Danielle R. Shapazian: We all find ways to brand ourselves

Dreams don’t come easily on hot summer days. A blazing sun chokes the future as sweat drips beneath our swirls of grey matter. If you spend time in a blistering town, who might you become?

This is the story of two young women, Claire and Marra, fictitious names for real people.

Claire arrived in Fresno without fanfare. On a June afternoon, I stared at a video monitor at the airport, wondering if I would recognize my soon-to-be house guest. She had written me an old-fashioned letter the previous winter, politely asking if she could come for a visit. She had always dreamed of California.

I had last seen her on a hike in the woods of Quebec on a glorious autumn afternoon. She was 10 years old, my cousin’s daughter, and didn’t speak English. I remembered her chestnut eyes and curly brown hair.

“Bon jour! Hello! Welcome to California!” I greeted her with a hug.

Now she was 18, with a gleaming smile and a face that flickered with excitement. She had arrived in our mythic state for a six-week stay. Her English was better than my French.

Fresno is not a beach town. Our summer sunshine is relentless. I made sure Claire received a taste of our best – the ocean, the mountains, the movie star homes. There were backyard parties and visits to our farm. Yet, real life pressed on. I had to work, leaving long afternoons when she was on her own.

We made a plan. Claire would use my bicycle to get around.

She took to riding from my house to a nearby athletic club, where she could use the pool. It was there she befriended Marra, a talkative college student who worked as a lifeguard and also used a bike for transportation.

The first time I met Marra, she wore a torso of tattoos along with her bathing suit. She promptly told me she was planning additional body art.

My eyes opened wide, but I said nothing.

I hate tattoos. They cheapen the beauty of the human body. There are times I work hard to keep my opinions to myself.

“All the ladies your age react like you,” she said with a smile.

I wondered if Claire had similar plans.

One evening, Claire asked for a ride to Marra’s apartment. I played taxi driver, trying to ignore the seedy nature of the complex near Fresno State. They had planned a sleep-over. Marra didn’t own a bed. An air mattress on the floor would suffice.

I tried to remain open, non-judgmental. In my own college apartment, I had used a cardboard box as a nightstand.

“Tomorrow, can you give us a ride to the tattoo shop?”

Of course, I could. But wouldn’t that make me complicit in an unseemly act?

When I was 16, I dreamed of piercing my ears. I wasn’t sure if God would approve. I wrestled with my decision for a long while. Finally, I drove myself to a small-town jewelry store. Ten minutes later, the deed was done.

On a bright Saturday morning in July, I picked up Claire and Marra and transported them to a tattoo parlor north of Herndon Avenue. I tempered my ambivalence with a spiel about the risk of hepatitis. I also wished them luck.

While the needle hammered, Claire looked on. When Marra walked out of the shop, a piece of plastic wrap taped loosely over her shoulder, her voice was full of joy.

It seemed right to share a special lunch that day. As the three of us stood in my kitchen slicing and chopping, Marra told me her story.

A product of the foster care system, she had folks in her life that she considered family, but she had never been formally adopted. She was waiting for her student loan to come through so she could buy a bed. She had pieced together enough money for her new tattoo by working two jobs.

With a bright flower splashed over her left scapula, Marra shouldered her dreams.

Claire returned home with a California adventure stamped on her heart.

We all find ways to brand ourselves, through methods obvious or not.

In Fresno’s growing season, the heat on our skin burns cool compared to the fervor rising within us. In autumn, the struggle doesn’t seem as tough.

This story was originally published October 9, 2015 at 11:03 AM with the headline "Danielle R. Shapazian: We all find ways to brand ourselves."