Open Padlock

            by Molly Bell

 

The petite woman’s body stiffened as pain shot down her arm and back. The sensation was as if her skin was slowly being peeled off her shoulder. The salty taste of blood filled her mouth as she bit her tongue to prevent herself from crying out. Why am I doing this? She dug her long pearl-colored nails into the palm of her hands as the needle s-c-r-a-t-c-h-e-d over the same small area of skin repeatedly.

Classical music played softly in the background. The music was intended to help keep her calm, but it was inconsistent with her emotions and only added to her frustration. Although she appeared to be pretty and happy, she felt exactly the opposite. By now, of course, she was an expert at hiding her real feelings. Deep inside, she was kicking and screaming.

After enduring an hour of searing pain, the artist behind her said, “Okay, I am done. Do you want see it?” She nodded and wiped her flooded eyes. He pointed to a full-length mirror across the room. Standing up from the surgeon’s table required focus because her knees were shaking. As she walked across the room she took a deep breath and said to herself, You’ve wanted to do this for years. You will love it.

She turned her back to the mirror and looked over her shoulder at the reflection. Her face lit up. There, covering her shoulder blade was a black-ink image, the size of a golf ball, of an open padlock.

*                                                                      *                                                                  *

That morning, Barbara had no idea what the next twenty four hours would bring. The day began in a typical fashion. She woke up next to an empty indent in the bed. Barbra wasn’t surprised that her husband, Darren, hadn’t come home the previous night. In fact, she wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t come back tonight or tomorrow night either. When Darren told her that he would be taking a business trip to Amsterdam, she knew he would be gone most nights, and yet as usual he insisted she come. He never trusted her with other people in his absence, so he locked her up in his hotel room, leaving instructions that she would receive no visitors, except room service.

*                                                                      *                                                                  *

Darren and Barbara were voted cutest couple in their senior year high school yearbook, and they married a year after they graduated. Over the next sixteen years, Darren changed. Barbara expressed an interest in getting a tattoo. He told her that he thought her idea was ridiculous and that he wanted her to stay pure. She was a little surprised by his attitude, but wanted to make him happy. His controlling behavior escalated. Barbara was shocked that Darren was so possessive. Initially, she misunderstood his intentions, and despite his objections she left the house to socialized with friends. The next morning she woke up with a bruise on her arm and a headache. Darren insisted she stop working in order to manage their home and minimize her interactions with other people, and yet she went to work. The next morning she woke up with scratches on her back and a black eye. A month later he ordered her to do all of the chores quietly while he came home and slept. Barbara told him to get his lazy ass out of bed and help. The next morning she woke up with small round burns all over her body. Barbara found out he was cheating on her with prostitutes. She confronted his behavior, cried, and threatened to leave. The next morning she woke up with gashes on her stomach, bruises on her back, alone in bed, and locked in their house. She learned it was easier to obey him and her posture sagged until her shoulders hunched forward and a forced, vacant smile became common on her face.

*                                                                      *                                                                  *

Sixteen years later, on this morning in Amsterdam, Barbara did not realize she had reached her breaking point after waking up in an empty bed, but she had. Outside was a beautiful fall day in Amsterdam, and she was thirty-four. She felt like she was young and vibrant and was not going to spend the day trapped in this microscopic hotel room. This morning, everything seemed possible.

Darren had selected a small and personal hotel that was a remodeled old Victorian canal house. The room was small and the view was amazing. There was a knock on the door: room service. A young man named Sven, a hotel employee, wearing a black bow tie, unlocked the door to serve breakfast, she turned from the window with her usual vacant smile.

“Good morning,” said Sven in a cheerful voice with a thick Dutch accent, “How are you doing on this lovely fall day?” He began transferring plates of warm buttery croissants and a cup of steaming coffee onto the serving table.

“Fine,” Barbara said, keeping the plain smile on her face, although her eyes were glittering. She began to twirl her expensive engagement ring.

She drifted over to table and leaned over Sven, appearing to consider the food. Barbara gently touched his shoulder and saw his cheeks turn pink. “The coffee smells great,” she said as she slowly reached into the young server’s jacket pocket, “Did you make it?”

“Uhh…yes.” He seemed nervous, but interested.

“Mmmmm, Sven, you make the best coffee,” she said in a deep mellow voice.

The young man shifted his weight awkwardly. “Um, thanks.” The pink in his cheeks deepened.

