Page 1110 - Wordsmith A Guide to College Writing

to describe the tattoos the father and brother got, and she shuts off
her needle for a moment.

“Oh . . .” into the sudden, ear-ringing quiet. “A portrait of the son at 12

two different ages. The brother wanted to remember his brother when

he was younger, and not so . . .” She pauses. “Well, his brother went

out of his mind,” she says, with a shake of the head, “but the father
wanted the portrait at the age that he was when he tried to commit

suicide.”

Even if most of her memorial tattoo clients come to her when 13

they’re no longer gripped by the first sharp shock of grief, I can’t

imagine that this work wouldn’t be emotionally trying.

“No,” she says quickly. “It’s just a part of the larger job: You have to 14

keep calm,” she says. “My role is to have that person be as

comfortable as possible, and I’m not avoiding the issue of why they’re

getting tattooed.”

But she’s not just some mother figure with a septum piercing, either. 15

Unlike the barkeep or the beautician, Sarah Peacock is not peddling

numbing inebriation or a new look; she’s inflicting physical agony.

“The tiny kisses of kittens,” she calls the needle’s stabbing action,
grinning for a moment. It’s not just the permanence of the finished

product, but the discomfort inherent in the process that draws people

in mourning to translate an emotional throbbing into a physical one

and emerge intact on the other side with a beautiful scar.