Post by Abby Park on Oct 24, 2015 8:49:30 GMT -6
JUNE, WEEK TWO
“So, did you make any progress on what we discussed in your last session?”
I’ve not been sitting longer than thirty seconds before Dr. Austen rushes right into the pressing matter at hand. No hello, no shaking of the hand, just a beckoning into the office and a shuffling of her papers as I find the perfect groove on the couch in order to be comfortable without feeling like I was going to fall asleep at the drop of a hat. She was smiling. That’s what they call professional optimism and I knew that it wouldn’t be long before the smile faded completely and the look she’d be giving me would be the one where doctors and health specialists give when they have to appear like they aren’t judging you and your life choices.
I’m sure therapy has helped people. I’m also sure that I don’t need it.
‘What we discussed’ was my supposed anxiety when it came to social situations and already I knew that Dr. Austen was knocking on the wrong door. I bask in the warming glow of television, I don’t feel the need to go out and meet people, I’m not suffering from social anxiety as much as she wants that to be the case. I CAN go out. I HAVE gone out. I sang karaoke, I got drunk, it’s hard to get more social than that.
“I…made an effort,” not exactly a lie but it’s a stretching of the truth. These professionals…they like to hear that effort is being made even if it’s the bare minimum. I had a hunch that she wouldn’t mind so long as an effort was given; if there’s one thing I can do well it’s give an effort when the situation arises.
“An effort is good, Abby. I understand that it can be difficult to try ne-“
“It wasn’t difficult. Math is difficult. Talking to strangers is a chore.”
“Washing dishes, mowing the lawn, taking the bins out to the curb…those are chores, Abby. The word you’re looking for, I think, is hassle.”
I was starting not to like Dr. Austen, and then she gave me a little smile that might as well have said ‘I can’t help but be condescending’ and I knew that I didn’t like her. Sure, she might’ve been doing this to help me, it’s her job and all, but I was operating under the assumption that therapists don’t act smug around their patients. I come for help, ostensibly, and I’m getting semantics. If I wanted that I would’ve talked to my brother…if we were still on speaking terms, anyway.
“Would you like to talk about it? Tell me how it went?”
“Are you giving me a choice in the matter?”
“No one’s forcing you to do anything, Abby. But if you don’t talk how do you expect others to listen? We could change the subject, maybe? Get back to your history. I found it interesting that you spoke about…Cole, was it? You spoke about him almost like he was a revered figure, but under that you sounded…regretful. Guilt, perhaps?”
“The mall.”
“Pardon?”
“I went to the mall a few days after the last session.”
I don’t think Alicia was happy for the sudden change back to the original subject, but the road she was wanting to walk down was long, bumpy, and not one I wanted to travel with her. I was talking, though, wasn’t I? And wasn’t that what she wanted above anything else?
“Okay, Abby, let’s follow this train. What happened at the mall? Where did it happen?”
~
As so many people often do when they have time to kill and nothing of actual interest to bother with, Abby Park found herself sitting in the food court surrounded on all sides by various countries. At her back was a Sbarro’s, to her immediate left a place offering gyros off the rack, her right saw a Panda Express, and in front of her, the only that held her interest, was a taco shop. Popular with the shoppers was the desserts and sweets shops, several parents were buying their children ice cream and chocolates in order to keep them from bouncing off the walls and tugging on pant legs. Another reason why Abby was in no rush to fulfil the whole parenthood part of an adult life.
The mall itself had been a bust; she never liked coming there to begin with – anything she needed could be gotten at different stores at cheaper prices – but this was an assigned task. Optional, but still assigned. The plan was simple: find a store that sold music or television, pick something, and talk with the clerk. The store was easy enough to find, a pristine white awning and a storefront logo ripped right out of a Logo Design For Millennials handbook. Even finding an item was simple, they were having a sale and Abby picked the first thing she saw, some season set about a doctor or something.
