Honk If You Hate Me

1 The wrinkled checker kept looking up at me. She'd scan an item, then look up. Scan, then look up. Scan, then . . . "Hey, aren't you--" "No." I cut her off. She didn't say anything else. Outside the 7-Eleven, when I told Glenn, he asked me what I expected. "Your 'look at me' blue hair attracts attention, Mona." He rummaged through the plastic grocery bag. "It's 'leave me the hell alone' blue." I snatched the bag and fished the gum from under his Superman comics, taking a piece to stash in the pocket of my cutoffs before handing him the pack. "Anyways, that old lady had blue hair, too." But it wasn't my hair the woman was interested in. That tottery nosey-body wanted to know if I was That Monalisa Kent Girl. That's all anyone wanted to know when they saw me. It's why I finally decided to dye my dull brown hair yesterday. Distract them. Make them focus on my blue hair instead of my face. My eyes. The darn things were wider and bluer than Superman's tights. Using my teeth, I ripped the plastic off the top of a lime Otter Pop, then stepped my beat-up beige work boots onto my skateboard. Glenn lightly pushed the small of my back, and we were off. Holding the Otter Pop above my head with the label facing back at Glenn, I called out, "Sir Isaac Lime says, 'Thank you.'" "Sir Isaac Lime has manners. You should ask him for lessons." "Waste of time, Popeye. I yam what I yam." With his long, floppy strides, Glenn caught up to me within a few feet. He'd pulled his Batman ball cap low over his sunglasses, which were thickly lensed and majorly tinted to protect his damaged optic nerves. He wore them indoors and out. I rested my free hand on his wide shoulder and let him pull me along. All I had to do was enjoy my ice pop and occasionally point out a rock or a piece of litter for Glenn to swerve around. The Pink Cloud was only a few blocks away and we were in no hurry. Summer days were meant to be lived slowly. While I sucked my icy treat, Glenn popped his Bubble Yum. Four blocks of popping. Truly annoying, but I didn't rag on him about it. Instead I listened closely and realized he was popping out a tune. Impressive. Glenn might be blunderheaded about all things athletic, but everything else, he had wired. It was only four o'clock when we got there, but since it was Friday, the Pink Cloud was already fully packed and highly adrenalized. Glenn's parents knew exactly what they were doing when they opened their tattoo parlors there--right in the heart of downtown and just two blocks from the university. The Pink Cloud Tattoo Salon dominated one side of the block, facing the park. Dante's Inferno, Ink., backed up to it, on the other side of the block, facing the burned-out plant. Most people had no clue that the same family owned both studios. Most people assumed the shops were in competition. Most people forgot that when you assume things, you make an ass of u and me. The genius is that the Pink Cloud and Dante's served totally different breeds of tattoo junkie. Glenn's mom ran the Pink Cloud. It was hip, posh, and pink up the wazoo. Its fuzzy, frilly tattoo chairs made Starbucks-swilling college girls shiver with delight. But then, Margarita Glenn served her own special blend of espresso during inking sessions, so maybe those shivers were caffeine jitters. Whatever their reason, girls wanting their dainty ankles decorated with hearts and flowers swamped the place. Never one to miss a business opportunity, Margarita had the frat boys covered, too. Black-and-white checkerboard floor tiles and glossy, framed hot-rod posters injected enough testosterone into the Barbie-pink studio to make guys feel secure. Which meant I was happy, too, because even though I usually felt an urge to spew in the presence of girly-girl things like pink suede couches, I tHalverson, Deborah is the author of 'Honk If You Hate Me ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780385733939 and ISBN 0385733933.