Like A Virgin

Fine Lines Tattoo Parlor
La Jolla, California
January 14, 2013. 12:13 P.M.

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"Remind me again why we're here?" Ken, ever the worrier, asked as he followed Abby into the shady-looking tattoo parlor. From the way his eyes darted around the shop, shuddering as they passed over each display of art, it was clear he was uncomfortable.

"We're in a tattoo parlor, Ken, I think you can figure it out," Abby replied as she tapped the bell resting on top of the counter. She, like Ken, started to observe the examples hanging on the walls. Unlike Ken, Abby was nodding in approval at each new piece she saw.

"Right, silly question. Let me rephrase it: why am I here?" Ken quickly walked over to a chair and sat, his head staring straight out of the window; counting passing cars would be preferable to flipping through whatever body art rags they had on the magazine rack next to him.

"I never asked you to come along, Ken. As soon as I said I was going out you were begging to come with me." Abby once again hit the bell. She placed her palms on the counter and leaned as far over as she could, trying to see the back to no avail.

"I figured you could use the company. You know, someone to cheer you up." Ken's eyes were still focused on the outside world, a world where it didn't smell like cigarettes and sweat.

Abby turned around, leaning against the counter with her arms folded. She stared towards Ken with her eyes narrowed and her expression sour. "Cheer me up? Ken, if you're talking about what happened in my match against Fiona-"

"Can I help you?"

Abby turned back around to see a burly gentleman proudly displaying the canvas that were his arms. Had he been wearing a bandanna to go with his jeans and black vest, Abby would've guessed he was a biker.

"Yes, actually," Abby said and began rummaging through her pockets, "I am looking to get a tattoo on my left arm...where did I..." She felt the paper in her pockets and pulled it out, unfolded it, and placed it in front of the man. "I'd like you to put this on my left arm. Lower arm, past the elbow but before the wrist."

The man picked up the paper curiously. It contained three characters, 파이팅, scrawled across the paper in faded ink.

"I can't do this," the man said, sliding the paper back towards Abby.

Abby, clearly startled, slid the paper back towards him. "Sure you can. I'm sure you've had your share of sorority girls ask for some Japanese character for 'long life' or whatever they do around here. This is like that, only Korean."

"I don't have a stencil for this," the man clarified.

"Then do it freehand," Abby insisted, her palms again finding their way on top of the counter, "I assume you do freehand?"

The man sighed and took another look at the paper. He brought it close to his face, studying the characters before placing the paper back onto the counter top.

"Alright. Tell me what it means first."

"Why should that matter?" Abby asked, tilting her head slightly to the right.

"I'm just curious. And I'm tired of kids getting this crap tattooed because they think it looks cool."

"Hangugeoreul malhal su itseumnikka?" Abby asked. The tattoo artist stared at her; she was thankful his mouth wasn't hanging open.

"Ne," said Ken, his head turned to look at Abby and a smile on his lips. At least some enjoyment was found from this trip.

"Didn't think so," Abby continued, annoyance in her tone, "I'll tell you what it means after you put it on."

"Just follow me to the back," the artist said, snatching up the paper.