“Good show?” Abby asked the guy behind the counter as he rung her up and she did her best not to comment on his piercings.
“Sure, whatever,” was his response in a tone that was all-to-familiar; the simple ‘I just work here, don’t talk to me’ tone of annoyance. Abby thus left the store with a DVD she had no interest in and an interaction that couldn’t be considered a conversation. The mall hadn’t exactly been much of a winner and was doing little to reinforce her thoughts that socializing outside of work was just a hassle.
Attempt two was mildly more successful but hardly worthy of consideration. With bag in hand, Abby sat at an empty bench near the fountain that marked the center of the mall. A prime meeting spot for couples, friends, families, the lot, which made it perfect for doing absolutely nothing. The aim was, of course, to strike up a conversation with someone who was sitting alone but Abby flipped it around to suit her needs. She sat alone and she hoped secretly that no one would bother sitting next to her or even do something as simple as asking for directions to Forever 21.
“Excuse me, do you mind?” The voice belonged to an older woman, if Abby had to guess she’d put her at around her sixties, who sounded exasperated. The other benches must’ve been fully occupied, or this woman enjoyed meeting and talking to strangers. Abby wasn’t sure which one she’d have preferred to be the case.
When the older woman sat Abby wrestled with the notion of striking up a conversation but what would be an appropriate opener? ‘So, you like the mall?’ Running through potential conversation starters just continued to confuse and baffle Abby, every single option sounded like some kind of move at picking up a single person. She was starting to see Dr. Austen’s point; and when the older woman resumed her shopping the only thing Abby knew was that she was definitely over analyzing something trivial.
~
“I’m going to interject here, Abby, sorry. But from the way you’re describing this-“
“No, I don’t have anxiety. I just don’t think talking to strangers does anything. What was I supposed to say to that woman?”
“I don’t know, did you try saying hello? You didn’t even respond to her question.”
“What she asked was for permission, not for an answer.”
“Regardless, Abby, there was plenty of opportunity to take an initiative. Even a simple introduction can help. What happened at the food court?”
“Sorry?”
“The food court. You opened your recollection there, did something happen?”
“I learned that the Great Steak is really only about an acceptable steak.”
I thought it was funny, but clearly Alicia didn’t as she took to rubbing her forehead. I think she was hoping to get more out of me than I was willing to admit or commit to. I guess it’s true. I am stubborn.
“Well, you tried, and that was the intent. But I think there’s more to it than this. You might not think it’s anxiety but let’s explore all angles. Getting off that topic, last time you mentioned a brother? In the past tense. Has he passed away?”
“Literally?”
Of course Ken would come up. It seemed that I couldn’t shake him even after what happened, even after the argument, the fight, the words that neither admits to want to take back. I forgot how much time I had spent with him when he was a parasite in my apartment, how much that we influenced each other. And how much we secretly loathed each other, as siblings do.
“So he’s not dead? Your brother?”
“Can I just give the mall thing another shot?”
“You don’t want to talk about Cole, you don’t want to talk about your brother, if you keep insisting that you don’t have social anxiety then we’re going to be back where we started. How about this. From your file you have a decent sized family, a sister, brothers, next week why don’t we talk about them? I’d like you to come up with one word to describe them for next time. Think you can do that?”
“I’m not in elementary school, Doctor. I can do it right now if it makes it ea-“
“Unfortunately, Abby, we’re out of time for today.”
Somehow I figured that Dr. Austen didn’t mean to put an ‘un’ before that fortunately. I’m sure that she takes her work seriously and having me sit there and undermine her authority would surely take its toll. But as I was ushered out of the office and back towards the street…I couldn’t help but to feel as if it wasn’t her time that I wasted.
~
I can hear the roar of a crowd, muffled of course. I can hear the lingering bass of songs I’ve only ever heard in small chunks. The crowd applauds, something exciting must’ve happened. I can smell cheap beer and fried foods mixing with the faint smell of cleaning solution and sweat and oils. I can taste the stinging salt of my own sweat dripping past my lips and I can feel the stinging tension in my muscles, screaming out that they’re still getting used to the old feeling. But I can’t see anything.
