Loathe at First Sight

by Suzanne Park

  Are you a dyke? See #1.

  Are you a cunt or bitch? I am a tad bit snarky, sardonic, silly, and immature. That’s about as extreme as I get.

  Did you fuck your way up the ladder? Hahaha. No. I am very much a bottom-rung plebeian. And please see #1 again.

  Are you stupid? I was a National Merit semifinalist in high school, an eighth-grade regional algebra competition finalist, and I was placed in advanced calculus in college thanks to my AP score. I really suck at geometry and chemistry though. If you want to call me stupid at geometry and chemistry, that’s fine. I’d totally agree with you there.

  RockJock33, one of your haters, asked, “Shouldn’t you go kill yourself?” What do you think about that? I get squeamish when I see blood, so no thanks to the death suggestion. Plus, I like my life.

  Are you a social justice warrior/feminazi? I prefer to think of myself as an “Equality Evangelist.”

  You’re fat and disgusting, right? I went to the doctor this morning and had to pay a $35 co-pay to help me answer this question. My BMI is 23. According to my physician, my BMI is average for my weight and height. I am disgusting when eating nachos because I always ask for extra cheese and it drips everywhere. I’m a disgusting nacho slob.

  Then you’re ugly, right? I ran my picture through the Hot or Not app. I scored a 71% hot. While I’m not a bombshell, actual data exists that suggests I am not ugly.

  Let’s talk race. Are you a straight-A genius, a kung-fu master, a bad driver, a dragon lady, and good with computers? Oh, and do you speak Chinese? No.

  Are you a chink, gook, or jap? Slurs are stupid. It would be like me calling white people “honkies” and “crackers.” That sounds stupid, right? People don’t use those terms anymore, for good reason. And my ethnicity is Korean, not Chinese or Japanese, for the record, so at least consider using correct racial references when referring to my heritage. But note I’m American, just like many of your readers. I was born here, and I’ve paid one-third of my hard-earned wages since I was sixteen years old to the US government.

  Would you like to be ravaged by a stranger wielding a Wiffle-ball-bat-size dick? No, thank you. I’m very selective of whom I ravage and am ravaged by. See answer to question #1. Also, I do not believe anyone’s dick is two and a half feet long. I’d want picture proof with a yardstick of that.

  Boobs! Boobs! What’s your bra size? 34B. I’m a size M in Adidas sports bras. You can buy a three-pack at Costco for $14.99.

  A question, one from us, not from those jerks who’ve been harassing you. What was the inspiration behind Ultimate Apocalypse? This game’s purpose is pure entertainment. It started off as a parody idea of all the over-the-top male power fantasy, shoot-’em-up games that have female secondary characters just to objectify and sexualize them. The Ultimate Apocalypse follows three male strippers who emerge from a run-down strip club without their memories, unharmed after an apocalyptic world war. At the same time, Doomsday government scientists unleash creatures on the earth, because they think it’s their calling: aliens, zombies, vampires, you name it. And these strippers need to fight them to survive. They meet badass warriors along their journey, the majority of whom are female. To win the game, the men need to join forces with the women, otherwise they won’t survive, because the women have complementary skills that they need.

  Who’s your favorite character? Hands down, it’s Sophia. We gave her a normal, relatable name. She’s sporty and can throw knives and axes. This kick-ass character is my favorite because we made her just like my real-life gaming heroine, Kat. But in real life, Kat is pretty clumsy, and if she tried to throw a knife it would boomerang and stab her jugular vein. Sophia is basically Kat 2.0.

  Is there anything else you’d like to say to our readers? Or to the army of vile trolls who want to see you fail? Thank you so much for this platform. The breadth of harassing comments makes it hard to address it all. But I do want to talk about the sexualizing and objectifying comments made about me online.

  At the start of the online controversy, the fact that I was Asian, female, and worked in gaming triggered thousands of vile assholes to comment on my ass, tits, and vagina. So let me give everyone a quick rundown on my physical traits. I fart, puke from excessive drinking, and have constipation when I’m dehydrated, just like everyone else, male or female. I also have irritable bowel syndrome. I have adult acne and hairy forearms. My nose-blowing sounds like a honking goose, and it annoys people, especially my mom. I’ve had a muffin top since birth. One of my front adult teeth got knocked out from a volleyball mishap so I have a fake tooth, and when it’s removed I look like an Asian hillbilly.