"By the way," Abby smirked, following behind him, "I was just curious if you spoke Korean."

~~~~~

Hixson Middle School
Hixson, Tennessee
4:13 P.M.
April 3, 1995

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Another kick was delivered to his chest and he resisted every urge to scream. It had to be over soon, right? What kind of people kept fighting once the victim was on the ground and not moving?

"You told Mrs. Mable, didn't you? I know you did!" the voice of Floyd, the one who instigated this beat down. He was currently going through puberty and it was difficult not to laugh when his voice cracked.

"You tattle-tale!" Joe, Floyd's brother, spoke next. Always one for words, that one.

"Let's hit'im 'gain. Make'em 'mit it." And rounding out the trio was Frank, who was secretly embarrassed by his supplementary lessons revolving around his speech impediment.

The three boys were circled around a cowering figure. Another kick caused the figure to scream which only brought yet another blow.

"You scream an' we jus' gon' hit'ya 'gain," said Frank. The boy getting beaten was laughing on the inside at Frank's poor attempt at sounding tough.

"I got week's detention cause of you," Floyd said angrily, "I told you not to tell Mrs. Mable nothing."

"He don't listen, Floyd," Joe piped up, "He don't listen."

The cowering boy clenched his eyes shut, prepared for the next round of strikes.

"Leave 'im alone!" the shout belonged to a tiny voice. Tiny, yet familiar. All three boys turned to see an elementary student with a pink backpack strapped around her back.

"Get outta here, kid," Floyd said.

"Leave 'im alone," the girl repeated, stepping towards the trio. "Leave 'im alone!"

"A...Abby...get...dad," the cowering boy stammered out .

"Who is she, Ken?" Floyd asked, turning his head from Abby to Ken.

"S...s...sister," Ken replied.

Floyd laughed. The other two followed his example. The three of them approached Abby.

"How old are you, kid?" Floyd asked, crouching to see here eye-to-eye.

"Seven."

Floyd laughed again while Joe and Frank laughed even harder.

"Leave 'im alone!" Abby shouted once more, her tiny hands balling into fists.

"What're ya gon' do 'bout it, twerp?" Frank taunted, "Ken's gettin' what he deserves 'sall."

Abby slid the backpack off.

"Leave 'im ALONE!" Abby shot forward and shoved Floyd as hard as she could. Floyd, who had been crouching down, lost his balance and fell to the ground. Abby jumped on top of him and started slapping him in the chest repeatedly.

"Get her off me!" Floyd shouted. Joe rushed to Floyd's aid and took a swing at Abby's face. She ducked under his fist and Joe, his forward momentum still carrying him, tripped and fell onto his face. Frank ran towards Abby and knocked her off of Floyd using his body. Abby was on the ground but she was far from out.

Frank was offering a hand to Floyd when he let out a piercing scream. He looked down towards the source of the pain and saw Abby biting his leg. Joe had gotten to his feet and pulled Abby off of Frank with both of his hands. Abby began squirming in Joe's grasp, her hands flailing - looking for something, anything, to hit.

"Let her go, Joe," Floyd said. He had gotten to his feet and was brushing the dirt and grass from his back. Frank was behind him, hopping and wincing from the bite. "Let's go. It ain't worth it."

Joe dropped Abby to the ground.

"What a wimp, Ken. Letting your kid sister stick up for you like that," Floyd gave one last look towards Ken before he and his posse fled the scene.

Abby slowly got to her feet. Her head was throbbing and her brand new sundress was ruined.

"Bullies!" she shouted to the three boys as they made their way down the street. She walked over to her backpack, picked it up, put it on, and then made her way to where Ken was sitting.

"Are you ok, Ken?" Abby asked, taking a seat on the grass next to him.

"Why're you here, Abby?" Ken couldn't even look at her, he didn't know if it was out of embarrassment or shame.

"Mom said you have to walk home with me. You didn't show up so I came here to find you."

"Why didn't you just go home?"

"Mom would be mad if we didn't come home at the same time."

"Why did you try to fight them?" Ken was more than slightly annoyed, both at his having to be bailed out by his sister and by putting himself into the situation to begin with.

"Dad told us to help each other because we're family and that's what family does."

Ken turned to look at Abby, the previous annoyance all but gone at the moment.

"Your head is bleeding, Abby."

"So is yours."

The two sat in silence for several minutes. Ken knew that Abby's intervention would only make things worse at school and of course he would be the one getting chewed out by their parents. All of this just because he told their teacher that Floyd had cheated on the last four exams. How is it that he did the right thing but was going to get punished?

"Can we go home, Ken?" Abby was on her feet as if nothing had happened. She was smiling and were it not for the dirtied dress and small cuts there was nothing to suggest that she had just fought three eighth graders. Fought them poorly, but fought nonetheless. With help from Abby, Ken got to his feet.

When they returned home it was Ken who got chewed out. And of course parents were called and yelled at. In the grand scheme of things the minor altercation would amount to nothing. The Park family would forget about it in a few weeks. Except for Abby.

Abby never forgot that day. For Ken and the other boys it was nothing but a bad memory, one that they would bring up at a reunion if middle schools had those. They would laugh about it and forget about it. The past was the past, after all. But Abby would never forget it. Never forget the rush she got when she was slapping away at Floyd.

That April afternoon was the start of everything for Abby Park. It was and always will be the first time she ever got into a fight.

And a girl always remembers her first time.

