When Lightning Strikes (2 page)

Chapter 3

Patrick put some plastic wrap over the new tattoo and taped the end to keep it in place. I looked down at my arm. "Thanks for doing such a great job," I said. I phrased it as a goodbye, and I turned to leave. "Should I just pay the girl up front?" I asked.

He shot me a patient, easy grin that made me seem overzealous. "I'll walk up there with you," he said.

The other two guys had chimed into our conversation about music, and I told them both goodbye before we walked out. I followed Patrick down the hall toward the desk. He stopped and turned around before we reached the front. "I have a minimum of $150 but this one's so little that I'll do it for $100. Just please don't tell anyone I gave it to you for that."

"You told me about the minimum in your email," I said. "I came prepared to pay $150."

"It's all right," he said. "Just don't tell anyone I did it for you."

I smiled. I was so charmed by him it wasn't even funny. He was smart, witty, and without a doubt the most handsome creature in Texas. I fell into an instant trance staring at him.

"So it's a hundred," he said, drawing me from my thoughts. I gasped and instantly started digging in my backpack purse for my wallet.

He ran my card and I signed the receipt, adding twenty-five dollars as a tip.

"Thanks," he said, taking the receipt from me. He stashed it in a drawer. I started to say goodbye and that it was nice meeting him, but he spoke before I could. "Hey, I'm walking down to Moshi's to grab a cup of coffee before my next client comes in," he said. "You want to come with me?"

I didn't even have to think about it. I, by all means, wanted to go, but I acted like I was trying to remember if I had anything else going on.

"I could go for a cup of coffee right now," I said.

"Great, let me grab my wallet," he said.

I stood by the door when he went back to his station, and I watched as he made his way back toward me. He had on simple dark clothes, but they fit him perfectly. He was well put together, and it was a curious contrast to the rebellious look the tattoos gave him. His smile was bright against his tan skin.

"I'll be back in a half hour," he said to the front desk girl on the way out.

She looked me over with a disapproving scowl that made me drop eye contact with her. I just looked down and followed Patrick. I almost asked why the girl was being so hostile once we were outside, but I chose no to mention it.

He walked slowly so I could fall into stride next to him on the sidewalk. "So why do some of you guys think it's a sin to get a tattoo and others don't?"

I didn't expect him to start in on the God talk right away, if at all, so I felt nervous and on the spot. I said a split-second prayer that I wouldn't say something wrong.

"It's from a passage in the old testament where God's warning his people about a specific pagan tradition—one where they cut or marked themselves in a ritual for the dead. It had nothing to do with tattooing as we know it, but some Christians still choose not to get them."

"How do you decide which rules you want to follow?" he asked. "Why is it a sin for some people and not for others?"

We walked slowly, but my mind was racing. I could see the sign for the coffee shop a couple blocks ahead, and I wondered if we'd continue this conversation once we got there.

"I think it's more about how you look at sin," I said.

"Aren't there a set of rules and if you break them it's considered a sin?" he asked. "Isn't that the whole point of the ten commandments?"

I sighed, hoping I could answer without sounding uninformed. "Yeah, but it's not like that," I said. "God's not just up in heaven shaking His finger at us and making up rules just because it's fun to watch us follow them. It's more like if He knows something's going to hurt us, He wants to see us avoid those things. For our own good. It's like a dad telling his toddler not to play with a knife. God knows sin hurts us, so He warns us about it."

"So the ten commandments are more of a suggestion?" he asked.

"No," I said, feeling frustrated. "I mean, yes, if you want to look at it that way. Ultimately, we make our own choices."

"So you see God as this caring being who just wants to keep his kids from playing with knives?" he asked.

I giggled. "I guess so," I said. "That's more how I see it than Him shaking his finger at me."

We walked a few paces in silence before he said, "Why would God create evil in the first place? If He made everything, why didn't He just
not make evil
?"

I looked at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. We were just approaching the door to the coffee shop, and here he was spouting off an expert level question with the same nonchalance that he'd ask if I was having coffee or tea.

