I continue to walk through the grass and dirt as I take in todays attraction, the Roman Forum. I spend the entire day there, walking around taking pictures of the scenery and also learning about the history of the land. I find the architecture to be absolutely mesmerizing.
I stop and get dinner in the city, my empty stomach not willing to wait until I get back to my villa. I leave the restaurant happy with a stomach full of amazing lasagna. I am about to hop back onto my bike to head home when a flashing neon light catches my eye.
Leaving my bike back against the red brick building, I walk towards the neon flashing light. I pass a black motorcycle in front of the tattoo shop as I step inside. The continuous sound of the buzzing of the tattoo gun travels through my ears as I take in the walls of artwork.
"Ciao signorina. Are you here to get a tattoo?"
I turn towards the voice and am met with a handsome dark haired Italian man standing behind a counter.
"Potentially. Just not sure of what exactly." I respond to him with a smile. I took this trip as a tribute to not just my mom, but both of my parents. I wanted to try and feel closer to them by visiting where they first met. Why not celebrate with a memorial tattoo?
"Do you have an idea of what you would like? Script, portrait, animal?" The handsome Italian man speaks again.
I am continuing to walk through the shop, focusing on the pictures of the work of the artists. I see a picture of a black and white sleeve on the wall. As soon as I see part of the sleeve, focusing on one part of it, I know exactly what I want.
I tell the handsome dark haired man what I would like and he leaves for a few minutes to draw it up. I continue to look around the shop and see one of the other artists working on someone across the shop. I hear the buzz of his machine and can tell from my view that the client already has several tattoos, but I cannot get a good enough view to know what any of his tattoos, new or old, are of.
The tattoo artist comes back and guides me to his station. I lift up my shirt and allow him to place the stencil on my ribs. The initial shock of the needle piercing into my skin almost causes me to jump, but I manage to sit still, knowing I don't want to accidentally ruin the tattoo before it even begins.
Three hours later and the area is definitely starting to get sore. The needle continuously goes over the same area as he finishes filling and shading. He stops every so often to wipe away the blood from the area. I focus on the blood stained paper towel to try and take my attention from the pain.
Finally, he announces he is finished. I stand and walk towards the mirror, excited yet nervous to see the final piece. I immediately notice how the black ink stands out against my pale skin. On my ribs in black ink is written In Omnia Paratus, with a black umbrella next to the cursive script. I immediately fall in love with the tattoo. It's perfect. The lines and shading are impeccable.
This tattoo is a memorial to my mother. Our favorite show to watch together was Gilmore Girls. In a lot of ways, my mother and I were like Lorelai and Rory. Us two always together no matter what, always there for each other. We adopted this saying, Latin for "ready for anything", after my moms diagnosis. Because no matter what, as long as we had each other, we were ready for anything. It just seemed perfect to get this in the city that meant so much to her.
Once he finishes applying the clear covering, I am following the tattoo artist to the counter to pay him when a deep voice invades my ears, causing goosebumps to trail over my arms and shivers to run down my spine. The husky voice is speaking Italian, so I am unable to determine what he is saying. It isn't until I turn the corner to reach the counter that I come face to face with the source of the deep, masculine voice. I nearly trip over myself as I take him in.
