V/O: She remembers the endless dresses she drew as a child. Her ink-stained fingers filling pad after pad.
[SFX: Scribbling on paper. Pages turning.]
V/O: And she remembers the boredom of the family business. The foul taste of the postage stamps. The taste of cheap coffee. The dull glare of the monitors.
[SFX: Ambient office noise.]
V/O: When she looks at me, she remembers turning the pages of Paris Fashion School’s brochure, and how her young heart raced.
[SFX: Pages turning. Heart racing]
V/O: And she remembers not going.
[SFX: Pages stop turning.]
V/O: When she looks at me, she remembers the business dependent upon her; the years dragging by. The stamps. The coffee. The monitors.
[SFX: Ambient office noise.]
V/O: But she also remembers the day she was going through her parents’ boxes, and how her memory fluttered as she saw one of her old notebooks.
[SFX: Cardboard box opening.]
V/O: And how she got up. Snatched her car keys. Drove to the store. Bought a new pad. Took it home and opened it and started to draw.
[SFX: Jingling of keys. Car driving. Store door opening.Pad opening. Scribbling]
V/O: When she looks at me, she feels the plane wheels touching down. She hears the echoes of the fashion college halls. And she sees the flashes of the cameras as her first collection streamed down the runway.
[SFX: Plane wheels touch down. French language being spoken on street. Footsteps echoing down halls. Music and clicking sound of cameras flashing]
V/O: All this when she looks at me, and I am ink. [SFX: Buzzing]
V/O: I am the black shape of dress scissors. I’m on Jessica Chen’s right shoulder. I am her tattoo.