Conversation Starters

"I think it's really quite captivating, the idea of love at first sight. Sometimes we just know how someone is going to play a part in our lives. I've always believed in past lives, and the idea of us being able to recognize something about our past lovers, and it being a magnetic pull, is quite the interesting thought."

"So, another one of those notes?"

    "Evidently."

Wil was peering over your shoulder, eyes narrowed in suspicion as he examined the handwriting. "Well it's way too neat to be mine, so you know I'm not pulling one on you."

"I'll never know how you can tattoo lettering so well, but your handwriting is worse than a fourth graders chicken scratch." You puffed, sliding the postcard sized note into a drawer on your work station. "It's got to be a client, or the new counter boy. They're like those conversation starter cards you get at open house in college, but written by a sociopath."

"This shit's makin' me feel like Nancy Drew. What's next, packages start showing up?" Wil kicked off the floor and rolled himself in his chair back to his half of the studio, settling to rest his feet on top of his trash can lid. It was still an hour until open and no one had opened the curtains yet, you had only flicked on a couple of the neon lights that were displayed around your studio. 'Yes to All' spun bright green tendrils of light that peeled around the sides of your shadow and occasionally bounced off of epoxy flooring onto metal trash bins and picture frames.

    "If it's body parts, I'll know for sure it's the new counter boy. He talks about hunting way too much." These notes had been showing up taped to the back shop door nearly daily, always on a piece of cold-press watercolor paper. And ofcourse- addressed to you. Wil was right though, the handwriting was far too neat to be his and you suspected whoever it was, had to have some sort of design experience. Maybe not an artist, but every word was evenly spaced, every letter similarly kerned and height even across the board. Who ever it was took their sweet time to make the notes neat and made it obvious they cared deeply for the presentation.

After some mostly pointless speculation over the meaning of today's note, Wil and you unlocked the door for today's appointments and flipped on the lights. Not even five minutes from official 'open' the phone began ringing. Wil begrudgingly took one for the team as Jackson your counter boy was off today and it would only be the two of you to hold down the fort.

As you tore paper towels into a neat stack, you could hear Wil greet the other end of the line. "Wil at Markov Tattoo, how can I help you?" He sat in silence for a moment before cutting his eyes over to you.

'Great', you thought, 'it's about me'.

"Yeah I'll let her know, thank you so much for calling. I'm so sorry for your loss." He hung up and took a deep breath, his cheeks puffing as he exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. He was struggling to find the right words it seemed, and his posture went slack. "So that was Mrs. Hubbard, you had Mr. Hubbard at 12:00 today right?"

"Yeah, is everything okay? What was that sorry for your loss about?-"You asked, standing to walk to the counter. "Wait- don't fucking tell me he croaked."

Will's face scrunched into a mixture of pity and embarrassment as he gave you a bullshit smile, the same one he gives clients asking about impossible coverups when he tells them there's nothing he can do. "I'm so sorry dude, apparently they found him yesterday, it was sudden."

"Fuck man, he was one of my best clients. Not even because he tipped well, he was just a good dude." Mr. Hubbard really was one of your best clients. He was in his 70's and his skin was much more difficult to tattoo, but he always made sure to take care of you. Bringing coffee and muffins for early appointments, pizza from the local joint down the street for late ones. Recently you had been doing more American traditional military pieces. He served in the Navy, so today you were meant to do a pig and rooster on the tops of either foot. It was some old sailor's superstition he'd told you about one time. When a merchant's ship went down the only crates to float were the pigs and roosters, and the crew survived by riding them on the current until a near by ship could rescue them. Mr. Hubbard had seen men pulled to the murky depths as their life bled from holes in their bodies, just as he'd saved others from burning oil slick waters. No matter your feelings on the military industrial complex you understood he sacrificed greatly and still came out the other side of time's test with a soft heart. Being a soldier doesn't make a man good, but being a man like Mr. Hubbard did.

After sharing your condolences in the safety of just the two of you, his client arrived and you split to your own tasks. In his ever optimistic attitude Wil had suggested you paint or do some more detective work on those notes. After all, you had the whole day to yourself and the shop phone- you made good practice in not calling clients in last minute for possible appointments. A few moments of self-rumination later you finally grew the desire to inspect the notes again. Spreading them out over your work station, you took stock.

There were 12 of them so far, it had been going on for three weeks. Every Tuesday-Saturday you could guarantee you'd get to work to find a 4.5x7 inch card taped to the square center of the peeling red door. They only left them on your shop's open days, always with the blank side facing out and your name written in small serifed letters on the bottom corner. Picking one up to read it again, you traced a hand over the paper's edge. It was a clean cut, and perfectly straight. Either they were killer with an x-acto knife, or had a table cutter. Embossed on the bottom right corner of this paper was something not present on any of the others- the Arches logo. You were unsure how you missed this previously, but satisfied to be assured in your suspicions. Yes, this was high quality watercolor paper. They had probably purchased a large pad and were cutting these cards off a larger sheet. This only added to the evident care they took, as none of the pieces you currently had in your position had the rough edge of Arches cold-press. Where it looked almost like a tear- you usually trimmed this side off your sheets as well, but it struck you as further care taken to preserve the presentation of their work.
'It would be a shame to waste all of this, I won't even buy it for myself.' Thinking of just how much you've already spent at the craft supplies shop this month, you grabbed your flash tracing and set to work on transferring what will fit onto each card.

"As a child I was so entranced by the stories of Ancient Greece. Do you ever wonder if they knew they were living in the height of their own history? If they knew they were living in the times of Gods and Nymphs and cursed kings of the city-states? Are we living among our own Hellenistic heroes?"

This particular note spent days rattling around in your head, their words were always that of a dreamer. Someone obviously smart and well-versed in various cultures and philosophies. They pondered the very existence of us and our place in time and the universe. If this person revealed themselves to you, you often decided maybe they'd be a good partner for conversation on the off-chance they didn't attempt to kill or kidnap you. If strangers were just seeking to unsettle you, they had accomplished that with the first note. If they were seeking to provoke your thoughts, this was certainly the winner. On the once-blank side, a gouache amphorae framed a traditional style sacred heart.