Samara — Brad Shurmantine
The setting is a seedy, one-chair tattoo shop. A beaten-up easy chair dominates stage center. Next to it are an old kitchen chair and small tables containing the artist’s tools. Off to the side there is a small waiting area with a couple of uncomfortable, mismatched chairs and a coffee table where catalogues of tattoo designs are stacked. At the back of the stage is a screen upon which individual tattoo designs can be projected. Before the lights come up the following words in elaborate calligraphy are flashed on the screen:
Spotted Owl Tattoo & Gallery
Kris Erikson
Sole Owner & Proprietor
Sammy (Samantha) sits in the easy chair awaiting her tattoo. She is a high school kid, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. Nothing about her appearance is striking but she is fresh and ready for life, eager to make her statement and step out, be recognized.
Kris sits in the chair beside her. He is in his 30’s. His arms & neck are covered with tattoos. He has long black hair in a mullet and a thin moustache/goatee. He radiates fatigue and disillusionment, but he tries to put up a friendly front for his customers.
KRIS
So what are we going to do here?
SAMANTHA
I haven’t been able to decide. This is a huge decision. I was hoping you could help me figure it out.
KRIS
Usually people know what they want when they come in the door. I have a bunch of catalogues. You want a few minutes to look through the catalogues?
SAMANTHA
No! I’ve looked through pictures on the internet. I can’t figure it out. You know all the designs. You know what’s cool. Help me.
KRIS
Listen . . . what’s your name?
SAMANTHA
Samantha. My friends call me Sammy.
KRIS
Listen, Sammy, I’m pretty beat. It’s been a long day. Why don’t you take a couple catalogues home with you and figure it out? Come back tomorrow.
SAMANTHA
No! If I leave I’m not coming back. I’ll chicken out. I actually can’t believe I had the guts to come today. I’ve never done anything like this before in my life.
KRIS
What’s the big deal? It’s only a tattoo.
SAMANTHA
My mother will kill me, that’s the big deal. She’s told me twenty times, don’t you ever get a tattoo. And if I pick the wrong tattoo I’m stuck with it for life. I’m not the kind of person who takes chances like this.
KRIS
OK, OK, we’ll figure it out. We’ll get you a nice tattoo you can be proud of. I guess you don’t want one that says “Mother” on it. But why do you want a tattoo in the first place?
SAMANTHA
I just turned 18. I’m going to college next year. This is like a new beginning for me. I want something that will set me apart, make people notice me.
KRIS
That doesn’t tell me much. That’s why everyone wants a tattoo. (He stands and moves to the coffee table and picks up a couple of catalogues and returns to his chair. As he flips through the catalogues and shows different designs to Sammy they are projected on the screen.) All right. Girls like flowers, they like birds. Butterflies. I can do a rose that will pop off your arm and blind people. You like this rose? (No comment from Sammy.) What about this one? What about this one?
SAMANTHA
I don’t want a rose. I’m not a rose person.
KRIS
What’s a rose person?
SAMANTHA
A rose person is complicated. I’m not complicated. Roses are all about romance and love. I’ve never had a boyfriend and I don’t want one.
KRIS
Why not?
SAMANTHA
I said I’m not complicated. There’s too much going on in my life as it is. Boys don’t notice me and I’m fine with that.
KRIS
What about a lily? What about an iris? Or a vine with little flowers all over your shoulder, running down your arm, like this? People will notice that.
SAMANTHA
No, I want a little tattoo, a perfect little tattoo. Something that peeks out and surprises people.
KRIS
What about a butterfly? I could put a perfect little butterfly on your hip, right above the belt line. Or on one of your butt cheeks if you want to be daring.
SAMANTHA
You’re not touching my butt. I want people to see it. I want it on the back of my arm, so people just glimpse it when I go by. Or they’re walking behind me and they can’t see my face and they wonder, who is that girl with that cool tattoo? A butterfly’s no good. I’m not delicate.
KRIS
I’m getting a little frustrated here, Sammy. You’re not this and you’re not that. What are you? What about a bird?
SAMANTHA
What kind of bird?
KRIS
I don’t know. A fucking bird. That depends on who you are, what kind of person you are, and you’re not really helping me with that. Are you a raven? Are you a quail? Are you a hummingbird? A falcon? A hawk? An eagle? An owl? (He’s flipping through a catalogue and showing her pictures and the designs flash up on the screen as he talks.)
