Post by Caleb Houston on Oct 12, 2016 20:39:25 GMT -6
(OOC. So this is a repost from an old fed. What I started doing here was beginning to tell the backstory of Caleb. I am going to pick this story up from here, but I wanted to post this one now so that way when I write my first RP here people aren't confused as to whats going on. Hopefully you'll enjoy the story I'm planning on telling.)
================
Ink Time
12:30 pm
March 7th 2016
Philadelphia, Pa
================
What do wrestlers do on their day off? Most of them usually just lay around, and relax. Sign some autographs. I don’t know don’t ask me I’m not them. I do everything ass backwards. Today I had plans. Today I was getting some work done. No rest for the wicked. Right? Fuck you. I’m always right.
I made my way down a fairly busy section of South Street in Philadelphia, my hometown. For the past few weeks I had spent so much time away from it I was beginning to forget everything I loved about it. My black sneakers scraped against the cracked concrete, I don’t really pick up my feet when I walk, that requires way too much effort plus I think it would look awkward if I tried to change my walking style after all of these years. A pair of black Nikes moved back and forth with each step. An oversized white long sleeve t-shirt flowed loosely in the wind. I held a cigarette between my lips taking one last large drag before discarding it onto the street. Exhaling the smoke I stopped in front of a small brick building with “Aggression” in large black block letters on the glass door. I pushed my way into the tattoo shop, and announced myself with pride.
“Daddys home, bitches..” I said with an ear to ear smile on my face looking across the shop at my artist Adam. He was sitting down at his station working on a new drawing. He nodded his head as he tossed the pad, and colored pencil down onto the chair in front of him.
“Always a pleasure Caleb..” He told me as he stood up and approached me extending his right hand for a shake. I shook his hand, and then leaned back against the glass counter behind me crossing my arms in front of my chest.
“Slow day?” I asked him looking around the deserted shop. There were no clients to be seen and none of the other artists had even shown up yet.
“Nah, I just unlocked the doors like two minutes ago.” He told me as he directed his attention to the clock. “Rest of the guys will be here in a little.” He assured me.
“Word man… you know I was just fuckin with you anyway.” I told him. Being serious really wasn’t in my plans, ever.
“Anyway, so what are we doing today?” Adam asked me with a questioning look on his face.
“Well, I figured you would load up your machine with some ink, and do some coloring on me. I mean, isn’t that what we normally do?” I asked him. Again, being serious not on the agenda for today.
“Thanks asshole.” He said to me as he shook his head and made his way back over to his work station. “Do you have any specific pieces you want to work on today? Or am I just going to end up drawing random lines all over you?” He asked.
“Nah, I need you to touchup my forearm a bit. This shit just isn’t fuckin healing right.” I told him as I approached his work station. Taking a seat in the chair directly across from him.
“What do you mean isn’t healing right? Have you been taking care of it?” He asked me. I shot him a look when he asked me if I was taking care of it. Of course I was asshole. This isn’t my first rodeo. “Let me see it.” He told me.
“Alright. Fair warning it’s jacked.” I told him as I pulled the white shirt up over my head. Extending my right arm to him. “There’s just certain spots where the ink didn’t want to stay in.” He grabbed me by the wrist, and began inspecting his handy work.
“God damn…” He said as he began twisting my wrist in directions it shouldn’t really be going. I pulled my wrist out of his grip, and just shrugged my shoulders.
“I did everything normal. I think it’s from all the scar tissue.” I told him. I wasn’t the tattoo artist I didn’t know why the ink didn’t stay.
“That could be it. Your arm is pretty fucked up. We can go over it again, but no guarantees. Sometimes you just can’t fix this shit.“ He told me. “Whatever” He told me as he began wiping down his work area and getting situated to start work. I paced around the tattoo shop, and struck up some small conversation with the other artists as they made their way in. How’s the wife? How’s the kids? Type of shit. Lord knows I’ve been in here enough I should at least be friendly.
