The Foreigner

Chapter 21

I'm on my way to the tattoo parlor that I still believe is hers.

The one who meets me at the entrance is not the same person who received me the last time I was here. He's a skinny guy, kind of punk style. I approach.

-Good afternoon, -I greet him.

-How can I help you?

-Is the owner here?

-Who would like?

-Albert Whitman.

-I'll see if he's available. Just a minute. - He speaks quietly on the phone but I can hear him: -That sir is here ...

I wait for sitting. A few minutes later a young man appears, with a shaved head, muscular arms covered with tattoos. The clerk talks to him pointing at me. The strong man nods and walks over to me. I get up and shake your hand.

-How can I help you? -He asks me

-Do you own the studio?

-Yes.

-Oh ... I am an old owner's friends and I haven't seen her in a while and decided to pay her a visit. Heidi Zeigers is her name. You must have met her; you must have bought the studio from her.

-I do not know her.

-Are you sure? She's a young girl, she's Dutch ...

-No sir. I bought this studio from a man.

-From a man? It's been a long time?

-No, just a week ago.

-Okay then. Sorry to take your time.

-Smoothly.

Contrary to my expectations, I leave the studio with more questions than answers. The time since that guy bought the studio hits the moment Heidi decided to leave. But the guy didn't deal with the sale directly with her. But he would still know at least the name of who was buying it from. As I walk home, I imagine several possibilities, none of them conclusive. I get a bit of a headache. I don't know what to think anymore.

At home I make one more attempt to locate Heidi over the phone. I call her number by adding her country code. No reply. I give up. I take a headache medicine and then take a shower.

As hot water falls over my body, I almost resent the idea that Heidi was a fantasy of my head. But I can't, because I clearly remember the moments I had with her. I touched her. I felt her. It all could not have been an illusion. There must be an explanation.

It's enough for today. My head is exploding. I need sleep to put the ideas in the right place.

The first thing I do when I wake up is open the manuscript of my book. Maybe writing helps me ease this tension. I read the last chapters I wrote and review the beginning of the book. There is nothing else to modify or add. The work is already completed. How did you not realize that before?