Putting the Art on Display

I twirled my spoon around my coffee to mix in the milk. The aroma calmed my nerves while sitting across my father, but he seemed perfectly comfortable as he checked his mail and sipped his coke.

“Thanks for driving up here to see me, dad.”

“Anything, sugar.” He said as he sucked his coke dry. He made eye contact with our waitress within moments and pretended to write down something on his hand, signaling that we were ready to order.

Here we go.

He started right away, “Alright, for me just some pancakes and three scrambled eggs. And a refill of the coke, please. Super thirsty, just got out of spin.”

I watched the waitress’ eyes explore under our table for my dad’s spin instructor outfit, of matching skintight leggings and a Nike muscle shirt.

Ah, there it is. The flirtatious ordering that I always get to see. Great start, dad!

“I’ll just have a spinach omelet, thanks.” I pretended to check my email then, too, after deliberately eyeing the waitress all the way down.

Couldn’t have ordered without making a show for the wait staff, huh?

We chatted in our normal fashion, first about classes and then politics, then we touched briefly on family and moved on before we hit on anything too heavy. I didn't feel like talking about his new fiancee though, since he was onto number 3, so we moved on from the family talk quicker than our normal routine.

Yeah right, I'll come over to meet her. Right after pigs fly, does that work?

Before he began ranting about insurance, though, as he always did after "family time", I told him I had something to share. I forgot about the wedding and my remembered my mission.

He’s going to tell mom. She’s going to kill me when she finds out. After that, she’s going to have a heart attack, and I’ll have killed her.

He’s going to tell me I can’t be buried in a Jewish cemetery with the rest of our family. Where will they put my body? In a lonesome grave, unmarked with other troubled souls?

He’s going to say it’s trashy, or that I got it in a tasteless part of my body. A slut, a whore, whatever he thinks, he’ll show it on his face what he thinks of me. He wanted a classy daughter, not this crude stranger whose ribs are coated in ink.

He’s going to say that I’m a liar, a disappointment and a train wreck, a failed excuse for a successful daughter making her way on the right track.

I am so sorry that this is what I have to give you.

I opened with a causal explanation about my hopelessness throughout the past few years. He was chewing on his straw while he made a tower out of the tiny butters the diner offered for breakfast.

“No, you’re doin’ great pumpkin. Seriously, your grades are kick ass right now.” He dug into his pancakes, drenching them with syrup.

Okay, so we’re not quite there yet.

I dug deeper, saying how a main challenge I’d found with my eating disorder was staying consistent to my commitments.

Let’s hope he gets the fucking hint.

“Yeah, that's really great, baby. I’m proud of how much progress you’ve made since you’ve started working with that new woman. What’s her name, Julie?”

“No, dad. Well, yes, her name is Julie and she is great. I meant to tell you that I committed to something that will last through any other bullshit I face.” He fiddled with the wrapper of his straw, ripping them into tiny pieces as I spoke.

Can you please pay attention to me, for one minute?

I wasn’t getting anywhere with the introductions. I lifted up the left side of my crewneck, exposing my sports bra and what lay underneath it. Sitting in the booth and leaning my body all the way to my right, I made sure he gazed over every line of ink, taking in all of the pain I had to endure.

Here I am, dad. Here it is. Go on, tell me you hate it. Tell me I’m a whore, a tease, a floozie, how I’ll never make anything of myself and how I’ll regret these lines until the day I die. Go on, do it- make me regret my decision before you’ve even understood why I made it.

His face lit up in surprise, unexpected to see his youngest daughter with a tattoo under her left breast. Any father would be, especially when she shows him over brunch. “What's it mean?” He seemed genuinely curious, so I apprehensively began my explanation.

Is this a fucking game, dad?

“The heart-shaped outline is the symbol for National Eating Disorder Awareness."

Be careful. He's testing you.

"I got it right when I turned 18. The rose on top of the symbol was added this year, and it stands for my growth and resilience as I fight through these relapses and get back on my feet. It’s also inspired by the rose in Beauty and the Beast, so I could incorporate memories of watching that movie together.”

Here comes the storm. Can the waitress leave the check already?

“Dani, It’s really beautiful. It’s small and not too visible. I like it.” He went back to his emails, scrolling as if I hadn’t just told him my most personal secret.

Well, at least he liked it.