“Ready?” Adam called out to me. I slowly made my way over to him, and closed my eyes as my ears were graced with the calming buzzing from the tattoo machine. I took a seat in the chair across for him and wrested my arm on the table. With his pinky finger he rubbed a bit of petroleum jelly on my forearm before he began tattooing. “Here goes.” As he began laying in the first bit of the line work I couldn’t help but smile. Tattoos hurt, sure, but they weren’t excruciating. When you have an addiction you actually welcome this feeling.
“So you think you can do it right this time, and keep the damn ink under my skin.” As I made his comment Adam applied a bit more pressure to the area he was tattooing. Kind of a warning. Don’t fuck with me asshole. I laughed a bit as I relaxed back in the chair, and let him go to work. After about an hour of tattooing, wiping, and more tattooing I took a peak down at my forearm. He was about a quarter of the way finished with that he was going to be working on today. “Lookin good… as always” I told him.
“Thanks, brotha” He told me nodding his head up and down. “So where the hell did you get all these scars at? Wrestling?” He asked me. I hated this question. I never really talked about it. I think there was only one person who actually knew where these came from. I wasn’t proud of it, but I guess there was no sense in really running from it.
“They’re cigarette burns.” I told him. He looked up at me with a puzzling look. Wondering why on the earth I would purposely burn myself with cigarettes. Here goes nothing. “My dad was into that tough love..” I told him as I closed my eyes. I swear I could still feel the pain the cigarette cherry caused as it was pushed out on my skin. As I began unloading the story on Adam I was taken back to a portion of my childhood I had tried to forget.
================
Flashback
1994
Philadelphia, Pa
================
There I was 5 years old. Young, and innocent. My hair was shaggy and a mess. My once white t-shirt was dingy, and covered with stains. The jeans I wore had holes in each of the knees, and the back pocket was hanging on by just a few threads. I slowly shuffled through the apartment trying not to make a noise. If there was one thing my dad hated it was getting interrupted during one of his football games. Our apartment wasn’t much, but to me it was home. It smelled of stale cigarettes my father had a pack and a half a day habit. The tables were littered with dirty plates, and old pizza boxes.
I lifted up the lid on one of the boxes taking a peek inside. Luckily there was a piece of crust left over from one of the pervious meals. I flicked a large cockroach off of the crust before I picked it up and began chowing down. The roaches at first were a problem, but after seeing so many of them they didn’t bother me any longer. After all I was young. 5 years old actually. Bugs were cool.
“God damn it!” I jumped as I heard my dad scream at the television. The Eagles weren’t doing well today. When the Eagles played bad it put my dad in a very foul mood. He had a gambling addiction, but always bet with his heart and took his hometown team.
“Yikes..” I said to myself as my eyes widened when I noticed the score. Yeah, I was going to be hungry for a few days. I sat down on the window sill and brought my knees up to my chest. I looked out the window at the street below me. There was always something going on outside. Unfortunately, I was never able to be part of it. Go to school, don’t talk to anyone, and come home. Those were my rules. Friends? Not right now. They’re going to show up later.
“Good afternoon ..” I said under my breath to the street below me. Cars passing by. People standing on the back. One man in a large black coat kept reaching into his pocket and shaking hands with everyone who walked by. Who was he? How did he know everyone?
“Who the fuck are you talking to, kid?!” My dad yelled over at me. Startled; I jumped. Was I really talking to myself? Ooops. Sorry dad. “Jesus Christ … there’s something wrong with you.” He said to me. HAH! If only he knew that he was the epicenter of all my problems.
“I’m sorry” I said back to him dejected. The traffic lights at the corner flicked Green. Yellow. Red. Green. I was lost into why all of this was happening. What did green mean? How about the red one? I always liked the color red. I had never been in a car before. These things were all so distant to me back in this time. I wanted to learn everything. How could I possibly understand a car when I couldn’t even read a book?