A towel is over my face but my eyes are closed as well. I’ve seen the way people looked at me once I was back in the locker rooms with them, if they weren’t scoffing they were politely ignoring me as they handled their actual important business. I was never much of a socialite in the first place; even when I was getting pats on the back and handshakes at most I would do what the wisest man I ever knew once told me to do: smile and nod. But I don’t even feel like doing much of either lately.
Tonight reminded me of two things. The first was that I need this more than I care to admit. It felt good, damn good, to just…move, to do what seemed to come naturally. I didn’t have the benefit of being sidelined by injury, this departure was silent, sudden, and of my own volition. It’s only to be expected that my sudden appearance on the doorstep is taken with the same eye rolling affair as a moody teenager running away only to come back that night because they got hungry. But it’s what I deserve. Sure, there’s bound to be one or two, hell, maybe even a whopping three who hear that the perennial underdog found her way back to the house, but I wouldn’t blame anyone for checking their watch for when to make sure the windows are left open and I climb out into the night to break curfew.
The second was that watching from the crowd or the screen was a terrible way to view the action, that once you’ve been on the other side, the side with the four corners, you can’t get the same look just sitting idly by.
I know why I disappeared. I might not ever tell, I might just let speculation roll around until people stop caring – and they only care because of a sudden unannounced visit. It doesn’t matter why I left, it won’t change anything other than people’s attitudes towards me, though I suspect a woman like Savannah Taylor would still have similar sour things to say to me even if I hadn’t done the cycle of exits and entrances. At this point my name is either mud or water, an annoyance or a refreshment and that’s always been the case. The people that don’t like me never will and this won’t change that; the ones that do like me, well, hopefully I can remind them just why they do.
I know why I returned, and it wasn’t to right injustice or fight wrongs like I was so eager to do. I did it for me. I don’t care if I never reach the same heights as I did at my peak and I don’t care if I never find myself on the winning side again. I need this. It’s what I do. It’s who I am. It’s not the path I imagined for myself when I was shoving bullies into lockers and into mud…but the world needs ditch diggers and shit kickers too.
I remove the towel from my face and I slowly open my eyes. The smells. The sounds. The sights. I’m done for the night but I’m not leaving until everyone else is done too. I’ve rejoined the family at the dinner table, and it would be so rude to leave before the dishes are cleared.
No fanfare. No excitement. Don’t roll out a carpet for me. Do what you do, Abby, that’s all; one step at a time. One step at a time.
~
“You know, I’m honestly shocked by the match I’ve found myself in just after my stunning and glorious return to this wonderful passion of ours. Shocked, but certainly not surprised. I don’t really go for surprises, I’m much too laid back for that. I roll with the punches right before punching back far harder than whatever it was that sought to punch me. I’m simple like that, I suppose, and that’s what makes me so absolutely likeable. I’m reliable. With me, you know exactly what you’re going to get. Maybe that’s why I find myself competing for a title at the drop of a hat, because you all know I’m good for it.”
“It’s kind of fitting in a way, y’know? Last time I beat the former champion and this time I get to try my luck against the current champion enjoying his second time with the strap around his waist. But if you think that that’s what makes this match fitting then, brother, you need to take a step back and think long and hard about the next thing I’m about to say.”
“What a difference a year makes.”
“Give or take a few days, the last time I met Justin Brooks was when the two of us were in a triple threat match with the woman who was then the champion of the very same title he and I are competing over in this upcoming encounter. Neither of us came out on top, but if you’ll recall the big loser in that match was yours truly. But hey, I’ve talked at length about my thoughts on THAT particular nugget. You never do forget the ones most important to you.”
