I have acquired, at this point in my life, quite a few tattoos. Actually I currently have ink on something greater than 50% of my lily white hide. I’m a fairly conservative, middle class business owner and most of my clients are stunned when they discover I have a tattoo and they are completely floored when they find out I have more than one. Since most people seem to be hiding some little ratty piece tucked away under a shirt, etc. I have kept it to an elite few in my small town that know the extent of my art and none of THEM even know half of the stories involved in how I got these pieces.


Today I wanted to tell you about the warrior fairy that I wear down my right ribcage and hip and the felon that drew her for me. She’s really pretty cool and doesn’t get enough respect since the mermaid showed up…

The original drawing was done by my first artist and good friend Frank. Frankie had a troubled past and spent some time in jail. By the time I met him he was a two strike felon, slinging ink at the local Hell’s Angel endorsed tattoo parlor, just trying to keep his head above water and stay out of trouble till he got off parole. What can I say? I’m an accepting person and have diverse friends. He’d done my first tattoo, treating a little white girl walking in to a rough place alone, way out of her league and too stupid/stubborn to leave without getting the little flower she’d come for with gentleness and respect. We became friends, I started to introduce him to the wonderful world of computers and we were moving forward from there.


Now, all things being equal, and Frankie being about as successful as any other Latino at keeping out of trouble in our little predominantly upper middle class, white county. He managed to get himself picked up on the way home from a party just before Christmas 2005. He was guilty of being Latino, being on parole, being drunk and riding in the same car as a bunch of other drunk folks. Since ‘Is anyone here on Parole?’ is one of the first questions a cop asks when he stops a group of people in a car, and my boy is not dumb enough to say ‘No’ and have them find out otherwise, he automatically got locked up. This was a very bad thing for Frankie. All I knew at the time was that he called to cancel our computer class and all the next day his phone was going straight to voice mail. It wasn’t until the next afternoon that I found out where he was but not what had happened.


I grew up in a predominantly Catholic environment. I went to the all girl’s school, did the volunteer stuff, read my bible. When I found out what happened to my new friend I couldn’t get the verse about visiting the criminal out of my head so I hauled my butt down to the jail. I’d never BEEN to a jail, didn’t know where I was supposed to go or what the rules were but hell… I’d walked into the tattoo parlor so I could sure walk into a jail house! I stripped down to my clothes, a pencil, my car key, my license and a $20 and wandered in to see what was up. It was one of the best things I ever did.


Frankie had no idea who was going to be there when he walked out to the visiting area and when he saw it was me on the other side of the glass the most profound look of relief washed over his face. For my part I was stunned. He was a mess. He’d freaked when they locked him up… A third strike and he’s down for the count. He hadn’t been sleeping or eating for the last 48 hours since he’d been picked up and it showed. As we sat there on the little phones with our hands pressed against the thick glass, trying to reach through it, I felt so bad for him but I wasn’t really sure what I could do except be there, be his friend and keep pushing him to work on the art and stick with all of the things we’d been working on before he got picked up.


I went and visited him in jail every chance I got while we were waiting for the arraignment and got my cell phone set up so he could call me and talk to me when he got the chance. He called a lot. I helped him put his head back in the right place, encouraged him not to give up, reminded him of all the good things he’d been doing and all the positive things he’d gotten involved with. I tracked down his parole officer, got him some art supplies, touched base with his family and let them know what was up. It never even occurred to me t do anything else. Sure, he’d done some dumb things in the past but was trying to get it together and I stood by my friend. My boy was locked down 4 days with no charges. When they arraigned him they dropped all the drug and alcohol stuff they’d been trying to intimidate him with and left resisting arrest because he was stupid enough to start cussing out the cops AFTER they handcuffed him and put him in the car.


Well, my life works in odd ways and one of my clients was by my shop several times that week. He saw me scooting in and out low key during office hours so I could make the visiting hours at the jail, etc. the day I scooted out to the arraignment without barely saying ‘Hello’ to him, which is quite out of character, I found him waiting for me at my office when I got back. He nailed me down and got the whole story. He’d seen Frank’s portfolio at my office a few weeks before when I’d been scanning the art work into the computer so that we could put it up on-line and potentially find some more clients. I explained how I’d been helping Frank learn to use computers so he could expand his opportunities. This guy listened to everything, admitted to having been very impressed by the work he’d seen and told me he was glad that I was being such a good friend. Then he told me that he lived next door to the head of the County Sheriff’s Dept and volunteered to go over and talk to his neighbor about the situation.


Without warning and against all odds Frank walked out of jail on Christmas Eve.  While he was in I had encouraged him to keep drawing and not to lose hope. He wanted to thank me by drawing something for me that WAS me. He drew the warrior fairy, all blades and sharp edges and a ton of bad ass. Then, typical to Frankie, he decided that it was too raw and wicked to be sweet little ‘Roja’ and ended up drawing some soft, pretty thing coming up out of a flower. When he got out he gave me the softer one but he mentioned the original and I made him show it to me. As soon as I saw it I told him ‘Fuck that sissy fairy, Frank, I like the tough one!’


I tried to convince him to do the tattoo for me countless times over the next few months but he wouldn’t do it. He felt I was getting too much ink. Eventually he moved shops, which was a good decision for him but put him a long way away, and I ended up paying him for the drawing (he didn’t ask me to, but it is his day job after all and I respect his work) and found another artist to tattoo it. I still like Frank’s original WAY better but the piece I wear is still really special to me. It was the first time anyone ever gave mean image of myself that was something I wanted to be. I’m hoping some day Frank will get a chance to do a little adjusting to her and make her more of what she was meant to be…


http://www.behindtheink.com/msbunnie