I just zoned out staring at the big world outside. There had to be something more than what I saw out of my project windows. Do you think I could be something someday? Maybe, I’d get to be that guy standing on the corner. The guy who knows everyone. I was broken out of my daydream from a large brown roach crawling on the glass. I put my index finger on the glass in front of him causing him to shift his direction and head down the window. As he made it down to the wood I was sitting on I removed my left shoe and smashed it down on top of him. Crushing him. I smiled as I l turned my shoe around. I was so caught up in my handy work that I didn’t notice I had broken the glass in the window.
“What the fuck was that?!” I heard my dad scream followed by the creaking of his leg rest snapping back into place on his chair. Immediately I felt a burning in the pit of my stomach, that sinking feeling, as I looked down at the splintered glass in the window. This wasn’t going to end up well for me.
“Nothing….” I said as I quickly jumped off of the window sill and tried sprinting toward my bedroom. Maybe I could lock myself in there long enough for my dad to get drunk enough to forget what happened. He grabbed me by the back of my hair and whipped my backwards fast. I flew back into the brick wall hard. A blinding white light in my eyes as my head connected with the brick wall.
“What did you do?!” My dad screamed at me as he grabbed me by the back of the neck. “Do you know how much this is going to cost to fix?!” He yelled as he shoved my face toward the broken glass like I was a dog who took a piss on the carpet. “Who’s going to fix this you little shit? Sure as hell isn’t going to be you. You’re not the one who works ten hours a day. I am.” Thanks dick. I was well aware of how long you worked. Remember I only went to school, and then came directly back here.
“I-I’m sorry daddy…” I said through a whimper as my dad let go of the back of my neck. A tear rolled down my face as I looked up at my dad. His hair was dark and long. His face was unshaven. He was young. From what I heard about her my mom was only 15 when she had me. My dad 16. He wasn’t much of a father figure, but he never had one in his life. But that’s a different story. For a whole other day.
“You’re going to have to be punished for this.” My dad said as he grabbed me tightly by the wrist. I could feel him squeezing as hard as he could. I hopped back and forth from each foot yelling hoping this would make him let go. It didn’t work. His grip was getting tighter, and tighter.
“You’re hurting me!” I called out to him. My voice squeaking as I did so. With his free hand my dad reached up and took the cigarette from his lip. He exhaled a large puff a smoke with a smile on his face as he looked down at me. He spun the cigarette around in his fingertips and slowly brought it down close to my arm. “Please, daddy, don’t! I’m sorry.” I screamed through a face full of tears.
I stomped around wildly as I felt my dad press the cherry into my skin. “Don’t like that, huh?” He asked me. I shook my head sniffling as I looked down at my arm and the large black mark on my forearm bleeding. I could never forget that smell. Burnt flesh. I would feel this a few more times before I was able to get away for good.
================
Back To Reality..
5:15 pm
March 7th 2016
Philadelphia, Pa
================
I had got so wrapped up in telling my story that I didn’t realize exactly how long I had talked for. It seemed like fifteen minutes, but I actually had gone on for hours. Giving Adam insight into my life I had told very few people before. He sat there staring at me. Lost in shock.
“Damn dude…. That’s crazy. Where the hell was your mom through all of this?” He asked me as he rolled his chair setting his machine down onto the table. He inspected my arm closely waiting for my answer. I could feel my heart beating inside my chest. I hated talking about this, but he and I had a bond. I felt like at this point I could trust him.
“Shit, I wish I knew.” I told him as I lifted my arm off the table, and took a look at the freshly inked arm. “She split not too long after I was born. I never really met her before. I just know her through stories from what my dad used to tell me.”
“Yeah?” He asked me as he sprayed down my arm and began wiping it down. After hours of needles hammering into my skin the cool liquid was welcomed. Tattoos aren’t exactly painful, but they don’t always feel good when it’s the same area pass after pass.