"Are you seriously asking me this question right now?" I asked.

He glanced at me and laughed at my perplexed expression. He reached out to open the door and stood back so I could walk through. I went up to the counter and ordered a cappuccino. I started to dig for my wallet, but he stopped me. He added his drink to the order and said he'd pay for both.

"You didn't have to do that," I said.

"I wanted to," he said. "Plus I got a tip just now, so I have a little extra cash."

I thanked him for the coffee and we picked a spot to sit down. The whole encounter felt very date-like. Maybe it was just the fact that I was attracted to him that made it resemble a date in my mind, but I was shaken with nervous jitters as I sat down across from him.

"You were saying…" he said.

"What?" I asked.

"You were just about to tell me why God made the knife that's gonna hurt us."

I shook my head at him, letting him know just how incredulous I thought he was. "He had to give us a choice," I said. "If He created us pure, and there was no opportunity for us to deviate from that, we'd be robots. He'd get no joy out of having us love Him back, because we'd have no other option."

Patrick Mallory stared at me from across that table. I knew he thought I was crazy for believing in God, but he was openly curious about me. It sort of seemed like he was surprised that he liked me even though I was a Christian. I hadn't meant to be so open about it, but that's just where the conversation led because of the cross-like nature of my tattoo.

"What do you have coming in next?" I asked, changing the subject.

"I'm working on a sleeve I've already started," he said. "I have the outline done. I'm just doing some shading today."

"Is there ever anything you
won't
tattoo?" I asked, probably hoping he'd say pentagrams.

"Nazi stuff, racist stuff, whatever strikes me the wrong way I guess… I have no problem refusing someone if they want something that doesn't fit into my style. I'm thankful to be at that point."

"My brother said you used to live in California," I said unintentionally changing the subject again.

"I did," he said. "I came here about six months ago."

"Why'd you pick Austin?"

"I'm an only child with a deadbeat dad. My mom died six years ago, and since then, I've been doing a lot of traveling. I was living in Santa Ana half the time and traveling the other half. I came through Austin often, and never wanted to leave, so now this is my Santa Ana. I still travel quite a bit, but Austin's my new home base."

"What do you mean by travel, exactly? You just take trips and go sight seeing or what?"

"I work while I'm traveling. That's how I pay for it. I book guest spots at studios all over the world. I take appointments and work part-time while I get to play a little too."

"That sounds fun," I said. "I've been as far east as Birmingham and as far west as Midland. I don't know what I'd give to see the world." I stared blankly at the table while imagining all the historical places I wanted to visit. "That's seriously the coolest thing ever. I can't believe you get to travel around and see the world while being creative and making people happy. If I had any artistic abilities, I'd quit my job right now and do what you're doing. That's amazing."

He nodded. "I don't take for granted how lucky I am," he said. "I've tattooed in sixteen different countries. I've tasted and seen and…
smelled
things I can't even describe."

"Try," I said, smiling.

"What?" he asked.

"Try to describe something for me," I said. "I want to live vicariously through you." I closed my eyes as if ready to imagine whatever he said.

"I once saw a monkey that smoked cigarettes," he said. "He inhaled and everything. His owner dressed him in human clothes and he sat around with us like he was just one of the guys." Patrick let out a low laugh. "Actually, that's true, but that's one of my more random memories. I'm not even sure why I told you that."

I opened my eyes, laughing at the thought of a smoking monkey.

"How about you?" he asked.

"What about me?"

"What'd you see in Birmingham?"

"Nothing nearly that interesting," I said. "My aunt Carol lived there for a few years and we went to see her twice. I saw her house and the mall, but that was about it. I've had much more interesting experiences in places that weren't Birmingham."

"Like where?"

I thought back to some of my crazy weekends during college. "New Orleans for one, but I've seen some crazy stuff right here in Austin."

He laughed. "Was the stuff crazy or were you maybe just looking through crazy eyes?"

