In einem unglaublich guten Buch, das ich diesen Sommer gelesen habe, "How To Talk To A Widower" von Jonathan Tropper, verliert Doug, 29, seine Frau Hailey, 39, und ist unglaublich depressiv, kann nur an Hailey denken. Ziemlich zu Beginn des Buches gibt es eine Szene, als sein Stiefsohn, Russ, 16, vorbeikommt und Doug bemerkt, dass er sich ein Tattoo hat stechen lassen und die Passage ist fantastisch, weil sie der Sache mit Julchens Tattooplänen, in die ich jetzt eingestiegen bin, ähnelt und diese Szene, die ich davor gut fand, ist jetzt zu viel mehr geworden, weil ich mich mit vielen Aspekten identifizieren kann.
He runs his fingers through his shaggy hair, pulling it off his face, and I see a splash of color on the side of his neck.
"What'd you get, a tattoo?" I say, trying not to sound alarmed.
"Yeah," he says, looking away.
"When did you do it?"
"Last week."
"Let me see it."
He pulls back his hair to reveal a blue tadpole-shaped squiggle trailing around the bend of his neck, surrounded by orange comic book flames. And I know it shouldn't make me sad, I know that these days tattoos are just another accessory, like thumb rings or wrist cuffs. Oscar-winning actresses have Buddhist texts scribbled across their backs. Every girl in low-rise jeans has a floral design or a butterfly hovering over her ass crack. But still, the idea of something so permanent on this sad, angry sixteen-year-old brings a lump to my throat. That, and knowing how much it would hurt Hailey to see it. Hailey, who was practically inconsolable the first time Russ shaved his peach-fuzz mustache. But still, it's not like he can take it back, so there's nothing to do but be supportive.
"Nice," I say weakly.
"What is it?" Russ challenges me.
"Flaming sperm?"
"Fuck you."
"It's a meteor."
"It's a comet," he says.
"What's the difference?"
"How the fuck should I know?"
"Okay, then. It's a comet."
He rubs it protectively. "It's Hailey's comet."
The tears come to my eyes so fast, there's just no way to stop them.
"I know the real one is spelled differently," Russ says, suddenly self-conscious. "But I just kind of liked the image, you know. Hailey's comet. And she was always on my back about how bad my spelling is, so it's kind of fitting in a way."
And now I want to cry, and hug him, and go out and get my own tattoo, all at the same time. But doing any of that would require more of me than I have in stock these days, so instead I just look away and say, "That's cool, Russ. She would have liked it."
"She'd have yelled and cried and grounded me for a year."
"Maybe. But secretly, she would have loved it."
"No," Russ says, shaking his head. "She wouldn't have."
I think about it for a moment, then nod slowly. "Yeah, I guess you're right. But I still think it's a nice tribute."
"I did it because I knew she would hate it."
I try to look wise, like the kind of guy who might actually know what he's talking about. "Well, even though you can't see it now, it's still a tribute to her."
"Doug?"
"Yeah."
"You are so full of shit."
Ich habe nicht vor, mir dieses Tattoo stechen zu lassen und dann zu AC zu rennen und es ihr zu zeigen. Wenn sie es irgendwann sehen sollte, dann passiert es halt. Sie würde es genau wie Russ' Mutter hassen, obwohl es ein Liebesbeweis ist. AC, Jul und ich. Ich kann mir nicht vorstellen, wie sie reagieren sollte, aber damit kann ich mich beschäftigen, wenn ich das Ding habe. Wo ich es hinwill, weiß ich noch nicht.
(Wieso zwei Einträge zu dem Thema? Weil es eine wichtige Entscheidung für mich ist. Nicht etwas, das ich spontan entschieden habe und nicht wirklich von Bedeutung ist. Ich nerve erst wieder dann damit, wenn ich es habe und wer weiß, wann das passiert.)
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