“Yeah, man… but I guess you can already tell what those stories of her were like.” I told him as I stood up from the chair. He draped the shrink wrap around my arm and taped it off. I twisted my arm around a few times to loosen up the wrap. I pulled the shirt back over my head.
“Tell me about it, bro. I mean I don’t know anything about the situation you came up in, but trust me I know what it’s like to be stuck in the middle of a rocky relationship with your parents.” He said nodding his head. Is this where he dropped some knowledge on me? “I had both my parents around, but they never got along. Always took it out on me.”
I nodded my head. I couldn’t really relate to him on that at all. That story is going to come at a later date. “That’s gotta suck. I mean at least I was able to make my own decisions on my father. I didn’t always have someone in my ear telling me what I should or shouldn’t think about them.” I told him.
“Yeah, sometimes I honestly wish that I could’ve done the same thing. Things just didn’t work out that way for me.” He just shrugged his shoulders as he told me his part of the story. Neither of us really had the perfect life growing up. He was a business owner, and I was a professional wrestler. I guess our fucked up lives brought us to where we are today. “Fuck it. Eventually I just got sick of it. That’s when I found out I could draw. Channeled the bullshit they constantly put me through into that, and it brought me here. Neither of them were really accepting of tattoos. Kind of my way of saying ‘fuck you’ ya know?”
I nodded my head. “Yeah man… I get that. If it wouldn’t have been for the anger I kept inside from my father for so long I probably never would’ve become a wrestler.” I said. The two of us slowly made our way over to the door to the shop. “Sometimes I wish I could find them though. Just so I could show them that I made it. Without them.” I told him. If there’s one thing about me it’s that I like to prove everyone wrong. When someone tells me I can’t do something I going to go give it my all just to prove a point. I guess that’s why I’ve been able to be so successful in a world full of giants.
“I guess in a way were the same person. You spend a few hours making people ugly, and I spend a few hours to make people look pretty. All just to prove a point.” I never really looked at it like that, but Adam was right. Everyone’s out there telling their own story. Each and every story has a purpose.
Let’s just hope mine ends with a good purpose.
================
Ink Time
12:30 pm
March 7th 2016
Philadelphia, Pa
================
What do wrestlers do on their day off? Most of them usually just lay around, and relax. Sign some autographs. I don’t know don’t ask me I’m not them. I do everything ass backwards. Today I had plans. Today I was getting some work done. No rest for the wicked. Right? Fuck you. I’m always right.
I made my way down a fairly busy section of South Street in Philadelphia, my hometown. For the past few weeks I had spent so much time away from it I was beginning to forget everything I loved about it. My black sneakers scraped against the cracked concrete, I don’t really pick up my feet when I walk, that requires way too much effort plus I think it would look awkward if I tried to change my walking style after all of these years. A pair of black Nikes moved back and forth with each step. An oversized white long sleeve t-shirt flowed loosely in the wind. I held a cigarette between my lips taking one last large drag before discarding it onto the street. Exhaling the smoke I stopped in front of a small brick building with “Aggression” in large black block letters on the glass door. I pushed my way into the tattoo shop, and announced myself with pride.
“Daddys home, bitches..” I said with an ear to ear smile on my face looking across the shop at my artist Adam. He was sitting down at his station working on a new drawing. He nodded his head as he tossed the pad, and colored pencil down onto the chair in front of him.
“Always a pleasure Caleb..” He told me as he stood up and approached me extending his right hand for a shake. I shook his hand, and then leaned back against the glass counter behind me crossing my arms in front of my chest.
“Slow day?” I asked him looking around the deserted shop. There were no clients to be seen and none of the other artists had even shown up yet.
“Nah, I just unlocked the doors like two minutes ago.” He told me as he directed his attention to the clock. “Rest of the guys will be here in a little.” He assured me.
