My Son Tattooed His Stepmother's Face on His Arm to Pay for College, and I Nearly Lost Him in the Process
Strange Celebrations
When my son came home with his stepmother's face tattooed on his arm, I thought the tattoo was the problem. Then I learned what his father had promised him in return.
You never hear good news after your son says, "Hey, Mom, guess what?" two days after turning eighteen.
I was standing at the kitchen counter, slicing peppers for dinner, when Dustin walked in wearing the grin he usually saved for bad decisions.
"Why do you always assume I did something?"
He laughed, then rolled up the sleeve of his T-shirt.
For one confused second, I thought he was showing me a bruise.
Then I saw the face staring back at me from his upper arm.
My ex-husband's wife had been tattooed across my son's shoulder in startling detail. Her eyes, her smile, even the small beauty mark beside her mouth had been recreated in black and gray ink.
I blinked. Part of me wanted to scream. The other part couldn't comprehend it.
"So am I. I don't see my face on your other arm."
He tugged his sleeve down, but the fresh plastic covering the tattoo caught against the fabric.
"Careful," I said automatically. "You'll irritate it."
Even when your child did something completely insane, part of you still worried about infection.
"You permanently tattooed your stepmother's face onto your shoulder. It arrived huge."
He dropped into a chair at the kitchen table. I sat across from him, trying to keep my voice steady.
"You spent hours sitting in a chair while someone put that on you, but you don't know the price?"
He shrugged, looking away. I could feel the tension crackling in the air, a storm waiting to break.
Promises and Portents
"Stephen paid five hundred dollars to put his wife's face on your arm?" I asked, disbelief clawing at my throat.
"When you say it like that, it sounds weird," Dustin replied, rubbing the edge of the plastic covering.
“She doesn’t feel like we’re a real family.”
“What does your shoulder have to do with their marriage?”
"Dad said she feels left out. She thinks we still act like she's temporary."
“And Stephen thought a tattoo would fix that?”
“He said Barbra needed proof that she mattered.”
My heart sank. The pieces didn't fit. Dustin could barely choose pizza toppings without consulting three people. A portrait of Barbra had never been on his radar.
"So, what's the real price here?" I pressed, feeling a cold pressure build behind my ribs.
"It wasn't for free."
A wave of dread washed over me. "What exactly did Stephen promise you?"
“He said if I did this for Barbra, he’d pay the rest of my tuition.”
“He said you wouldn’t have to worry about school.”
I looked at the fresh portrait beneath his sleeve. “Your father bought a piece of your skin with a promise.”
My voice shook as I opened the door, the weight of my anger propelling me forward. “Now, I’m going to find out whether he ever intended to keep it.”
Every red light gave my anger another minute to grow. I couldn't shake the image of Dustin running across a soccer field, innocence incarnate. No eighteen-year-old should ever have to make that calculation.
When I arrived at Stephen’s house, I didn’t knock. I pushed past him and marched toward the living room, where Barbra sat folding laundry.
"Please don’t interrupt until I understand exactly what happened."
“No. You already did that when you talked our son into tattooing your wife’s face on his body.”