  I worry every day about my parents getting older, because I’m an only child and would be their sole caregiver. I cry when I watch the movie Annie. Overall, I’m just a regular ol’ person, not a slut, not a prude, but possibly a little grosser and gassier than the average human being. So, to my angry vocal gaming constituents, consider all this when you feel compelled to comment about my ass, tits, and vagina, or anyone else’s for that matter. Who is the person you are trying to “bring down,” and what is your motivation to do so? Think about what is driving you to harangue women like me online, and where the anger is coming from. Is it because you think your actions are anonymous and untraceable? Are you doing it for attention? For the “lulz”? Or is it really something deeper, maybe something else from your history that is compelling you to spew hateful words toward a stranger?

  If we met face-to-face, could you say all the same things you’re posting online while looking me straight in the eye? Think about your nieces, daughters, sisters, and baby cousins. Would they be proud of what you’re saying online? What would they think of your words?

  I’m not sure I have much more to say than this. I think I’ll end it here, if that’s okay. Thank you again, Seattle Met.

  To view the game trailer, and to find out more about Melody’s Ultimate Apocalypse, click here.

  Candace got the link to the article before it went live and called me to tell me how much she loved it, and then she burst into tears (totally the hormones). “Why are all these haters after you?” She blew her nose. “They can go to hell! I hate them!”

  Then she screamed, “Oh god!,” and then more shrieking pierced through the phone.

  Candace’s water broke, five weeks early.

  ANNABELLE YING FUNG was born at 5:50 A.M. and rushed straight to the NICU. With underdeveloped lungs and a weak heartbeat, she needed around-the-clock breathing assistance.

  My eyes brimmed with tears as I sat in the hospital waiting area, rereading the same paragraph over and over from a battered Food & Wine magazine from September 2013. This was all my fault. Her water broke when we were chatting on the phone about game PR stuff. Tears flowed down my cheeks as I squeezed my eyes closed, wishing this nightmare would just stop.

  Wil came into the waiting room and poked my arm. “Do you know where the vending machines are? I’ve been up twenty-eight hours straight. Breakfast isn’t served for a while, and I’m starving.” With his lean stature and gaunt face, he probably needed more than just one breakfast.

  I stood up and hugged him. “I’m so sorry, Wil. I feel horrible. This happened because of me.”

  “Mel, she’d already been on bed rest for over a week, on Dr. Zach’s orders. If it didn’t happen while you two were on the phone, it could have happened when she went to the bathroom, or when she coughed or something. Don’t put this all on yourself.”

  His words made sense logically, but they didn’t make me feel better. This happened while Candace and I were on the phone together. Had I been a major factor in the early delivery, if not the actual root cause?

  We found the vending area down the hallway. He contemplated his processed-food options and bought a giant frosted honey bun. “I love these things. Candace won’t let me eat them.” He frowned. “Maybe I should have something else instead.” He bought some Wheat Thins and left the honey bun behind the dispenser flap. Damn. Maybe I’d
come back for that a little later.

  “How are Candace and Annabelle?” I asked.

  He smiled weakly. “Candace’s sleeping now. They gave her a sedative because once the shock from her early labor wore off, she got a little hysterical. She needs rest so her body can recover from the delivery. Annabelle is a fighter, she takes after her mom. She’s only four pounds but her vitals are strong for her size.” His eyes watered but he didn’t cry. “If she can make it through the next twenty-four hours, I’ll feel way better about everything.”

  I reached out and hugged him. Their parents were en route to Seattle but wouldn’t be here until later in the evening. Until then, I was the closest thing to family they both had.

  “Do you need anything from me? Some clothes from home? Maybe water your plants? Go on a McDonald’s run for breakfast?”

  He shook his head. “Actually, Nolan offered and is helping us out with emergency apartment stuff. But if you were here when Candace woke up, that would be wonderful.”