“Oh, I wish that I could take you back to the United States with me.” Carefully, she reached into his jacket pocket and lifted out the room key, palming it into her hand so he wouldn’t notice. “Thank you so much for making breakfast for me. I bet you went to a lot of trouble,” she said. Barbara knew he wouldn’t notice the room key was gone immediately and did not want him to realize the room key was missing right away. In Amsterdam, and many other European countries, it is customary to leave one’s room keys at the front desk when leaving the hotel for the day. Therefore, each day her husband left his key with Sven.

Sven nested and balanced the serving trays to remove them. As he left the room, Barbara could barely hear him say, “You are welcome.”

The sound of the door closing then locking and Sven’s scampering footsteps down the stairs told Barbara that the coast was clear. She unlocked the black heavy door, stepped into the hallway, and placed the key outside the door on the floor in the hall. Barbara heard Sven curse in the stairwell and his footsteps coming back up the stairs. That was her cue. Barbara jumped behind a large armoire across the hallway. Sven appeared from the stairs, picked up the key, locked the door, and headed down the stairwell again.

Barbara opened the hotel’s back door and a cool breeze greeted her. She’d escaped for the day. She inhaled the fresh air through her nose and mouth. For the first time in many years, she smiled her real smile. Looking out at a small river lined with trees covered in red and orange leaves and its bridges, made her feel like she could do anything. She stepped onto the pebble road.

Barbara spent the day wandering through the narrow confusing streets that led to small romantic plazas and the many rivers that were scattered among the city. The streets were peaceful and teeming with bikes because most of the streets were too narrow for cars.

The sky darkened with shades of blue and pink until eventually it turned the darkest of blues. Crossing a large river, Barbara saw many stores with bright and colorful lights ahead. Drawn to them, she walked towards the new environment. Barbara glanced in the windows surrounding her. She passed smoky bars with the five-pronged leaf sign hung from the door. The next store was filled with sex toys in all different colors. Tourist gift shops lined the streets with mugs and t-shirts saying “Amsterdam,” adorned with pictures of nude women.

Barbara was amazed how blatant the sale of sex and marijuana was in this area of Amsterdam. At times she was taken aback, but other times she felt a little intrigued. As she turned the corner, her foot got caught in between two cobble stones, and her ankle twisted to the left. Agh! She bent over to sit down. While she massaged her own ankle, a tall skinny man came out from the storefront and spoke in Dutch to her.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Dutch,” Barbara said with a sigh, still rubbing her ankle.

“Are you well?” he said in a slight Dutch accent. He pushed his black messy hair out of his face.

“Yes, thank you. I think I’ll be okay.” Barbara tried to stand up but couldn’t.

“Here,” he knelt down to put his arm around her shoulders. “Come in. I have ice pack that make ankle better.” He lifted her up and they staggered into the closest building.

He set her down in a sanitary waiting room, and said, in his hesitant, broken English, “Wait. I will be back quick.” Barbara’s hazel eyes quickly scanned the room from top to bottom; the low off white ceilings, the glass cabinet filled with photos, the wobbly old tables with black binders stacked high on top.

“Here, ice pack for ankle,” the slender man said as he handed her a small ziplock baggy of ice. “Do you want drink?” Putting the ice on her ankle, she nodded. The black-haired man left the room.

Music from a sorrowful violin played in the background. Barbara reached forward for one of the black binders. She flipped it to the first page. A picture showed big black skull appearing on a muscled arm. The next page displayed pictures of three women with matching Chinese symbols on their lower back. She flipped open a page, then another, and another. Midway through a third binder she saw it: an image of an open padlock.

*                                                                      *                                                                    *

            Staring at the picture of a black open padlock on her shoulder, tears of happiness welled up and down her flushed cheeks, her hurt ankle forgotten.

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” said Barbara to the tattoo artist while shaking his hand. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

            “I hope you enjoy,” replied the artist with a big grin.

            Barbara was not carrying much cash, and prior to buying the tattoo she’d worried how much the tattoo would cost. She nervously worked her engagement ring around her finger, while he told her the price of $60 in American money. She sighed in relief because she had enough cash.

            The day’s earlier breeze had become stronger and colder, Barbara noticed when she stepped outside of the tattoo parlor. Strolling down the windy streets back to the hotel, she felt powerful and in control. Her tattoo was exposed and she began to strut, which she hadn’t done in years. After about an hour, Barbara found her way back to the hotel.