“Word man… you know I was just fuckin with you anyway.” I told him. Being serious really wasn’t in my plans, ever.
“Anyway, so what are we doing today?” Adam asked me with a questioning look on his face.
“Well, I figured you would load up your machine with some ink, and do some coloring on me. I mean, isn’t that what we normally do?” I asked him. Again, being serious not on the agenda for today.
“Thanks asshole.” He said to me as he shook his head and made his way back over to his work station. “Do you have any specific pieces you want to work on today? Or am I just going to end up drawing random lines all over you?” He asked.
“Nah, I need you to touchup my forearm a bit. This shit just isn’t fuckin healing right.” I told him as I approached his work station. Taking a seat in the chair directly across from him.
“What do you mean isn’t healing right? Have you been taking care of it?” He asked me. I shot him a look when he asked me if I was taking care of it. Of course I was asshole. This isn’t my first rodeo. “Let me see it.” He told me.
“Alright. Fair warning it’s jacked.” I told him as I pulled the white shirt up over my head. Extending my right arm to him. “There’s just certain spots where the ink didn’t want to stay in.” He grabbed me by the wrist, and began inspecting his handy work.
“God damn…” He said as he began twisting my wrist in directions it shouldn’t really be going. I pulled my wrist out of his grip, and just shrugged my shoulders.
“I did everything normal. I think it’s from all the scar tissue.” I told him. I wasn’t the tattoo artist I didn’t know why the ink didn’t stay.
“That could be it. Your arm is pretty fucked up. We can go over it again, but no guarantees. Sometimes you just can’t fix this shit.“ He told me. “Whatever” He told me as he began wiping down his work area and getting situated to start work. I paced around the tattoo shop, and struck up some small conversation with the other artists as they made their way in. How’s the wife? How’s the kids? Type of shit. Lord knows I’ve been in here enough I should at least be friendly.
“Ready?” Adam called out to me. I slowly made my way over to him, and closed my eyes as my ears were graced with the calming buzzing from the tattoo machine. I took a seat in the chair across for him and wrested my arm on the table. With his pinky finger he rubbed a bit of petroleum jelly on my forearm before he began tattooing. “Here goes.” As he began laying in the first bit of the line work I couldn’t help but smile. Tattoos hurt, sure, but they weren’t excruciating. When you have an addiction you actually welcome this feeling.
“So you think you can do it right this time, and keep the damn ink under my skin.” As I made his comment Adam applied a bit more pressure to the area he was tattooing. Kind of a warning. Don’t fuck with me asshole. I laughed a bit as I relaxed back in the chair, and let him go to work. After about an hour of tattooing, wiping, and more tattooing I took a peak down at my forearm. He was about a quarter of the way finished with that he was going to be working on today. “Lookin good… as always” I told him.
“Thanks, brotha” He told me nodding his head up and down. “So where the hell did you get all these scars at? Wrestling?” He asked me. I hated this question. I never really talked about it. I think there was only one person who actually knew where these came from. I wasn’t proud of it, but I guess there was no sense in really running from it.
“They’re cigarette burns.” I told him. He looked up at me with a puzzling look. Wondering why on the earth I would purposely burn myself with cigarettes. Here goes nothing. “My dad was into that tough love..” I told him as I closed my eyes. I swear I could still feel the pain the cigarette cherry caused as it was pushed out on my skin. As I began unloading the story on Adam I was taken back to a portion of my childhood I had tried to forget.
================
Flashback
1994
Philadelphia, Pa
================
There I was 5 years old. Young, and innocent. My hair was shaggy and a mess. My once white t-shirt was dingy, and covered with stains. The jeans I wore had holes in each of the knees, and the back pocket was hanging on by just a few threads. I slowly shuffled through the apartment trying not to make a noise. If there was one thing my dad hated it was getting interrupted during one of his football games. Our apartment wasn’t much, but to me it was home. It smelled of stale cigarettes my father had a pack and a half a day habit. The tables were littered with dirty plates, and old pizza boxes.