SAMANTHA
I love birds. I’m all those things. I guess I feel most like an owl right now.
KRIS
How so?
SAMANTHA
I feel old, and wise. Not wise, but like I know things I never knew before. I feel like I’m in the dark. I feel like I’m alone on a branch high in a tree and just listening to the night.
KRIS
Whoa. That’s heavy. What is it you know?
SAMANTHA
(She is silent, deciding whether to answer or not.) My dad just died.
KRIS
Oh. Wow. I’m sorry. How did he die?
SAMANTHA
I’d rather not talk about that, if you don’t mind. But he’s dead. And I have to start over.
KRIS
(He is respectfully silent for a few moments, but needs to nudge things along.) OK. Well, if you want an owl I’m your man. Owls are my specialty. (He points out to the front of his shop and the “Spotted Owl Tattoo & Gallery” sign flashes up on the screen.) But owls have to be large. Little owls are just cartoons and I don’t do cartoons.
SAMANTHA
It has to be small. No bigger than my thumb. Precise. Realistic. But something you might see in a dream.
KRIS
Well then birds are out. I could do a feather.
SAMANTHA
No.
KRIS
I could do a claw.
SAMANTHA
No.
KRIS
Well fuck then. Birds are out. You’re really not helping me here. What about a sun? (She shakes her head no.) A scorpion? (No.) An eye? (No.) A cross? (No.) A compass?
SAMANTHA
I don’t want any of those.
KRIS
Well fuck! You have to choose something. You have to settle, Sammy. You have to settle on something. Everyone settles.
SAMANTHA
I’m not settling.
KRIS
The fuck you’re not. You think you’re special? Everyone fucking settles. Look at me. Look at this dump. You think this is what I wanted with my life—to be a shitty little tattoo artist who can’t even afford a decent chair? I found this chair at the side of the road. Don’t worry, there’s no fleas in it. I’m going to get a good one when business picks up. But for now that’s what I’ve got. This is my life. I went to fucking art school, Sammy. I was going to paint murals.
SAMANTHA
What happened?
KRIS
Life happened, Sammy. Life happened.
SAMANTHA
What do you mean?
KRIS
I had to eat. I had to pay the bills. I didn’t have a fucking patron. A tattoo guy hired me and I was good at it and just kept doing it. Now I’ve got a style. A reputation. People are seeking me out. But this is not what I wanted to do when I was your age. I dreamed of one-man shows in galleries—not sitting on my ass in a strip mall waiting for some dumb jock to walk in the door. You have to settle on something.
SAMANTHA
I don’t want to settle.
KRIS
Then get the fuck out of my shop. We’re finished. Get the fuck out of here.
SAMANTHA
(Samantha has been in the chair this whole time, but now she climbs out, somewhat awkwardly, hesitantly, and begins to wander around, looking at pictures, we presume, hanging on the walls.) These are all your designs?
KRIS
Yes. Can you go? I’m really tired. It’s been a very long day.
SAMANTHA
These are really good, Kris. You said you wanted your pictures in a gallery. Well, this is your gallery, right? That’s what your sign says.
KRIS
That’s not what I had in mind.
SAMANTHA
Yeah, but, this is your gallery. And this is your amazing work. Anyone can see how talented you are, Kris. And you said people are seeking you out. Well, I sought you out. (Kris is silent.) I saw the wolf you did on Katie Buchanan’s leg. That wolf running up her thigh. That was the most amazing wolf I’ve ever seen.
KRIS
Yeah, I know Katie.
SAMANTHA
She’s not really a friend. She’s a lot bolder than I am. A lot more popular. We were getting dressed in the locker room at school after PE and she showed me the wolf, because I was just standing there, struck dumb by it. And she showed me her other tattoos that you’ve done. That bee on her breast.
KRIS
Oh yeah. You’re right. Katie is kind of bold.
SAMANTHA
You’re not getting anywhere near my breasts, Kris. But I’ve thought about that bee. How much trust Katie had to have in you, because she’s not a bad girl. How vulnerable she had to be, to let you work on her like that. You didn’t hurt her. You made her more beautiful. You did.
KRIS
Thank you.
