargrove doesn’t know what he’s talking about. And if my mom didn’t believe in you, she wouldn’t be encouraging you like this. Trust me.”
Jake has a point. Both our parents have always supported my art, but I still didn’t know how my parents would react when I said I had no interest in being a dentist or a food scientist, that I wanted to follow in the Yeuns’ footsteps and become a tattoo artist.
Luckily no one freaked out. My parents have been super cool about it, actually.
They just want me to get my associate’s degree in accounting so I don’t get arrested for tax fraud or whatever.
Miss Kelly and Mr. Rick have offered to help me in any way they can, including letting me apprentice at their shop, Ink & Pearl, after graduation.
Still, I am terrified that sometime between now and then I am gonna absolutely blow it.
So of course, when Miss Kelly told me to come over so she could check out my portfolio from school, I accidentally showed up two hours early. Yay, anxiety.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your goodbye-make-out-party time with Bethany,” I tell Jake, and then I lie to cover my jitters. “I didn’t know she’d be over. I thought your mom said eight, not nine.”
“Nah, you’re good. There wasn’t much making out. Bethany wanted to see me, but she also wanted to watch Love Island. That’s her show.”
“What I saw seemed really important.”
“She let me rage about Lower Decks being canceled for like a month, so I try to be cool about the stuff she wants to watch,” Jake says with a shrug and this little smile that would be so disgusting if him and Bethany weren’t really cute together.
He’s got plans of his own—working on a student film project—and I don’t know how they are gonna handle being apart all summer.
No one’s ever liked me like that, even if they did like my art.
Not that I’ve been looking, but Culver City High has an available gay girl shortage, so I figure I’ll just wait another year and see if anyone at Santa Monica City College thinks I’m cute.
I’ve been to the homecoming dance and a winter and spring formal alone, and I’ll do it again.
“Well, maybe you guys can spend the summer writing each other gushy love letters. Something about the absence makes the heart grow hornier or whatever.”
“Shut up.” Jake laughs just as I see some headlights swing into the driveway.
My heart drops into my butt. Jake’s parents are back.
I’m distracted for a second by a loud thud upstairs.
A few seconds later, I hear Jake’s little sister, Esther, tromping down the stairs.
She runs through the kitchen, punching Jake in the shoulder.
“Ow! What the hell, E?”
“Oh my gosh, Jacob! Language!” she cackles back.
“You want a little sister? I’m sure my parents will pay you,” Jake says. I cringe and shake my head as I hear the front door open.
“Hi! Did you get the ice cream?” Esther practically shouts.
“Hello to you too, honey,” I hear Miss Kelly say.
“We did. And we can give it to you as soon as you move,” I hear Mr. Rick add.
There is no reason for my heart to be trapped in my throat, having migrated north from my butt.
Jake’s parents have seen my work. They’ve seen me draw.
I’ve spent hours doodling on their couch.
They’ve seen the results of my student art shows throughout the years.
Plus, they love me like their own. I should not be freaking out like this.
Still, as soon as Miss Kelly walks into the kitchen with Mr. Rick right behind her, I think I might have a heart attack.
“It’s Heaven!” Mr. Rick says as he shimmies by me.
“Hi,” I say, my voice cracking. “Here, let me help.” I grab one of the grocery bags he’s carrying, and Jake takes the rest of the bags from his mom. Esther strolls in being super helpful as she pulls the plastic seal off a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.
“Is this the culmination of a year’s worth of hard work?” Miss Kelly asks, nodding toward my portfolio and my tablet on their kitchen island.
“Yes, ma’am.” My voice only quivers a little this time.
“Let me just wash my hands and then we can head down to my office and I’ll take a look,” Miss Kelly says. “While Esther helps put away the groceries.” Esther groans but gets to work helping her dad.
A few minutes later, Miss Kelly and I are setting up in their home office.
I put my stuff down on their drafting table.
I look around at the ocean mural that Miss Kelly painted on the far wall and the boxes of Ink & Pearl T-shirts and sweatshirts stacked in the corner.
We weren’t allowed in this room when we were little.
It feels weird to be in here now for semiprofessional reasons.
“Okay.” Miss Kelly closes her eyes and then cracks her neck. “Sorry. I did a six-hour back session today and I am only getting older.”
I snort, looking at the rose tattoo showing through on her half-shaved head. “I don’t know, the tattoos make the neck crack seem more metal than old lady.”
“Thanks, Heaven. That means a lot. I am pretty metal.” She smiles, putting her tattooed hands on her hips. “Show me what you got.”
“Okay.” I take another deep breath and open my leather portfolio.
I didn’t bring everything I worked on this year, just the best stuff, including the pastels our art teacher, Ms. Bennefield, absolutely loved.
Miss Kelly doesn’t say anything at first. She just purses her lips and gently lifts through each piece before she turns back to me.
“And you’ve been sketching on your tablet?”
“Yeah,” I say. I flip my case open and unlock the screen before I hand it over. The first I show her is my attempt at the Ink & Pearl logo. Miss Kelly doesn’t say anything, but she smiles some more. She finishes up with the self-portraits I drew of myself in sad-clown makeup.