            Parked in front of the entrance was Barbara’s husband’s car. She froze. Her memories with him flooded into her mind and soul before she knew what hit her. Memories of hitting and hatred. The tattoo. Tears began to pour down Barbara’s face. I can’t go home. He’ll kill me.  Barbara immediately turned around and walked back in the direction that she came, not knowing where she was going; only knowing that she couldn’t go back to her husband with a tattoo. She began vigorously turning her ring around her finger. Her strut was gone.

            Barbara wandered the rocky streets of Amsterdam for the third time that day. She passed a street vendor selling waffles and realized how hungry she was since she’d skipped breakfast. She reached into her pocket and paid the guy in American coins, since she never learned the currency, for one waffle. He didn’t seem to mind.  While she stuffed the waffle down her throat, a small skinny girl with badly dyed black hair came up to her.

            “Nice tattoo. How long ago did you get it? It looks recent,” the skinny girl asked.

            “About two hours ago,” Barbara replied, surprised the girl had an American accent.

            “You don’t seem too happy about it.”

            “How did you guess?”

            “I don’t know. You just look a little stressed. With that look and a new tattoo, it wasn’t that hard to figure out.”

            “Sure.”

            “Why don’t you like it?”

            “My husband wouldn’t like it.” Barbara couldn’t believe that she was talking to this stranger, and already hinting at her relationship with her husband.

            “Didn’t you know that when you got it?”

            “You’re nosey aren’t you?” Barbara snapped.

            “Sorry,” the girl replied with attitude.

            “Wait, no I’m sorry. My husband is a touchy subject and I’m angry. And I’m scared. And now I hate this tattoo and wished that it would disappear when I used to love it. And-”

            “I could help you with that.”

            “…Help me with what?”

            “Making your tattoo disappear.”

            “Really? How?”

            “The woman I work for does tattoo removal.”

            “How much is it?”

            “A lot of money. But I’m sure you could afford it, judging by your clothes and that ring,” she said motioning the engagement ring.

            Barbara slouched. “I don’t have any more money. My husband…it’s hard to explain.”

            “What’s your name?”

            “Barbara.”

“I’m Fanny. Well, Barbara, I’m sure you can…arrange something with my boss. Come on. This way.”

            Before Barbara knew it, she was following Fanny through the twisting and turning streets, deeper and deeper into the alleyways.

            After walking what felt like fifteen minutes, she stood on the edge of the city’s red light district. Fanny and Barbara stood in front of a tall slender house. The wooden house was next to a small river. Barbara could not quite tell what the color of the house was because the sun had gone down. The only source of light was the reflection of the moon on the water. The windows were covered with framed black drawings. One was a detailed dragon. Another was a small rose. A third was a thick band resembling waves. Fanny put her hand on Barbara’s back and guided her inside the bright red door. The room had high roofs and dim hanging lights. Barbara hadn’t realized how cold she was, but was relieved that the house was warm.

            “I found another one!” yelled Fanny into the seemingly empty house.

            Barbara took no notice in what Fanny said because she was immersed in the black images that surrounded her. The walls, like the windows outside, were covered in framed artwork. She moved closer to inspect them.

            They were all different styles of black ink paintings each on a of flesh tone color canvas. The images had no setting, but were stunning. A few reminded her of the style of her own tattoo.

            Barbara noticed a dark corner with no light. She stepped toward the corner and a warm hand grabbed her shoulder.

“Ah,” Barbara’s breath caught in her throat, and her heart skipped a beat. “Oh, I’m sorry. You startled me…” The woman standing in front of Barbara was voluptuous and had a large stunning smile. She seemed to be in her mid-forties and conveyed a motherly presence. Barbara thought it was ironic that such an elegant motherly woman would be working in the red light.

            “I’m sorry I scared you, honey. I’m Shirley,” the woman said. Shirley’s voice was not what Barbara expected. Her voice had a slow southern accent from America.

            “I’m Barbara. Are you both from the states?”

            “My accent always gives it away. Actually, most of our clients are Americans who make a mistake by getting a tattoo while drunk in the red light district. I send out Fanny here to find these Americans. Tattoo removal is a good business here.”

            “About that, I need my tattoo removed before I go home,” her speech sped up, “I also spent the last of my money on the tattoo and a waffle.”

            “Well honey, there isn’t a way to remove a tattoo in a night.”

            What am I going to do? thought Barbara.

            “Unless…”

            Barbara’s heart sped up. She was desperate to make this tattoo disappear. “Unless what?” Barbara responded a little to loudly.