“A year ago I was still under the assumption that I’d never amount to anything other than a yes woman. I’d go out, do my thing, get my handshakes backstage, and go home to a glass of milk and an episode of Housewives of Orange County. A year ago I’d never even entertained the notion that I could be the third woman to put her name on the list of world champions. A year ago I might’ve been afraid of the monster known as Justin Brooks.
“What a difference a year makes.”
“In just one short year, I went from top dog to ghost dog and Justin went from one time International Champion to two time International Champion. Congratulations buddy. You did it. Unfortunately, Justin, the sophomore effort just never can quite measure up to the debut. Here’s the thing, Justin: we’re both monsters of a different breed.”
“You’re big and mean and scary like a bear whereas I’m more like a dog that’s been backed into a corner and left with no other option but to bite and bark. What’s worse? Well I don’t talk nearly as hard as I punch. But you’re no stranger to me as I’m certainly not to you. Ours may not be as rich a history as some, but it’s there all the same. Is your deal some philosophical pursuit? Making people unleash their inner beast? Gazing into abysses and the abyss is named Justin Brooks? How’s that going to work out, I wonder, against someone who stands to gain everything with nothing left to lose.”
“I wasn’t expecting a title opportunity to fall into my lap so soon, but I suppose it’s easier to pick up where one left off than to start over. What’s this match going to do to my reputation that I haven’t already done myself? If I win, that’s three belts I’ve had and more proof that behind my soft exterior lies someone who knows how to fight down to the burger when the chips are down. If I lose? Well, I can still take solace in the fact that despite you being a two time International champion…I’ve still been a world champion more times than you have.”
“Even so, don’t count on me resting on my laurels here. I’m not looking to fall back on ‘well I WAS something’. That’s for people who’ve given up. And people who give up don’t last long against a monster, isn’t that right? What you’re getting isn’t some new and improved Abby Park. No. You’re getting the same one that she ever was. And she knows a thing or two about throwing down when everything is on the table.”
“Justin Brooks hasn’t killed me yet. And you know what they say about things that don’t kill you. They make you an International Champion.”
“So, did you make any progress on what we discussed in your last session?”
I’ve not been sitting longer than thirty seconds before Dr. Austen rushes right into the pressing matter at hand. No hello, no shaking of the hand, just a beckoning into the office and a shuffling of her papers as I find the perfect groove on the couch in order to be comfortable without feeling like I was going to fall asleep at the drop of a hat. She was smiling. That’s what they call professional optimism and I knew that it wouldn’t be long before the smile faded completely and the look she’d be giving me would be the one where doctors and health specialists give when they have to appear like they aren’t judging you and your life choices.
I’m sure therapy has helped people. I’m also sure that I don’t need it.
‘What we discussed’ was my supposed anxiety when it came to social situations and already I knew that Dr. Austen was knocking on the wrong door. I bask in the warming glow of television, I don’t feel the need to go out and meet people, I’m not suffering from social anxiety as much as she wants that to be the case. I CAN go out. I HAVE gone out. I sang karaoke, I got drunk, it’s hard to get more social than that.
“I…made an effort,” not exactly a lie but it’s a stretching of the truth. These professionals…they like to hear that effort is being made even if it’s the bare minimum. I had a hunch that she wouldn’t mind so long as an effort was given; if there’s one thing I can do well it’s give an effort when the situation arises.
“An effort is good, Abby. I understand that it can be difficult to try ne-“
“It wasn’t difficult. Math is difficult. Talking to strangers is a chore.”
“Washing dishes, mowing the lawn, taking the bins out to the curb…those are chores, Abby. The word you’re looking for, I think, is hassle.”
I was starting not to like Dr. Austen, and then she gave me a little smile that might as well have said ‘I can’t help but be condescending’ and I knew that I didn’t like her. Sure, she might’ve been doing this to help me, it’s her job and all, but I was operating under the assumption that therapists don’t act smug around their patients. I come for help, ostensibly, and I’m getting semantics. If I wanted that I would’ve talked to my brother…if we were still on speaking terms, anyway.