  On the way to their room, the nurses on duty looked up and smiled. No one seemed panicked about Candace’s early baby delivery. A Zenlike calmness hung in the air, which seemed like a very good thing.

  I tiptoed to Candace’s bedside while she slept. Even though she’d been through a night of hell, she looked beautiful. Both her arms had IV tubes sticking out of them, and she wore a heartbeat monitor on her right index finger.

  Beep. Beep. Beep. A steady, confident heartbeat.

  “When’s she supposed to wake up?” I asked Wil.

  He glanced at his watch. “My guess is within the next thirty minutes.” He waved the newly opened bag of Wheat Thins in front of me. “Breakfast?”

  “No thanks. I’ll save my calories for the bacon and eggs when the real breakfasts are delivered.” He shrugged and shook the bag into his mouth. I could hear the crackers scrape against the insides of the packaging and tumble out. Next came the crumb avalanche. Then he shook it one last time for good measure before he peered in to confirm he’d eaten everything.

  Candace’s eyes fluttered a little, and her breathing came faster. When she opened her eyes, Wil called the head nurse, who checked Candace’s pulse and scanned her forehead temperature with a digital baton.

  “You’re awake, dear. That’s wonderful! Can you tell me your name?”

  “I’m Candace.” She blinked a lot and looked around the room.

  “That’s right! Do you recognize the people standing by your bed?”

  Candace glanced at Wil and me. “That’s my husband, Wil, and that’s Melody.” She reached out and squeezed my hand.

  “Do you know where you are?”

  “At a Methodist church? Or maybe school. Wait. A hospital. Because . . . oh. Oh! How’s my baby? Can I see my baby?!”

  The heart monitor bleeped with more urgency.

  BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

  “Good, Candace. We just need you to stay calm so I can get a read on your vitals. Annabelle is fine. When you’re cleared by our doctor, we’ll get you to the NICU so you can see her. I need to take your blood pressure now.” Nurse Nancy, who had a kind grandma face, was a pro. Candace’s beeping slowed, and she submitted to all the poking and prodding from the medical team. The quicker she got cleared, the sooner she’d see Annabelle.

  The doctor sent Candace and Wil to the NICU. Because I wasn’t family, I couldn’t visit baby Annabelle with them. The nurse invited me to stay in Candace’s hospital room while they stayed with the baby, but she encouraged me to go home and get some sleep. Wil promised to call me with any new news.

  ON MY WAY to the hospital garage I saw Jane standing at the information desk, badgering the poor elderly volunteer for information on Candace’s whereabouts. Her hands tightly gripped a giant shopping bag and a toddler-size duffel. She ran up to me and skidded to a stop. “Whoa. You should get some sleep. They wouldn’t let me in, can you believe it?! How is she? How is the baby? I texted everyone but no one replied.”

  A sad sigh escaped me. “We don’t have any cell service in here. Candace seemed a little dazed but that’s because they gave her sedatives. She and Wil are in the NICU now, and I didn’t get to see the baby or see any pictures. It sounds like everything was rushed, and complicated, but the good news is Annabelle is thriving, according to the head nurse.”

  Jane squealed. “Annabelle? Awwww, what a cute name! Is the baby going to be okay?”

  “She was born just under thirty-four weeks and had been tracking to a lower birth weight during the entire pregnancy, so there is uncertainty.” I stifled a yawn, somewhat unsuccessfully. “The doctors were keeping an eye on Annabelle’s weight gain, heart development, and lung maturation. Those seem to be the critical things.”

  She frowned and looked down at the bags she brought. “I didn’t know how to help, so I went to Nordstrom and bought a shitload of preemie outfits.” She opened the shopping bag to let me see. Yep, a shitload of preemie outfits. There were maybe twenty or thirty of them, and they were sooooo tiny. They looked like baby doll clothes.

  “What’s in the other bag?”

  She looked at me quizzically.

  “The duffel bag.”

  She looked down and then glanced away. “Oh, it’s nothing. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Well, it IS something. It’s a physical thing in your hand. Is it full of weed? Why are you acting so weird?”

  “What?! No, of course not,” she scoffed.

