I walk out of a store at the mall and find Gemma, Karla, and Gabby gathered at a jewelry kiosk. Looking back, I probably should've walked back into the store. Instead, I approach them and find out that my family members have decided that we should all get matching piercings. I think this is a bad idea but, being a weak-minded and socially-pleasing girl I am, I find myself on the chair.
The woman at the kiosk is petite and blonde and makes a point to not ask any of us our ages or for parental consent as she marks our ears and readies her gun. Mind you, I got my first piercing when I was a baby and the image of that freaky thing coming towards me nearly makes me run out the damn place with a, "Fuck that!" But I keep it together and, within half an hour, we all walk out with matching piercings on our left upper ears.
My parents will be appalled, my martial arts instructor will tell me to take it off (and ultimately allows it as long as I put a tape over it) and the site will hurt in the following year, so much, actually that I will not be able to sleep on my left side at all. Now that I'm older (FUCK HAS IT BEEN ALMOST TEN YEARS??? SHITTYFUCK!!) I realize that what I thought was "a little pain" was likely an intense infection and that the petite, blond ear-piercer lady should definitely have sent us home with a few antibiotics or something to anticipate the whole, super-inflammed/tender/OMG-this-hurts phase that was essentially my Sophmore year (and the summer before Junior year too).
Today, Karla and Gabby's holes are closed; Gem and mine are still open (obviously). I've thought about taking out (probably should've done so when I was 15) but, honestly, I think it just sits there like a happy reminder that even the worst, festering, sleep-pattern-altering pain can fade... and that I should visit Lou's Tattoos sometime soon.