~~~~~~

Fine Lines Tattoo Parlor

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"And I'm done," the tattoo artist turned off the machine and Abby took a look at the finished product.

"I knew you could do it," she said, happy with the cleanliness of the art, "I love it."

"So what does it mean?" the man asked, pulling his gloves off and tossing them in the trash.

"Nothing. I just thought the symbols looked cool."

Abby Park was not allowed back at Fine Lines Tattoo Parlor.

~~~~~

La Jolla Park
January 14, 2013. 2:12 P.M.

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"Isn't it bad for those things to be exposed to sun?" Ken handed Abby a bottle of water and sat next to her on the bench, popping open his can of cola.

"Yep," Abby opened her bottle and took a swig.

"Something wrong?" Ken could tell something was bothering Abby, the two of them barely said a word after leaving the parlor.

"Why did you come with me, Ken?"

"I told you, I figured you would want someone to cheer you up."

"Did I look depressed, Ken?"

"Not really, but-"

"Ken, do you remember what I told you when we were going home after the show? I said I was happy. I wasn't just saying that."

Ken drank from the can, turned his head, and belched. "And I believe that. But do you remember what you said in the diner two weeks ago?"

"I said I'd think about it."

"What's there to think about? You need me in your corner, Abby. You were there that night. What was it the crowd was shouting? I'll give you a hint: it wasn't Abby Park."

"Ken, I didn't lose because the crowd wasn't cheering for me."

"Didn't you? The way I saw it, you were pulling ahead until the crowd picked their favorite. What makes Fiona Rourke any better than you? She knows how to excite. She's memorable."

"I don't want to talk about Fiona Rourke, Ken. It's over and done with. I made my point."

Abby drank more from the water bottle while Ken turned his gaze upwards to look at the clouds and the occasional passing bird.

"I think you had some valid points, Ken," Abby continued, leaning back on the bench, right arm slung over the back, "Honestly, I do. But you know what would get me to go with your plan?"

Ken turned to look at his sister and shrugged his shoulders. Abby finished her water and threw the bottle towards the nearby trashcan; she missed.

"I would be more open to the idea if instead of making up bullshit reasons to follow me around, you just came out and asked me."

Abby stood up from the bench to pick up the bottle. Ken was silent. What was there to say? He simply killed his cola and crushed the can with both hands.

"I'm just trying to help, Abs, in my own way," he said, looking down towards his feet. "Dad told us we have to help each other. Because we're family."

Abby couldn't help but smile. Familiar words. Wise words. She tossed the bottle into the trash can and stuck her palm towards Ken before simply snatching the cola can from him and chucking it into the trash as well.

Though she was smiling, Abby felt a slight pang of sadness as her thoughts went to home. She shook her head, clearing her mind. There was something that had to be done. And now she had help.

"Ken," Abby said, plopping down next to him on the bench, "You want to help? Tell me, how good are you with a camera?"

~~~~~~~~

Abby Park, decked out in full in-ring attire, stands in the middle of a makeshift homemade wrestling ring made with blue gym mats as the mat and bungee cord as the ropes. Her back is to the camera. Hanging above her is a small television currently paused but showing an image of Fiona Rourke nailing the Hogwart's Express on Abby.

"I'd like to say something to the EXODUS viewers. Do any of you remember the first thing I said in this organization? I said that you don't know who I am. At the time it was true. That was then. I'd say I've given you plenty of reasons to know who I am and what I am all about. For some of you I will forever be that one girl who shook the hand of Fiona Rourke, a woman I accused of sleeping her way to the title. For others I might be that one girl who got into the Winter Road on a technicality. Fine. Go ahead and think that. But do yourself a favor and just rewatch my little showdown with Rourke and cast aside any preconceived notions you had about me. And then ask yourself, who is that girl that gave everything she had and kept me glued to the screen."

