The Piercer

I started my journey as a piercer at Claire's, torturing toddlers in tulle skirts as their mother's ignored their pleas to escape the high chair of torture.

I'd load the plastic gun, cock it with faux-silver smiles, stars, or hearts, and puncture their delicate cartilage.

I recognised there was something godlike in it. I reshaped their ears into sparkling red mushrooms, as they sobbed and their blonde mothers nodded in approval.

I knew I had found my passion after the very first time I tore through a girl's lobes.

I dotted her ears with a purple marker. Her left ear sat slightly higher on her face, so I spent a good portion of our time together touching her chin and examining her jawline. Her mother complimented my attention to detail, saying that she could hardly tell the difference, but trusted my expertise.

My expertise. I nearly broke out in laughter. I was just a teenager then, working to save for college, a place I'd never end up attending. If only that mother could see me now, I wonder how much I could take from those approving eyes.

When I pulled the trigger on her daughter, heard the pop, and felt the indefinite moment of change, I knew there would be no other career path more satisfying.

-

My clients are much older now, but usually still young in the grand scheme of this brutal life. I'm the one they come to when they get the urge to bless their virgin ears with stars, smiles, and hearts.

I no longer use a gun that tears and breaks the cartilage as if shooting bullets through the ear. Now I use a single needle, long and sterile.

You should see the look on my clients' faces whenever I pull a new one out from its packaging. Oh! It's really such a delight! Their eyes pop, and I get to play mommy or nurse, reassuring them that they would hardly feel a thing.

At our tattoo shop on the boardwalk, the bell above the door chimes. A woman wearing a college hoodie walks in. She fidgets with her sleeves as she makes her way to the counter. Her eyes dart around the walls, which are graffitied with Japanese tattoo designs, dragons, Pokémon, and Mermaids.

"Hi. Um. Do you do piercings here?"

"Sure, Hun," Sam, one of the artists, says, "what are you looking to get?"

He gestures for me to go get my station ready as he runs through the paperwork and checks the woman's ID before she backs out.

With soft glee, I get to work.

I wipe down the seat with sanitizing wet wipes, I stretch the paper across it, as if cosplaying a patient's bed. I unlock and take out our collection of silver and gold.

When I'm finished and everything is pristine, Sam brings the girl to me.

"Choose your favorite," I tell her.

Her hands tremble slightly, and she tries to hide her nerves by biting her nail. She uses her other hand to point, muttering, "Are these okay?" to a pair of rose-gold plugs.

"That depends on whether you want to stretch your ears or not. I wouldn't recommend it if this is your first piercing. Never know how your body will react."

I can see it in her eyes. It's the same blind trust those soccer moms gave me at Claire's: I trust your expertise.

I guide her toward the 2mm studs and recommend a pair of gold smiley faces. She perks up, mimicking the faces on the metal. She nods and takes her finger out of her mouth to rub the saliva on the back of her legs. I'm grateful I laid out the paper across the chair.

I take a purple marker and dot her ears. Touching her small chin and running my fingers across the bone underneath her peachfuzz.

"Take a look in the mirror."

I've lined them up perfectly and do not need her input, but it's an important part of the service. The clients are soothed by this false feeling of control. She approves of the position, and I give her a nod.

"Sit," I command. She does so, and I continue the ritual.

I take out the needle from the wrapper. The girl's hands shake once more. She puts them under her thighs to stop from biting. I take a moment to lock her innocent expression to memory. Then, I carry on, taking the smiley faces into my gloved hand and bringing them to the metal tray beside her.

"Will it hurt?"

"Just a pinch, then a warm swelling. This won't be anything compared to your first night trying to sleep. By the way, you'll need to sleep on your back for a while."

Her eyes try to find understanding in mine. I smile sweetly, a customer service smile that has worked a thousand times before. While her mind is busy, I take the needle and kiss her soft lobe with the sharp tip.

I tell her to breathe in, and as her chest expands, I shove the needle in.

The pop of cartilage frightens the girl, who must be imagining her ear exploding. But before she can back out or even comprehend the damage done, I slide the golden smiley face into her tunneled wound and place a rubber end on the back.

"It's so pretty on you!" I lie.

"Really?" Her leg is shaking now. "It didn't hurt all that much." She stutters out. It's what they always say.

"One more to go and you're all set."

I line the second needle up and enjoy the sigh of relief that passes over the girl when her brain connects the sanitary precautions the shop takes. The second piercing is always easier. The client, suddenly wise from experience, is less resistant to my touch.

I pop the needle through and slide in the smiley face.

"You're all set, Hun," I say, mimicking Sam's customer service voice. "Take a good look in the mirror."

The girl laughs, a breathy sigh, then she turns to me with eyes blazing in gratitude. This look I store away, too.

"I love them!" She boasts.

I love you, I think, then call out to Sam, "All set in here!"

They come in to hype up the client's choice in studs before slipping them a coupon for their next one. They usually come back within the year, asking for bellybutton rings, nose studs, or even industrials. Regardless of placement, they always return to me.

They know I'm the only one who can take care of them.

They know intimately of my expertise.

"How come you've never gotten your ears pierced?" The girl asks before stepping out of the room, her eyes still glowing from her procedure.

I find it a ridiculous question, but I give her a humble nod goodbye. Once she's gone, I drop my smile and tidy up the room. I peel the paper from the chair and throw it away. I wrap the used needles carefully in a thick paper towel before discarding them. I lock up the gold and silver.

Her question makes me laugh. Why have I never gotten a piercing for myself?

It's quite simple. I would never give up something so precious to just anyone. I would never allow someone to take such heavenly pleasure in my earthly pain.