I lifted up the lid on one of the boxes taking a peek inside. Luckily there was a piece of crust left over from one of the pervious meals. I flicked a large cockroach off of the crust before I picked it up and began chowing down. The roaches at first were a problem, but after seeing so many of them they didn’t bother me any longer. After all I was young. 5 years old actually. Bugs were cool.
“God damn it!” I jumped as I heard my dad scream at the television. The Eagles weren’t doing well today. When the Eagles played bad it put my dad in a very foul mood. He had a gambling addiction, but always bet with his heart and took his hometown team.
“Yikes..” I said to myself as my eyes widened when I noticed the score. Yeah, I was going to be hungry for a few days. I sat down on the window sill and brought my knees up to my chest. I looked out the window at the street below me. There was always something going on outside. Unfortunately, I was never able to be part of it. Go to school, don’t talk to anyone, and come home. Those were my rules. Friends? Not right now. They’re going to show up later.
“Good afternoon ..” I said under my breath to the street below me. Cars passing by. People standing on the back. One man in a large black coat kept reaching into his pocket and shaking hands with everyone who walked by. Who was he? How did he know everyone?
“Who the fuck are you talking to, kid?!” My dad yelled over at me. Startled; I jumped. Was I really talking to myself? Ooops. Sorry dad. “Jesus Christ … there’s something wrong with you.” He said to me. HAH! If only he knew that he was the epicenter of all my problems.
“I’m sorry” I said back to him dejected. The traffic lights at the corner flicked Green. Yellow. Red. Green. I was lost into why all of this was happening. What did green mean? How about the red one? I always liked the color red. I had never been in a car before. These things were all so distant to me back in this time. I wanted to learn everything. How could I possibly understand a car when I couldn’t even read a book?
I just zoned out staring at the big world outside. There had to be something more than what I saw out of my project windows. Do you think I could be something someday? Maybe, I’d get to be that guy standing on the corner. The guy who knows everyone. I was broken out of my daydream from a large brown roach crawling on the glass. I put my index finger on the glass in front of him causing him to shift his direction and head down the window. As he made it down to the wood I was sitting on I removed my left shoe and smashed it down on top of him. Crushing him. I smiled as I l turned my shoe around. I was so caught up in my handy work that I didn’t notice I had broken the glass in the window.
“What the fuck was that?!” I heard my dad scream followed by the creaking of his leg rest snapping back into place on his chair. Immediately I felt a burning in the pit of my stomach, that sinking feeling, as I looked down at the splintered glass in the window. This wasn’t going to end up well for me.
“Nothing….” I said as I quickly jumped off of the window sill and tried sprinting toward my bedroom. Maybe I could lock myself in there long enough for my dad to get drunk enough to forget what happened. He grabbed me by the back of my hair and whipped my backwards fast. I flew back into the brick wall hard. A blinding white light in my eyes as my head connected with the brick wall.
“What did you do?!” My dad screamed at me as he grabbed me by the back of the neck. “Do you know how much this is going to cost to fix?!” He yelled as he shoved my face toward the broken glass like I was a dog who took a piss on the carpet. “Who’s going to fix this you little shit? Sure as hell isn’t going to be you. You’re not the one who works ten hours a day. I am.” Thanks dick. I was well aware of how long you worked. Remember I only went to school, and then came directly back here.
“I-I’m sorry daddy…” I said through a whimper as my dad let go of the back of my neck. A tear rolled down my face as I looked up at my dad. His hair was dark and long. His face was unshaven. He was young. From what I heard about her my mom was only 15 when she had me. My dad 16. He wasn’t much of a father figure, but he never had one in his life. But that’s a different story. For a whole other day.
“You’re going to have to be punished for this.” My dad said as he grabbed me tightly by the wrist. I could feel him squeezing as hard as he could. I hopped back and forth from each foot yelling hoping this would make him let go. It didn’t work. His grip was getting tighter, and tighter.