“Do we need to talk about this?” she asks, her eyebrow tilting up.
“No.” I laugh. “I’m good, I promise. Some girl posted all this sad-clown art her great-grandmother had in her house and I felt inspired.”
“Okay, good.” Miss Kelly grips her lower lip between her teeth as she looks back at my tablet, at my final drawing for the student art show—a miniature of the view from the top level of the Westfield mall parking lot, a stunning view of the 405 and the Just Tires body shop in the distance.
All that’s romantic about Culver City. Miss Kelly shakes her head and I think I might pass out. She hates all of it.
“Trying to figure out a nice way to let me down?” I try to joke.
“What? No. I was just thinking about how good it is that you can actually draw. You’d be amazed at how many tattoo artists can’t draw at all.
They just learn how to use the machinery.
Sometimes not all that well, and you just hope they don’t chew up someone’s skin.
But you? We just gotta get you through proper training and you’ll be more than fine. ”
I start to exhale, but there’s still a whole layer of anxiety bubbling under my skin. There’s a but coming. “So what should I do next?”
“I think you should definitely make sure you draw this summer. More sad clowns, if that inspires you.” She chuckles.
“I’m going to start sending you kind of like a historical record of flash sheets.
You’ll develop your own style, but you’ll need to be comfortable with the standard things people will ask for.
That’s the best way to get and keep new clients. ”
“Okay.” I swallow. Right. The flash sheets are easy.
Every shop has them, little themed samples of tattoos you can just pick off the wall instead of a custom design.
I can make those in my sleep, but the clients?
If I want to be a tattoo artist, I will have to actually tattoo people.
I’ll have to talk to them. Not something I really love doing.
I’m what some scientists would call an introvert.
I have a social battery that extends to Jake, our other friend Axel, and that’s about it.
Their girlfriends, Bethany and Valentina, get a pass because they’re really nice.
If I have to be, like, outside, talking to people, I just kind of shrink in the background and read on my phone. It works out best for everyone.
“So yeah, this summer I really want you to start working on some flash sheets and then if you’re really serious about this—”
“I am.” The last thing I want Miss Kelly or Mr. Rick or my parents to think is that this is just something I kinda sorta maybe want to do.
Becoming a tattoo artist? I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life, and even though introverting feels natural, for once it feels good to have a plan for the future that doesn’t involve me reading on my phone in the corner.
“Well, good,” Miss Kelly goes on. “I think it’s time you started getting your social media off the ground.
With a professional account. I know your personal account needs to be private, but you need to get comfortable showcasing your work for the general public.
Posting regularly, stuff like that. I mentioned a public account to your parents already and they’re okay with it. ”
“Oh.”
“I know it’s a lot.” She laughs. “People are really intense online, but you’ll learn how to focus just on the business and your brand.
When you start your apprenticeship, I want you to already feel comfortable with that aspect of the gig—posting and interacting with people who are actually interested in your work. ”
I swallow again, trying not to freak out. Interacting is the last thing I want to do. “ ‘Intense’ is putting it nicely,” I say.
“Listen, I’m not pretending I don’t get super-rude comments on my posts every day. But almost everyone I’ve tattooed this week found me on Instagram. If you just think of it as a marketing tool, it’s much easier to manage. You think you can handle that?”
“Yes,” I say, calling on the few molecules of confidence left in my body. But most of them get pulverized by the storm of anxiety rushing through my head.
“Great.” Miss Kelly’s smile should give me the boost I need, but instead I feel like I’m gearing up for a medium-grade panic attack. We talk for a few more minutes about how she’s happy to help me get set up or answer any questions, and then it’s time for me to go.
“Oh, your dad told me you’re gonna do the summer bingo again,” she says as we walk back toward the front of the house.
Now that actually calms my panic. I can’t hide my smile as I respond. “Yeah. I’m pretty excited.”
The first summer of the pandemic my parents put together a little activity bingo game for me, Jake, and Axel, that we could do at home, with prizes and everything.
Every summer since—with Axel working for his uncle and Jake working on some film or photography thing—I’ve been doing it alone.
It sounds silly, but I’m looking forward to spending the next two months doing my little nerd quests.
“Dad said he’ll have the board ready this week,” I say. “I’ll keep you posted on my progress.”
“Yeah, I want to hear all about it. I asked Esther if she wanted to do something like that and she said she was gonna spend the whole summer trying to land her three-sixty.”
“It’s important!” Esther yells from the living room.
“We’ll help you, E,” Jake says as he walks over. I nod in agreement. Getting Esther’s skate skills up will be a group effort. I hug Miss Kelly good night and high-five Jake. I’ll see them all again for our weekly trip to the skate park in a few days.
On the drive home, it’s hard not to freak out over Miss Kelly’s assignment.
I know she’s right. I need to start putting myself out there, showing my art to more people than the other kids in my art class and my parents.
I need to learn how to do more than “mm-hmm” and nod when I’m around unfamiliar people.
I need to prove to Miss Kelly I can do this. As soon as I stop being so scared.