“Would you like to talk about it? Tell me how it went?”
“Are you giving me a choice in the matter?”
“No one’s forcing you to do anything, Abby. But if you don’t talk how do you expect others to listen? We could change the subject, maybe? Get back to your history. I found it interesting that you spoke about…Cole, was it? You spoke about him almost like he was a revered figure, but under that you sounded…regretful. Guilt, perhaps?”
“The mall.”
“Pardon?”
“I went to the mall a few days after the last session.”
I don’t think Alicia was happy for the sudden change back to the original subject, but the road she was wanting to walk down was long, bumpy, and not one I wanted to travel with her. I was talking, though, wasn’t I? And wasn’t that what she wanted above anything else?
“Okay, Abby, let’s follow this train. What happened at the mall? Where did it happen?”
~
As so many people often do when they have time to kill and nothing of actual interest to bother with, Abby Park found herself sitting in the food court surrounded on all sides by various countries. At her back was a Sbarro’s, to her immediate left a place offering gyros off the rack, her right saw a Panda Express, and in front of her, the only that held her interest, was a taco shop. Popular with the shoppers was the desserts and sweets shops, several parents were buying their children ice cream and chocolates in order to keep them from bouncing off the walls and tugging on pant legs. Another reason why Abby was in no rush to fulfil the whole parenthood part of an adult life.
The mall itself had been a bust; she never liked coming there to begin with – anything she needed could be gotten at different stores at cheaper prices – but this was an assigned task. Optional, but still assigned. The plan was simple: find a store that sold music or television, pick something, and talk with the clerk. The store was easy enough to find, a pristine white awning and a storefront logo ripped right out of a Logo Design For Millennials handbook. Even finding an item was simple, they were having a sale and Abby picked the first thing she saw, some season set about a doctor or something.
“Good show?” Abby asked the guy behind the counter as he rung her up and she did her best not to comment on his piercings.
“Sure, whatever,” was his response in a tone that was all-to-familiar; the simple ‘I just work here, don’t talk to me’ tone of annoyance. Abby thus left the store with a DVD she had no interest in and an interaction that couldn’t be considered a conversation. The mall hadn’t exactly been much of a winner and was doing little to reinforce her thoughts that socializing outside of work was just a hassle.
Attempt two was mildly more successful but hardly worthy of consideration. With bag in hand, Abby sat at an empty bench near the fountain that marked the center of the mall. A prime meeting spot for couples, friends, families, the lot, which made it perfect for doing absolutely nothing. The aim was, of course, to strike up a conversation with someone who was sitting alone but Abby flipped it around to suit her needs. She sat alone and she hoped secretly that no one would bother sitting next to her or even do something as simple as asking for directions to Forever 21.
“Excuse me, do you mind?” The voice belonged to an older woman, if Abby had to guess she’d put her at around her sixties, who sounded exasperated. The other benches must’ve been fully occupied, or this woman enjoyed meeting and talking to strangers. Abby wasn’t sure which one she’d have preferred to be the case.
When the older woman sat Abby wrestled with the notion of striking up a conversation but what would be an appropriate opener? ‘So, you like the mall?’ Running through potential conversation starters just continued to confuse and baffle Abby, every single option sounded like some kind of move at picking up a single person. She was starting to see Dr. Austen’s point; and when the older woman resumed her shopping the only thing Abby knew was that she was definitely over analyzing something trivial.
~
“I’m going to interject here, Abby, sorry. But from the way you’re describing this-“
“No, I don’t have anxiety. I just don’t think talking to strangers does anything. What was I supposed to say to that woman?”
“I don’t know, did you try saying hello? You didn’t even respond to her question.”
“What she asked was for permission, not for an answer.”
“Regardless, Abby, there was plenty of opportunity to take an initiative. Even a simple introduction can help. What happened at the food court?”