“You’re hurting me!” I called out to him. My voice squeaking as I did so. With his free hand my dad reached up and took the cigarette from his lip. He exhaled a large puff a smoke with a smile on his face as he looked down at me. He spun the cigarette around in his fingertips and slowly brought it down close to my arm. “Please, daddy, don’t! I’m sorry.” I screamed through a face full of tears.
I stomped around wildly as I felt my dad press the cherry into my skin. “Don’t like that, huh?” He asked me. I shook my head sniffling as I looked down at my arm and the large black mark on my forearm bleeding. I could never forget that smell. Burnt flesh. I would feel this a few more times before I was able to get away for good.
================
Back To Reality..
5:15 pm
March 7th 2016
Philadelphia, Pa
================
I had got so wrapped up in telling my story that I didn’t realize exactly how long I had talked for. It seemed like fifteen minutes, but I actually had gone on for hours. Giving Adam insight into my life I had told very few people before. He sat there staring at me. Lost in shock.
“Damn dude…. That’s crazy. Where the hell was your mom through all of this?” He asked me as he rolled his chair setting his machine down onto the table. He inspected my arm closely waiting for my answer. I could feel my heart beating inside my chest. I hated talking about this, but he and I had a bond. I felt like at this point I could trust him.
“Shit, I wish I knew.” I told him as I lifted my arm off the table, and took a look at the freshly inked arm. “She split not too long after I was born. I never really met her before. I just know her through stories from what my dad used to tell me.”
“Yeah?” He asked me as he sprayed down my arm and began wiping it down. After hours of needles hammering into my skin the cool liquid was welcomed. Tattoos aren’t exactly painful, but they don’t always feel good when it’s the same area pass after pass.
“Yeah, man… but I guess you can already tell what those stories of her were like.” I told him as I stood up from the chair. He draped the shrink wrap around my arm and taped it off. I twisted my arm around a few times to loosen up the wrap. I pulled the shirt back over my head.
“Tell me about it, bro. I mean I don’t know anything about the situation you came up in, but trust me I know what it’s like to be stuck in the middle of a rocky relationship with your parents.” He said nodding his head. Is this where he dropped some knowledge on me? “I had both my parents around, but they never got along. Always took it out on me.”
I nodded my head. I couldn’t really relate to him on that at all. That story is going to come at a later date. “That’s gotta suck. I mean at least I was able to make my own decisions on my father. I didn’t always have someone in my ear telling me what I should or shouldn’t think about them.” I told him.
“Yeah, sometimes I honestly wish that I could’ve done the same thing. Things just didn’t work out that way for me.” He just shrugged his shoulders as he told me his part of the story. Neither of us really had the perfect life growing up. He was a business owner, and I was a professional wrestler. I guess our fucked up lives brought us to where we are today. “Fuck it. Eventually I just got sick of it. That’s when I found out I could draw. Channeled the bullshit they constantly put me through into that, and it brought me here. Neither of them were really accepting of tattoos. Kind of my way of saying ‘fuck you’ ya know?”
I nodded my head. “Yeah man… I get that. If it wouldn’t have been for the anger I kept inside from my father for so long I probably never would’ve become a wrestler.” I said. The two of us slowly made our way over to the door to the shop. “Sometimes I wish I could find them though. Just so I could show them that I made it. Without them.” I told him. If there’s one thing about me it’s that I like to prove everyone wrong. When someone tells me I can’t do something I going to go give it my all just to prove a point. I guess that’s why I’ve been able to be so successful in a world full of giants.
“I guess in a way were the same person. You spend a few hours making people ugly, and I spend a few hours to make people look pretty. All just to prove a point.” I never really looked at it like that, but Adam was right. Everyone’s out there telling their own story. Each and every story has a purpose.
Let’s just hope mine ends with a good purpose.