            “Well it would be painful.”
            “What would be painful?”

            “I could cut out the skin and flesh underneath so there would be no trace of ink. You would have a scar, but your tattoo would be gone. We are unable to give you an anesthetic, so it would be extremely painful, but that is the only way there would be no tattoo when you went home.”

            “No anesthetics?”

            “No anesthetics.”

            Barbara could not imagine having this kind warm woman ripping skin and flesh off of her body. Her hands became clammy. “Okay. I’ll…Wait, I have no money.”

            “Honey, you seem like you need this,” Shirley motioned to her shoulder, “more than I need that money. I’ll do it for you free of charge.”

            “Really?”

            “Of course, honey.” Shirley flung a tank top at Barbara. “Take off your bra and shirt and put that tank top on so as not to get blood on your clothes. Come on Fanny, let’s go find supplies that we need for this procedure.”

            “Thank you so much,” Barbara exhaled. She sat and nervously twirled her ring. The voices of Shirley and Fanny in the other room made Barbara confused. They were speaking Dutch. She wondered why they chose to speak Dutch on their own time if they were American. Huh, she thought still spinning her ring.

            “I think we’re all ready. Are you?” Shirley asked Barbara.

            Barbara nodded because she had lost her breathe and was not sure if she could talk. She could feel every nerve in her body shaking. Why am I doing this? Would Darren mind that much if I came home with a tattoo. Of course he would. He’ll be hysterical.

            “You must stay perfectly still,” said Shirley. “Or else I’ll cut more than I need to. Honey, would you like Fanny to hold your hand? That might help a bit.”

            “Uh, sure.”

            “Fanny, you heard her, hold her hand!” Fanny reached down and touched her left hand. “It’ll be fine, honey.”

            Shirley wiped a slender knife off with alcohol one more time and was ready. Barbara closed her eyes and felt the knife touch her shoulder blade. A rush of intense pain shot throughout her body. She felt like she was on fire. Barbara dug her head into her knees and let out a muffled scream. The next ten minutes passed slowly.

            Finally, Shirley was finished. Where just moments before there was a tattoo, there were now eight neat stitches. Barbara lay limply, recovering from the pain. Shirley gently wiped the stitched area with Betadyne and then smeared trisporic ointment on the stitched incision. Fanny moved her hand away from Barbara’s and put it in her pocket.

Shirley taped a small bandage over Barbara’s wound. Shirley discreetly handed the chunk of excised flesh and skin to Fanny. Barbara was unaware of what happened next due to her exhaustion and relief that the pain was over. Fanny sliced as much flesh away from the skin as possible and gently placed the skin onto a surgical tray and hid it away in a drawer.

            Shirley washed her hands, and poured a cup of coffee. “Here you are, honey. This might help you be able to stay awake long enough for you to get home.”

            Barbara sat up, her eyes red, her face expressionless. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

            Shirley gave Barbara instructions for reaching her hotel safely. After drinking the coffee, Barbara bid goodbye to Shirley, Fanny, and their eerie house, lined with framed artwork.

            Barbara began the walk to the hotel, stopping every few blocks to rest. She began thinking of excuses for the fresh wound and why she left the hotel. She knew it wouldn’t matter what she told Darren, but she always tried. This is the first time in many years I’ve disobeyed him. Maybe he won’t take it so badly. she hoped. She started to get nervous and reached down to twist her ring. Only it wasn’t there. Barbara immediately dropped down to her hands and knees and started to crawl back the way she came. She stopped. Fanny had held her hand. Which hand did she hold? WHICH hand did she hold? The left one. In that moment, Barbara realized she’d been conned. She knew even if she returned to confront Shirley and Fanny, they would deny everything. They would say they didn’t take it and it must have fallen off on her way back to the hotel.

            Barbara began walking again. Now she had to think of three excuses. Why did I ever leave? Was this free day worth it? Barbara felt used and manipulated. She was just so tired of being used and manipulated. Her eyes welled up. She couldn’t do this anymore. Day after day, being abused and locked up. She needed to stand up to Darren, but she knew she would lose.

            While walking the last few blocks to her hotel, she let those thoughts simmer in her mind. No, I need to stay with my husband. I made a vow. He only does what he thinks is best for me.

            Barbara passed her husband’s parked car, entered the hotel, and walked up the stairs to her room. She stood in front of the door with her hand on the door knob. I am just so tired. She took her hand off of the door knob and turned towards the stairs.