Anderson had a bear tattooed on his right arm. It had taken a long time for the tattooist to draw it, and it had hurt intensely, but he had closed his eyes and focused on the pain, drawing it into himself like a stream of scalding liquid that cleansed him deeply.
The tattoo gleamed blackly on his pale skin, and when he touched it he remembered the pain. Every time, it reminded him of the lesson he had learned, which was just what he had intended when he had walked into the tattoo parlour, after barely a moment’s hesitation on the street.
He liked the bear. Its sardonic snarl reflected his own way of looking at the world, and he felt that, inside, he was as powerful as the dark, sleek animal that he wore on his sleeve, a badge he had awarded himself.
There was no-one left to approve of him now. Every one of them had let him down, so he had cut them out of his life, and stepped out of their smothering cloud into the fresh air. He had made himself whole, and chosen his own solitary route.
He knew his path was not going to be easy; he must support himself, but he had only a degree in fine art, and no practical qualifications, as he refused to conform to the restrictions of the education system. His great, creative brain would not be bent and moulded into their categories, and until he found an occupation worthy of him, he was not prepared to compromise.
It suited him to take hard, manual jobs, so that the muscles beneath the bear rolled and strained. His back broadened into the work, and his mind remained free. His monosyllabic colleagues did not intrude into his world. After work, he did research at the library, and considered which of the universities he might allow to benefit from his ideas.
His routine was spartan. He ate alone, polystyrene trays of noodles and sludge-brown sauce. He did not drink. He did not socialise, apart from writing long hectoring emails to the authors of articles he had read online.
The tattoo was to remind him to keep people at a distance, so they could not affect him. Forming relationships meant giving away bits of himself, and it affected his judgement. Last time, he had found himself unable to concentrate, and unable to fit his working hours around the requirements of a woman. She needed too much from him, and the fact that she occasionally bought him a decent dinner did not move him much. When she terminated the relationship, he was angry, but he knew it had been unsatisfactory for both of them.
Now there would be no more distractions from his goal. He could continue to educate himself, to learn from experience; and one day the right opportunity would appear to him, and there would be nothing to stop him from grasping it. This was how he would be fulfilled.