Tally Mark Tattoo

You run a tattoo parlor. Every couple of weeks, the same customer comes in, always requesting the same tattoo: an additional tally mark on an ever-growing cluster of tally marks.

I'm not one to pry into other's business, nor am I one to ask too many questions. But obviously, in my line of work, the meaning of the ink that is seconds away from being etched into a clients skin seems to be a natural business conversation. It's one of the more enjoyable parts of running my own parlor; understanding my customers.

With all that being said, I do have the anomalies to my standard business (that's a nice way of labeling weirdos). I'm talking about the people who come in tight lipped and want nothing more than for me to shutup and do my job. Hey, that's fine with me. In the end, I am a tattoo parlor and I don't need the fluff to get paid.

One of these weirdos frequented my shop for sometime. There is a gentleman who comes in every second Friday of the month and always at 4:00 PM sharp. He's a rough fella but he's built like a brick house. One of his two front teeth are gold and he always sports a hooded sweatshirt with a half moon necklace dangling down from his neck. The first time he came in, he simply wanted a tally mark on the far left side of his chest; starting right where the armpit and the pectoral muscle meet. Of course, I thought to myself how weird that was but I say nothing.

Over the next six months, he kept coming back like clockwork. The only difference is, the amount of tallies varied but I've never seen one instance where it was less than two, except for his initial single tally.

I inked the 50th tally this past week. The 50th tally put him on the other side of his chest; we were finally approaching the other armpit. When I got done, he looked up at me with tears in his eyes.

"I know this has been awkward for you and I thank you so much for enduring it" he says in a humbled voice. His eyes breaking my gaze as he finishes his statement.

I have no idea what to say but I feel like he wants me to ask.

"Not a problem brother, it's what I do. Now come on mate, what are all these for?" I say in an upbeat tone.

He quickly looks up at me, his face like a confessing sinner.

"Well, I am caretaker at a women's home right off 5th and Walnut near the old school. I help woman who have been through hell... Raped, beat up, you name it. All of them who come have been damaged somehow but most of them take some time opening up. So, every time one of our women break down and tell their story during group, I make a note and prepare to come here every two weeks right when I get off work at 3:30. Each tally represents their acknowledgment of the horrible abuse they suffer and it reminds me of them."

The guilt runs through my body. I've gossiped about this man countless times without knowing his story. I can't tell you how many sick scenarios have ran through my head.

"I'm telling you now because my court ordered community service hours are fulfilled. I worked there on probation for domestic abuse... This was my punishment for all the pain I've ever caused anybody". he says in a sorrowful tone. His face has a look of shame on it.

"Brother, thanks for letting me know that... Thanks for letting me be apart of that". I smile with tears in my eyes.

We talk for a little bit but eventually, he walks out of my tattoo parlor, never to come back in again. I judged and gossiped about a man who deserved nothing of the sort. Those quiet sessions speak volumes to me now.

I'll never forget his story.