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| The tattoos mentioned. |
You know, I never quite realized that I might actually not mind tattoos. I mean, everyone made them out to be some huge deal and that they hurt so bad. I recently got wing tattoos on my wrists and they really didn't bother me that much. There were certain parts where I never even really felt them. It's kind of like...drinking that weird new soda that your friend tried and is secretly in love with. Even though it's from Japan and has a little glass marble in it. But then, you try some of it, and it's delicious. You had no idea! It's freaking awesome! And then you ask them where they got it because you want to go stock up like people did for Y2K.
I've always wanted tattoos. Ever since my dad got one (5, now). They guy used to let me watch him ink my dad up. I thought that was pretty boss. Then, my oldest brother got one. And another. Then suddenly, I was left out. Like the kid picked last for dodgeball teams in gym class. But now, I'm not that kid anymore. I'm officially part of the family. I know I'm going to have people ask me, "But Nikkie, why wings? Why would YOU get wings? They aren't even batty." Well, I'll tell you.
I got these particular wings tattooed there for a reason. And that reason is named Brian Russell Stewart. It's kind of a family thing. Some of the people on my dads side of the family have tattoos for him. His sister, wings on her ankles, his dad, a tattoo on his upper arm, my dad a portrait on his back. And now me, with my little tiny wings. I won't tell you how he died, but I will tell you that he was in the guard. He was amazing, and funny. And it really sucks that we lost him. We all miss him, we just deal with it differently. It's been years but it still hurts like it did the day after he died. Although, I'll see him again. Sometime, somewhere.