“Sorry?”
“The food court. You opened your recollection there, did something happen?”
“I learned that the Great Steak is really only about an acceptable steak.”
I thought it was funny, but clearly Alicia didn’t as she took to rubbing her forehead. I think she was hoping to get more out of me than I was willing to admit or commit to. I guess it’s true. I am stubborn.
“Well, you tried, and that was the intent. But I think there’s more to it than this. You might not think it’s anxiety but let’s explore all angles. Getting off that topic, last time you mentioned a brother? In the past tense. Has he passed away?”
“Literally?”
Of course Ken would come up. It seemed that I couldn’t shake him even after what happened, even after the argument, the fight, the words that neither admits to want to take back. I forgot how much time I had spent with him when he was a parasite in my apartment, how much that we influenced each other. And how much we secretly loathed each other, as siblings do.
“So he’s not dead? Your brother?”
“Can I just give the mall thing another shot?”
“You don’t want to talk about Cole, you don’t want to talk about your brother, if you keep insisting that you don’t have social anxiety then we’re going to be back where we started. How about this. From your file you have a decent sized family, a sister, brothers, next week why don’t we talk about them? I’d like you to come up with one word to describe them for next time. Think you can do that?”
“I’m not in elementary school, Doctor. I can do it right now if it makes it ea-“
“Unfortunately, Abby, we’re out of time for today.”
Somehow I figured that Dr. Austen didn’t mean to put an ‘un’ before that fortunately. I’m sure that she takes her work seriously and having me sit there and undermine her authority would surely take its toll. But as I was ushered out of the office and back towards the street…I couldn’t help but to feel as if it wasn’t her time that I wasted.
~
I can hear the roar of a crowd, muffled of course. I can hear the lingering bass of songs I’ve only ever heard in small chunks. The crowd applauds, something exciting must’ve happened. I can smell cheap beer and fried foods mixing with the faint smell of cleaning solution and sweat and oils. I can taste the stinging salt of my own sweat dripping past my lips and I can feel the stinging tension in my muscles, screaming out that they’re still getting used to the old feeling. But I can’t see anything.
A towel is over my face but my eyes are closed as well. I’ve seen the way people looked at me once I was back in the locker rooms with them, if they weren’t scoffing they were politely ignoring me as they handled their actual important business. I was never much of a socialite in the first place; even when I was getting pats on the back and handshakes at most I would do what the wisest man I ever knew once told me to do: smile and nod. But I don’t even feel like doing much of either lately.
Tonight reminded me of two things. The first was that I need this more than I care to admit. It felt good, damn good, to just…move, to do what seemed to come naturally. I didn’t have the benefit of being sidelined by injury, this departure was silent, sudden, and of my own volition. It’s only to be expected that my sudden appearance on the doorstep is taken with the same eye rolling affair as a moody teenager running away only to come back that night because they got hungry. But it’s what I deserve. Sure, there’s bound to be one or two, hell, maybe even a whopping three who hear that the perennial underdog found her way back to the house, but I wouldn’t blame anyone for checking their watch for when to make sure the windows are left open and I climb out into the night to break curfew.
The second was that watching from the crowd or the screen was a terrible way to view the action, that once you’ve been on the other side, the side with the four corners, you can’t get the same look just sitting idly by.
I know why I disappeared. I might not ever tell, I might just let speculation roll around until people stop caring – and they only care because of a sudden unannounced visit. It doesn’t matter why I left, it won’t change anything other than people’s attitudes towards me, though I suspect a woman like Savannah Taylor would still have similar sour things to say to me even if I hadn’t done the cycle of exits and entrances. At this point my name is either mud or water, an annoyance or a refreshment and that’s always been the case. The people that don’t like me never will and this won’t change that; the ones that do like me, well, hopefully I can remind them just why they do.
