CSI Blues

Today was the last day I spent in my home country, and at my mum’s, before the world trip which is about to begin. I also went to the hairdresser’s for the last time in a long while, in an attempt to look a bit more civilized by the time I cross our first border in the American continent.

The hairdresser was quite young and seemed a bit unexperienced; her comb fell off her hands a couple of times. I guess I didn’t help her much to overcome her nerves, as I looked miserable during the whole process – not because of her work, poor soul, but because I was dwelling inside my very dark thoughts, feeling so sad for my poor 80-year-old mother, not knowing whether I will see her again.

I stared at my image in the mirror as the hairdresser worked her cut around my ears, thinking about the piercing I used to wear in my early twenties, then closed my eyes for a bit, then opened them again as she moved on to shave the top of my neck, the very part of my head that deserves to be called ‘A Hairdresser’s Nightmare’, with its curls and its uneven hair line right on top of a red constelation of little birthmarks. I closed my eyes again and day dreamed about the tattoo I’d have loved to have on the back of my neck, as I wondered one more time whether I will ever get the chance to have it done.

I’ve always liked the works of Escher, and this particular drawing –to me– simbolises leaving my beloved Canary Islands to travel around the world. I wanted to have it tattoed on the back of my neck to kill two birds with one stone – to cover my ugly birthmarks and to ornate my skin with a celebration to the great Dutch artist.

But I don’t dare to have such an outstanding tattoo. Not any more.

Cycletourers Krzysztof and Holger were murdered and then mutilated and then robbed in Chiapas, I don’t know in which order and I prefer not to know. It seems the parts where these men had tattoos had been either burned or cut off to delay identification, and that’s the part that deters me most from getting my Escher tattoo.

My mum has already had enough with losing a son, so believe me, I will do my best not to deprive her of a daughter. But if anything should happen – Well, I don’t need to carry on writing, do I? You know what I mean. Better not to have a tattoo.