SAMANTHA
And you’re going to make me more beautiful. You are going to do my tattoo, Kris. Because you’re a great artist, and I want your work on my body.
(They are silent for a few beats, staring at each other.)
KRIS
But what are we going to do, Sammy? What are we going to put on your arm? (Sammy is silent.) You gotta help me. I’m feeling a little helpless here. A little scared that I’m going to disappoint you.
SAMANTHA
Don’t be scared. You won’t disappoint me.
KRIS
OK. Let’s slow down. Let’s think about you, who you are, what’s important to you. I get it now—it’s not bees and butterflies. You’re a deep one. We have to go deep, starting right here, right now. What are you feeling, Sammy? What are you feeling, right now?
SAMANTHA
(She goes deep.) Lost. Buried. My dad just died. He just died a few months ago, and now I have to go to college. How can I go to college?
KRIS
How did he die? (She does not respond.) How did he die, Sammy?
SAMANTHA
He killed himself, Kris. OK? He killed himself. And I didn’t do a fucking thing to help him.
KRIS
(Stunned hearing this.) That’s awful. That’s awful. Oh my god. I’m so sorry, Sammy.
SAMANTHA
Apparently he was very depressed. He seemed OK to us. He seemed just like dad. He was a quiet guy and I loved that about him. Solid and steady. Our rock.
KRIS
You can’t blame yourself, Sammy. I find it very hard to believe that you didn’t help him.
SAMANTHA
I didn’t! None of us did! Day after day he must have been in such pain, so sad and afraid, and day after day we just walked by. “Oh, Dad’s being very quiet. He must have a lot on his mind.” Day after day we didn’t do a thing, we didn’t do one thing, to help him.
KRIS
But you loved him, and he must have loved you a lot. You’re such a kind, good person, Sammy. Anyone could love you. Day after day, you must have been why he kept living as long as he did. I don’t know why people kill themselves, I really don’t. But I know why they live, and they live because of people like you.
SAMANTHA
He did love me. He was a great dad. He never yelled at me. He took care of us. We had everything we wanted. We had a nice home. A big yard. A nice patio where dad would barbecue. We had two huge maple trees in our backyard, and I remember, when I was a little girl, I would sit on daddy’s lap and he would fold his arms around me. I’d lean my head back against his chest and stare up into the branches of the maple trees. In the fall it would be chilly and he’d have his arms around me, keeping me warm. We’d wait for the steaks to get done and I’d stare up and watch the maple seeds spinning down. Like little fairies, little Tinkerbells, spinning down to the ground.
KRIS
I remember those. We called them helicopters. Whirlybirds. I loved throwing them up in the air and watching them spin down.
SAMANTHA
That’s it.
KRIS
What?
SAMANTHA
That’s what I want for my tattoo. Those helicopter seeds. You’ve seen them. You know what I’m talking about.
KRIS
Those whirlybird seeds? Sure, that would be perfect. I’ve never done one but I’ve got pictures of them in one of these catalogues. (He goes to the coffee table and rifles through the catalogues until he finds the one he’s looking for). It would be the perfect size, just what you want. Here’s some pictures. They’re called samara seeds. (A photograph—not a tattoo—of two samara seeds, like wings, projected on the screen.)
SAMANTHA
Samara.
KRIS
That’s like you. Samara. Sammy. That’s perfect. (They smile at each other.)
SAMANTHA
Oh my god. I’m getting a tattoo. My mother will kill me.
KRIS
Come on, girl. No turning back. Plant yourself in that chair. We’re going to do this. (He helps her into the chair and pushes pillows around her to position her correctly.) You want it on the back of your right arm, right? This isn’t the best arrangement but we’ll make it work. (He gets his equipment ready, then selects a pen for drawing the initial design on her arm.)
SAMANTHA
(Twisting around to face him.) Kris. It’s a seed. I’m his seed. And I have wings.
(They smile at each other for a moment. Blackout.)
***
Brad Shurmantine lives in Napa, Ca., where he writes, reads, tends three gardens (sand, water, vegetable), keeps bees, takes care of chickens and cats, and works on that husband thing. His fiction and personal essays have appeared in Monday Night, Flint Hills Review, and Deep Wild ; his poetry in Third Wednesday and Blue Lake Review. He backpacks in the Sierras and travels when he can, and has a serious passion for George Eliot. bradshurmantine.com
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