I know why I returned, and it wasn’t to right injustice or fight wrongs like I was so eager to do. I did it for me. I don’t care if I never reach the same heights as I did at my peak and I don’t care if I never find myself on the winning side again. I need this. It’s what I do. It’s who I am. It’s not the path I imagined for myself when I was shoving bullies into lockers and into mud…but the world needs ditch diggers and shit kickers too.
I remove the towel from my face and I slowly open my eyes. The smells. The sounds. The sights. I’m done for the night but I’m not leaving until everyone else is done too. I’ve rejoined the family at the dinner table, and it would be so rude to leave before the dishes are cleared.
No fanfare. No excitement. Don’t roll out a carpet for me. Do what you do, Abby, that’s all; one step at a time. One step at a time.
~
“You know, I’m honestly shocked by the match I’ve found myself in just after my stunning and glorious return to this wonderful passion of ours. Shocked, but certainly not surprised. I don’t really go for surprises, I’m much too laid back for that. I roll with the punches right before punching back far harder than whatever it was that sought to punch me. I’m simple like that, I suppose, and that’s what makes me so absolutely likeable. I’m reliable. With me, you know exactly what you’re going to get. Maybe that’s why I find myself competing for a title at the drop of a hat, because you all know I’m good for it.”
“It’s kind of fitting in a way, y’know? Last time I beat the former champion and this time I get to try my luck against the current champion enjoying his second time with the strap around his waist. But if you think that that’s what makes this match fitting then, brother, you need to take a step back and think long and hard about the next thing I’m about to say.”
“What a difference a year makes.”
“Give or take a few days, the last time I met Justin Brooks was when the two of us were in a triple threat match with the woman who was then the champion of the very same title he and I are competing over in this upcoming encounter. Neither of us came out on top, but if you’ll recall the big loser in that match was yours truly. But hey, I’ve talked at length about my thoughts on THAT particular nugget. You never do forget the ones most important to you.”
“A year ago I was still under the assumption that I’d never amount to anything other than a yes woman. I’d go out, do my thing, get my handshakes backstage, and go home to a glass of milk and an episode of Housewives of Orange County. A year ago I’d never even entertained the notion that I could be the third woman to put her name on the list of world champions. A year ago I might’ve been afraid of the monster known as Justin Brooks.
“What a difference a year makes.”
“In just one short year, I went from top dog to ghost dog and Justin went from one time International Champion to two time International Champion. Congratulations buddy. You did it. Unfortunately, Justin, the sophomore effort just never can quite measure up to the debut. Here’s the thing, Justin: we’re both monsters of a different breed.”
“You’re big and mean and scary like a bear whereas I’m more like a dog that’s been backed into a corner and left with no other option but to bite and bark. What’s worse? Well I don’t talk nearly as hard as I punch. But you’re no stranger to me as I’m certainly not to you. Ours may not be as rich a history as some, but it’s there all the same. Is your deal some philosophical pursuit? Making people unleash their inner beast? Gazing into abysses and the abyss is named Justin Brooks? How’s that going to work out, I wonder, against someone who stands to gain everything with nothing left to lose.”
“I wasn’t expecting a title opportunity to fall into my lap so soon, but I suppose it’s easier to pick up where one left off than to start over. What’s this match going to do to my reputation that I haven’t already done myself? If I win, that’s three belts I’ve had and more proof that behind my soft exterior lies someone who knows how to fight down to the burger when the chips are down. If I lose? Well, I can still take solace in the fact that despite you being a two time International champion…I’ve still been a world champion more times than you have.”
“Even so, don’t count on me resting on my laurels here. I’m not looking to fall back on ‘well I WAS something’. That’s for people who’ve given up. And people who give up don’t last long against a monster, isn’t that right? What you’re getting isn’t some new and improved Abby Park. No. You’re getting the same one that she ever was. And she knows a thing or two about throwing down when everything is on the table.”
“Justin Brooks hasn’t killed me yet. And you know what they say about things that don’t kill you. They make you an International Champion.”
