Color Lock Moisturizer
$4.00
The tattoo artist regarded my faded phoenix with a raised eyebrow. “Using sunscreen?” I shook my head. He sighed, pulling out a blue bottle. “Color Lock Moisturizer. Apply twice daily.”
Ten years later, the phoenix still blazes brightly on my shoulder, its flames as vivid as the day Mom beat cancer. Some things deserve to stay forever.
Description
The bell chimed as I pushed open the door to Electric Dreams Tattoo, my shoulder still stinging from yesterday’s session. Mike, my artist, looked up from his sketchbook and immediately frowned. “You didn’t buy the moisturizer, did you?”
I shifted, uncomfortable. The full back piece had already exceeded the limit on my credit card. “I figured regular lotion would work fine.”
He set down his pencil and disappeared into the back room, returning with a sleek blue bottle. “Color Lock Moisturizer. House brand. Twenty bucks.” When I hesitated, he added, “Look, I’ve spent thirty hours making that dragon perfect. You’re going to want those scales to stay emerald for more than a few years.”
I thought about my first tattoo—a small butterfly on my wrist, now faded to a bluish-gray blur. It brought back memories of my 18th birthday and the rebellion of my teenage years. But this dragon was different. Each scale told a story: my brother’s battle with addiction (the deep greens), Mom’s cancer victory (the golden belly), Dad’s final sunrise (the crimson wings).
“Fine,” I said, pulling out my last twenty. “But this better work.”
“Twice daily, gentle circles,” Mike instructed. “Think of it as feeding your dragon.”
Years passed. The bottle became a ritual. Every morning and night, I traced those scales, bringing back memories. Other people’s tattoos faded, but my dragon retained its intensity. New artists would study it, asking about the ink brand and the technique. I would simply smile and pat my bag, which always contained a fresh bottle of Color Lock.
Last week, my daughter turned eighteen. She walked into Electric Dreams, nervous but determined. Mike’s son now runs the place, but that familiar blue bottle still sits on the counter. As she settled into the chair, I discreetly placed one of the bottles into her bag. Some traditions, like some colors, deserve to stay vibrant forever.
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