  She groaned and put the duffel on a waiting room end table. I unzipped it and peered inside.

  It was Candace’s bridesmaid dress.

  “Before you say anything, I already said I hadn’t been thinking straight. I thought I’d bring the dress to show her how lovely they turned out, just to have something to talk about since babies weren’t my thing.” She teared up. “But then on the way here I realized we fitted it for her to be pregnant at my wedding. And . . . and that’s just depressing.” Her wedding was in a couple of weeks. Candace would have been thirty-six weeks pregnant with Annabelle. I wiped my eyes with a tissue and handed one to Jane, too.

  “Look, Candace and Wil are going to be in the NICU for a long time, so you’ll be here all day if you wait for them. Wil checks his messages every hour or so. I’ll let him know I saw you outside and that we headed back home together. I have their key so maybe later we can wash their preemie clothes and maybe clean up their place so when they do come home everything will be nice and tidy.”

  As soon as I suggested we should clean, Jane wrinkled her nose. A cleaning person came to her place twice a week. Jane wasn’t exactly the roll-up-your-sleeves-and-clean type. She pleaded, “Can I bring Helga?”

  “Your cleaning person’s name is Helga?” I’d never heard of a person in this country, living in this century, with the name Helga. It seemed like the sort of name you’d give a minor character in a slapstick comedy series.

  “Yes, that’s her real name, and I can ask her to come to their house tomorrow. That’s one of the days she normally cleans my place, but I can skip it.”

  “Okay, that sounds great. Did you drive here?” I’d taken a Liftr to avoid hospital parking fees.

  BOOP-BOOP! She unlocked a BMW convertible just outside the sliding doors. “I did drive, and you can be my first passenger. Just bought it last week!” Ahhhh, new car smell. Far better than that antiseptic aroma permeating the hospital.

  On the drive home, I casually mentioned, “Hey, did you know that Asher wanted me to convince you to abolish all maid of honor and best man dancing requirements?”

  She laughed. “Asher’s a disaster on the dance floor. He does this weird boxing-like arm thing and doesn’t move his feet. The only way he even dances at all is if he’s completely drunk.”

  “I’d like to ask then, as a favor to me, to make sure you DO have a wedding party dance. And could you make a big stink if he doesn’t come out to the dance floor?”

  Jane asked, “Are you SURE you want to be subjected to dancing with Asher for a full three m
inutes, smiling for the audience, with your hands and bodies touching, while he steps all over your feet?”

  Tough call. Cancel the dance, or torture him while also torturing me? “Um, never mind. Let’s cancel the dance.” We pulled into our parking garage and took the elevator to our apartments. “Unless you really want it.”

  A flurry of delayed text notifications popped up on my phone when I unlocked my door.

  Jane: Where are you? I’m in the waiting room.

  Mom: Thank you sending the Seattle article. Waaa! You famous now! You should pic different picture, this one you have double chin. Maybe ask to retake or ask them to erase.

  Nolan: I have to tell you something! In person. When I’m back in town ok? A wave of sadness hit me as I read his excited message. Even when he wasn’t traveling, I’d managed to avoid him since the night at the club, for both our sakes. I wasn’t ready to be around him yet.

  Kat: Oh holy shit you have over 700 comments on your Seattle Met article! And Cosmo and Redbook just published articles too. Your PR friend is a genius! Trolls took the bait (including someone claiming to be UltimateDDay) and are battling all these liberal Seattleites and women’s rights advocates, who are rallying for you! Tallyhooooo!

  Fresh tears brimmed on my eyelashes and trickled down my cheeks. Candace had really pulled through for me. So had the Seattle Met, and a lot of their readers.

  Tallyho, motherfuckers.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Kat sent me a text. Why is Asher in Sue’s office?

  Had he actually reported me for not-technically dating Nolan? My pulse sped up as I walked down the HR corridor. When I passed Sue’s room, I looked over as discreetly as possible, which really wasn’t at all. Asher was seated in one of her guest chairs, facing her, and Sue didn’t even look up when I zipped by. Usually, she waved.

  After my recon work, I texted Kat. Couldn’t see anything. Nada.