I giggled. "I think it was mostly just my eyes," I said, giggling. "I'm amazed I'm alive or not injured from the stupid stuff I did. The trip to New Orleans was especially sketchy. I was working in a coffee shop like this, and I decided to go to New Orleans for Jazz Fest with a few of my friends who worked there too. Anyway, on our way there, Kent, this guy who was with us, opened a round tin, like the ones with Christmas candy. I think it was literally a Christmas tin. I remember a Christmas tree on the lid, and I made a note of it because it was May. Anyway there were six Oreo cookies inside when he opened it, and he told us that there was a few drops of liquid acid on each of them. We each ate one on the way to New Orleans, and the whole weekend was a complete blur after that. I know we spent the weekend in New Orleans, and I'm reasonably sure we stuck together, but I don't remember most of that weekend. I remember trying to communicate with a gas station attendant at one time, and Hannah coming in to tell me I better just leave before I got us all arrested. I don't think I was doing anything wrong, I just remember her saying that and then I got all paranoid and ended up leaving extra money on the counter just in case." I laughed a little. "I can't believe I didn't have some sort of medical repercussions. Kent ate two of those cookies, I think. Can you imagine what he must have been feeling?"

Patrick smiled as he listened to my story, but I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. "Are you still friends with those people?"

"Matt and Kent both moved since then. They were just here for college. Hannah's still here, but we were never were really that close." I shrugged. "It's not as cool as a monkey smoking a cigarette in—wait, where were you when you saw that?"

"Spain."

"Definitely not as cool as a Spanish cigarette smoking monkey."

We sat there for fifteen minutes more, talking and laughing like we'd known each other for years. He told me some more stories about his travels, and I told him some of my funny, mostly drug-induced college experiences. They weren't as interesting as his travel stories, but it was all I had, and he seemed entertained.

Patrick was a year older than me, which was young to have such a successful tattoo career, but he had a distinct style that set him apart. Two different people recognized and approached him before we left the coffee shop. One of them had something tattooed by him already and was saying how much he loved it. The other said she emailed him three days ago and still hadn't heard back. Patrick said he was busy and sometimes slow to respond, but that he would get back to her soon. She was pretty and obviously charmed by him, and I felt a wave of unnecessary jealousy. I looked out the window for the remainder of their conversation, which was short.

Chapter 4

"I'm headed this way," I said to Patrick as soon as we stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop. He assumed we'd be walking back toward the tattoo shop, so he looked surprised when I pointed in the other direction.

"Really?" he asked. "Where'd you park?"

"In the garage by the library. I couldn't find a spot on the street by the shop."

"You can park in the garage by the museum next time," he said. "We can validate for that one."

"This one's not too far," I said, with a flick of my keychain.

"You want me to walk you to your car?"

"Oh no, don’t worry about it. I'll be fine. You should probably get back to work anyway."

He cocked his head as he looked at me, and if I didn't know better, I'd say he maybe looked disappointed at the thought of saying goodbye. "So I guess I'll see you next time you get a tattoo Ms. Mia Porter the history teacher."

I smiled. "Unless you take an eighth grade American history class at Maxwell."

He stared at me. "I think I might actually wish that were an option."

I laughed and put my hand up to give him a high five. "I guess it'll be the next time I get tattooed by you, Patrick Mallory the tattooer."

He high-fived me and I gave him a big smile as I turned to head down the sidewalk. I glanced back to find that he was still standing there watching me. I wanted to go back to him and say I changed my mind about being walked to my car, but I just turned and kept on walking.

By the time I turned again, he was walking the other direction. I let my shoulders slump, feeling like I could finally breathe. I was so physically attracted to Patrick that I felt like I'd been plugged into some sort of breath-zapping machine for the last two hours.

I sat in my jeep for a minute before I decided to call my new friend Lauren. She was younger than me, twenty-three I think, and she was married to the guy, Eli, who called me the chameleon. They were two of the ones I'd met at church recently. Anyway, I decided to call her because we'd been hanging out a lot lately and she was easy to talk to.