The television resumes playing the final moments of the match before cutting to black. Abby turns around the face the camera, a happy smile on her face.

"That girl was me. I may not have a catchphrase or merchandise or wear a ridiculous costume, but I can still excite you. If you'll let me. You no doubt have your favorites. You have your wallets ready to purchase a shirt with an eight legged appetizer on it. That's fine. I'm not asking you to betray them. I'm asking you to trust me. Trust that I can give you someone to truly care about, someone to rally behind. Trust that no matter what happens, win or lose, that I leave you stunned. Trust that come this Sunday when I go toe to toe with some limey git that I will give you a reason to remember who I am."

Abby walks towards the ropes. The camera follows her as she places her arms on top of them and bends forward, her hands clutching the microphone.

"I know you're watching this, Cannon. And I hope I didn't offend you by calling you a limey git. Honestly I meant nothing by it. I once said I respected you and I do. I respect you enough to call you a git and not expect you to get upset. You're a big man, you can take it. Plus you've surely been called worse. But while I have your attention, Cannon, I have a question for you."

Abby steps back from the ropes and looks directly into the center of the camera.

"Do you remember your first time?"

Abby pauses and starts pacing back and forth. The camera keeps following her.

"As I speak you're probably thinking that you've had so many that you can't even remember the first. And that is so like a man to forget something so important. Me? I remember my first time. I remember it vividly."

Abby stops moving and crouches down.

"It happened right here."

She rubs her right palm over the gym mat.

"Not literally right here, of course, but somewhere similar. My first time was here. When it was happening my heart was beating faster than a hummingbird in flight. Only one thing was going through my mind when it was happening. Do you want to know what it was? 'I hope she's gentle'."

Abby stands up, grinning from ear to ear.

"Yes, my first time was with a woman. And it was all caught on camera."

Abby crouches again and pats the mat three times.

"It happened so fast. I counted to three and it was over. It was over and it was painless. In fact, after it was over I felt like a new woman. I will always remember my first time. My first time was with Fiona Rourke. And it happened right here."

Abby gets to her feet and begins to take the 'ring' apart, starting with the bungee cords.

"So let me ask you again, Johnny Cannon. Do you remember your first time?"

The bungee cords fall to the floor leaving Abby standing on top of a pile of blue mats.

"Now, because I'm of Asian descent I, of course, have kind of an obsession with numbers. Allow me to give you a brief math lesson. Three is a larger number than one. One is a smaller number than two."

Abby shifts the microphone to her left hand so her right hand is free to make numbers as she talks.

"Three is the number of wins I have. One is the number of wins you have. Two is the number of losses you have. One is the number of losses I have. Looking at these simple numbers it becomes clear that I am going into this match with better odds. But you and I both know that numbers don't mean anything. Except, of course, for the number three."

She returns to holding the microphone with both hands.

"And until I met Fiona Rourke I was not accustomed to that number. You know, first time and all. But you? You're used to hearing it. What's one more time? Do you remember your first time, Cannon? Because I do. Like me it was at the last show. You talked about us having things in common. Allow me to add another. Both of our first times were with each others' sloppy seconds. We both got our first 'ones' at the last show.

So where does that leave us? You're talking a big game about how great a fighter you are and how you're going to walk away the winner in our match. Do you need me to go through the numbers again, Cannon? You can boast all you want. I respect a man who can sound like an arrogant prick when he has no ground to stand on. And don't get me wrong, I do respect you, Cannon. I respect you, but I don't like you."

Abby pauses to catch her breath.

"I want you to remember your first time, Cannon. Remember the first time you had victory. The first time you felt the pleasure of coming in first. Remember it, because it's not going to happen again. Come Sunday, you step into that ring with me...you're going to walk out with number three. And me? I'll be sitting pretty with number four.

And here's a final math lesson for you. Four is bigger than three."

Abby steps off the mats and walks towards the camera, smirking.

"Once I beat you, Cannon, I'll go on and have myself another first time experience. The first time having the title around my waist. And once I win it there may come a time when you are able to claim the belt as yours. But guess what, Cannon? When that day comes, it'll be another time you won my sloppy seconds."

Abby gives a final smile to the camera as it fades to black.