Every Burden Has a Version

“Happy birthday,” I screamed as my best friend blew out eighteen candles on his cake. “What did you wish for?”

“It’s a birthday wish, Violet. I can’t tell you,” he laughed, dipping his hand into the frosting and then licking his finger.

“Oh, you still believe in that crap? You’re eighteen, act more in your prime.” I mimicked him, but I put the frosting on his nose instead of licking it off. He cringed and chuckled.

“I wished that you wouldn’t move to Los Angeles.”

“That won’t happen. I got a job out there and if I want to be a prominent, legendary tattoo artist, I have to move. How many times must I tell you?”

“That’s why I made a back-up wish.”

“And what’s that?”

“That on my twenty-first birthday, you’ll come here to Jersey to do whatever I damn well please,” my best friend requested. It was more of a demand.

“Of course, Frank,” I replied. “I wouldn’t let my best friend down.”

-Three Years Later-
“Violet, your ten-thirty appointment is here!” my boss, Brea Del Amo, yelled.

“Alright, Brea, I’m on it.” I sighed, laying my head down on the table next to the telephone.

I finally owned my own tattoo business or at least I was close to possessing it. My boss, who isn't technically my boss, she just keeps the financial work going for me since I have no brains when it comes to that pecuniary shit, owns the tattoo parlor. I just work at it day and night without a break in between. I guess you could say I’m almost a well known tattoo artist in the Los Angeles area after three years of living here. I didn't even have to go to art school, yet I have steady commerce everyday. Straight out of high school I was offered a job and I took it immediately to get out of New Jersey. It’s not that I didn't love the location and the people that lived there, I needed a change. Apparently getting up and leaving wasn't the best alteration I could have given myself, but who am I kidding? It was the best thing I could have done for myself ever. I left all the histrionic drama, enemies, and my family. It was wonderful apart from the fact I left my friends behind. They all hate me now; every single one including Frank.

My eyes twitched and my hands shook as I began to dial my ex best friend’s number. It’s ridiculous that I even know his number after three years by heart.

I heard the ringing, but no one answered. He probably still is in abhorrence with me.
Nevertheless, his machine picked up and I heard his voice.

“This is Frank. You know what to do. Leave a message.” His voice was velvet and sounded the exact same.

“Hey, Frank. This is, uh, Violet. Violet Murkowski or notably known as V Murk the tattoo artiste,” I giggled out of uneasiness. “So, it came to that time where you’re turning twenty-one and I recall that I promised you I would come to Jersey for your birthday. I’m up for it if you are and my flight is leaving at five in the afternoon so if you could pick me up after nine my time or something, which would be excellent,” I coughed. “Don’t bother calling me back though since I’m at my work right now and my phone at home is busted. Do you even have my home phone number?” I paused. He can’t answer. “Never mind,” I said, my boss tapping me on the shoulder. I put the phone up to my chest. “Hold on, Brea.”

“Your customer is here, Viol.” Brea walked away in a huff.

“Anyway, sorry about that, Fr-Frank,” I stuttered. I haven’t said his name verbally in years. “I’m sure your machine is going to cut me off. Hey, if you’re there, pick up.” I waited for a few seconds. “I guess not. Bye, then. I love…” the machine cut me off and I hung up the phone. I tossed back my hair behind my shoulders and tied it up in a bun, walking into the lobby where my customer waited. “So, who’s ready to get a permanent tattoo for the rest of their life? You have,” I checked my wrist watch, “one second to change your mind.”

Notes

Thoughts? Yeahhhh I haven't written anything fan fiction wise in awhile, but I had an idea so I ran with it.

-christy-