The Whole Truth - Short Stories

The Universe at Work

The Universe at Work

by

Cassandra Dunn

“How about you?” he asked, pale brown eyes looking me over, a blank canvas.

“Nah, I’m good,” I said, half-turning, pausing in my escape. I knew he’d have a comment.

“You mean, you don’t have any?”

“Nope.” This time I pointed my feet toward the parking lot, slid my keys out of the outside pocket of my shoulder bag.

“I’ll get you my info next time I see you,” he said to my back.

“Yeah,” I said over my shoulder. “Thanks.”

And that’s how the universe works, for or against you, depending on where on the pendulum’s arc you are. My sister had wanted his info, not me. She was the one looking for a new tattoo, not me. He was new to the area, just getting his business up and running, looking for clients. I’d only mentioned it to Ellen in passing. That was after I had overheard him talking to another tattooed man on our daily commute, about trading work on each other.

Ellen convinced me that I should approach him the next time he sat near me on the train. That was almost every day, but I’d chickened out. We’d exchanged our usual pleasantries on the ride home, ended up beside each other on the escalator out of the station, and he’d stepped aside to let me exit the turnstile first. Then, he’d casually leaned toward me, squinted in the bright sunlight, and asked: “Hey, do you know anyone who wants a tattoo?”

You see, that’s the universe at work. Me, I’m too shy to have asked this tattooed stranger for his info, this flirtatious man who acknowledged me each day. I would have worried my forward manner might have sent him the wrong message. So, the universe stepped in and made him ask the one question that linked us. How else could he have known?

So, I called Ellen to let her know that the nameless, bronze-skinned, athletic tattoo artist was game to etch her defunct band’s first album cover art between her shoulder blades forever.

“Awesome! I can’t believe you talked to him.”

“Me either,” I said, annoyed at how well she knew me, at how unlikely it was that I’d strike up a conversation with an attractive man who intimidated me. I felt a twinge of resentful nostalgia. “Actually, I can. I’ve always gotten roped into stalking guys for you. Remember poor Nate Gale in high school?”

“Poor, my ass. He was fine with it.”

“You had me track his every move until he was terrified of us both.”

“Yeah,” she laughed, warm as a shaker of salt. “He was so cute.”

“And don’t even get me started on Billy Peele.”

“Oh, shut up. He loved the attention. He changed schools because his parents split up. It had nothing to do with us.”

Ellen and I were opposites in our approach to the world. I had constant doubts about whether I was worthy, she, with her unrelenting confidence that she deserved everything she wanted and more. How were we raised by the same parents?

“Anyway, he’ll give me his info for you tomorrow.”

“And what if he asks for your info in exchange?” she said, knowing full well this would keep me awake that night. “Lighten up!” she laughed, then hung up before I could respond.

But the handsome, tattooed man wasn’t on the train the next day, or the next, or the next. A week passed with no sign of him. He began to seem like a figment of my imagination. After all, I wasn’t usually drawn to tattooed men. I had no idea why Ellen wanted a permanent reminder of her failed band on her body. I had no clue why the man on the train had a portrait of an old woman on his forearm, or why he would want a string of words spiraling down his bicep, or a fire-breathing dragon, running across his wrist, onto the back of his left hand, forever.

Tattoos aside, I had noticed that he had the kindest eyes I’d ever seen, and a habit of looking at me even after our casual greeting had come to its inevitable conclusion. There was his lop-sided, shy smile that contradicted every preconceived notion I had about him the first time he stepped onto the train. He had a well-defined chest straining his fashionably worn t-shirt, tattoos rippling down his arms, radiating the essence of cool as he scanned the rapidly filling train, and gave me a half smile. He had taken the seat beside me.