"Hey Mia," she said, answering.

"Hey, are you working?"

"Yeah, but the doctor's with the last patient and all I have to do is straighten the waiting room. I can talk while I do that. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just that I had a crazy experience at the tattoo studio just now."

She gasped. "I forgot that was coming up," she said.

"I did too! I almost missed the appointment."

"So what happened?" she asked. "Did that guy jack it up?"

I laughed. "No. It's the opposite."

"You love it?"

"I love him."

She gasped again, and I giggled.

"Seriously? You fell in love with the guy who tattooed you?"

I let out a frustrated groan.

"What?" she asked.

"He's so perfect, Lauren. I don't know what to say, other than if I could take a pen and draw my perfect guy I would draw him."

She let out a muted girly squeal. "Are you serious right now?" she asked.

"I'm totally serious, but don't get too excited, there's a catch."

"He's married?" she asked.

"No."

"Gay?"

"No, if you'd let me talk, I'd tell you. He's an atheist."

She was quiet for a second. "That's the one where you believe there's no God, right?"

"Yes. He's smart and sweet and honest to goodness the most gorgeous guy I've ever laid eyes on, and to him I must have seemed like a big Bible thumper."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because we talked about God a ton!" I said. "I should have just kept my mouth shut and said I like crosses, but no, I had to run my mouth. Now he thinks I'm a Jesus freak."

Lauren was quiet for a second, thinking. "Maybe God wants to use you. You know, to reach him or whatever."

I laughed. "God knows I can't keep my mind on the game when He puts someone in front of me who looks like that. I would totally fail at trying to witness to this guy. Seriously, it's like high school when I'm around him. I would be a
terrible
choice for a witness. I can't even breathe when I'm around him, let alone make an intelligent argument for God. It's too much for me to handle."

"What if you witness to him and then start dating him. Then you're having your cake and eating it too."

"I wish God would just give me a gorgeous man who's already a Christian. I never said I want to witness to atheists. I'm not good at it. I didn't know what I was talking about today. I started babbling about a dad taking a knife away from his kids and stuff."

"What?" she asked, laughing.

"I don't know. I was just trying to explain about… never mind it doesn't matter. What I'm trying to say is that I stink it up at witnessing to atheists. I'm not smart enough for it. I haven't studied the Bible enough to know what I'm talking about, and he can tell when I'm bluffing. But…" I let out a long sigh. "Myyyyy bodyyyy tells me I want him. My body says I don't care if he believes in God or not as long as he's not trying to tell me what to believe."

"So you want to go out with him and ignore the whole atheist thing?"

"I mean, I guess I can't really ignore it now that I know. The worst part was that he kept looking at me like he was interested." I groaned again. "I wish we would have never brought up the subject of God."

"Well, it's gonna come up at some point, don't you think? I mean, how far can you get into a relationship without discussing it? It's not like you're gonna get married and have babies and just never talk about it."

She was right and I knew it. "You're right, but it just sucks to meet the man of my dreams and find out that he's not only
neutral
about God, but he openly denies His existence. What stinks even worse is that I really like this tattoo, and I'm not going to be able to go see him again because I'm so dang crazy about him."

"I didn't know you wanted to get another one," she said.

"It doesn’t matter because I can't go to him for it anyway. The temptation is too great."

"And you're convinced that you can't be a good example to him?"

"The thing is, I don't want to do that. I want to date him. I want to kiss him. I want to hold his hand and go to the movies with him. Witnessing is for guys in suits on bikes."

She laughed. "Those are Mormons, and there's no reason you can't witness to him and then date him afterward," she said.

I let out a defeated huff. "That's what I'm saying… I don't want to be the witness. I don't know how to witness. I want him prewitnessed-to and ready for a girlfriend. That's what I'll be… the girlfriend."

"You want me and Eli to go in there and talk to him?" she asked. She sounded sincere, which made me laugh.

"Nooooo," I said.

I could just imagine them all dressed in their Sunday best, going in there with a Bible and some tracts about why he should repent and change his ways. Witnessing to Patrick the way I imagined it, was pretty much my worst nightmare—and especially when you add the thought to doing it at Seven Stones with the other quick-witted atheists there to back him up. They'd eat Lauren and Eli alive.

"Please don't try to go talk to him," I said. "I just called because I thought it was funny that I met Mr. Right and he was an atheist. I thought you'd get a kick out of that."

"Are you going to avoid getting another tattoo, then?"

"Probably," I said.

That was the last thing I wanted to do. In fact, I wanted to drive up to that studio right then and see if his sleeve canceled so we could do another one tonight.

"I guess you'll just forget about him eventually."

"Oh, I don't really care," I lied. "I just thought it was funny."

"It is pretty funny," she said. "I wish I could see what he looked like so I know what your dream guy is. I thought you were gonna go out with Stewart."

She was talking about a guy at church that she and Eli were trying to set me up with. He was nice enough, but not the guy for me. I wasn't really trying to get set up with someone at church anyway. That thought made me feel a wave of frustration at myself. What was wrong with me that the idea of picking up a guy at a tattoo shop was a thousand times more appealing than picking up a guy at church?

"Stewart's cool," I said. "But I'm not really looking to go out with anyone right now."

"You're looking if his name's Patrick Mallory," she said.

"What? How'd you know his last name?"

"I had to look him up to see what does it for you. I'm on Instagram right now. His account says 'Patrick Mallory, tattooer at Seven Stones Tattoo in Austin. Upcoming tour fully booked. Please email with inquiries for booking in Austin later this fall.' I'm looking at his page right now. Your brother follows him."

"What's his Instagram look like," I asked. "Does he have any pictures of his face in there or is it just tattoos?"

"All tattoos from what I can see. It looks like it's his business account. I don't see any selfies or anything… oh wait… oh yeah, here's one."

"Is it him?" I asked.

She laughed. "How should I know? It's two guys. One's a big, Samoan-looking guy and the other's tall with dark hair. It's probably him because he's really handsome. Like all-American football star handsome. Wow."

"I know, but he's smart and sweet and he travels the world doing this amazing art."

We were silent for a few seconds.

"Hey, Dr. Shirar's ready to finish up here. I'll call you later."

"Okay, sounds good," I said. "Sorry for venting."

"I like it," she said. "There's nothing I like more than some good old-fashioned atheist converting."

I laughed. "I'll talk to you later."

We said goodbye and I finished the drive to my house. I took a shower before downloading the Instagram app so I could check him out. It asked me to register with an email, and rather than go through all that when I shouldn't be looking at him in the first place, I deleted the app.

I read a little and watched some TV, but no matter what I did, my mind kept going back to Patrick. I'd already said I wouldn't' get tattooed by him again, but booking a tattoo with him was about a six-week process and somewhere in the back of my mind I thought that by the time six weeks rolled around, I'd be wanting another one.

Who was I kidding? In reality, I knew I wanted to see him again and the tattoo was just a means for me do that. In fact, now that I thought about it, six weeks seemed like an eternity.

So somehow during that chain of thoughts, I went from making a point never to see Patrick Mallory again to contacting him ASAP. I laughed at myself even as I took out my phone and composed an email.

Hello Patrick, It's Mia.

I came in today for a cross on my forearm. I love it and wanted to let you know that I would like to schedule an appointment for another small piece sometime. I know you're traveling soon, so it's no big deal if you can't get me in before your trip. I just wanted to get the ball rolling while I’m thinking about it. It was nice meeting you today. Thanks again for the great work!

Mia

I pressed send and then regretted it instantly. I couldn't believe I wrote the phrase
get the ball rolling
, and I cringed thinking about it. What a dork. I went to my sent folder and cursed myself for not making a mistake when I typed in his email address. Oh well, I knew it'd be at least a week before I heard back, and by that time I'd be less embarrassed.