Divergent Parody: Avirgent

by Maurice Hill

  TB4 chuckled lightly. “That doesn't surprise me. You get your tacky fashion sense from your Mom?”

  “Hey!”

  He laughed, shaking his head, and motioned for everyone to get in.

  “Come on everyone! This here's the place.”

  Al smirked, and patted TB4 on the shoulder as we walked in. “Don't lie boss, you got yourself a nice quickie from one of these girls huh?”

  “Yeah, but not the best one.”

  We walked in, and TB4 pointed at the Asian lady that tested me. She was behind a counter, scoping a magazine, with smoke billowing from her cigarette in her left hand. It flowed up to the ceiling like a chimney blowing smoke to the sky.

  Al said, “Oh come on, don't tell me a guy like you is whipped by it too.”

  “Aren't we all?” TB4 sighed and walked up to her, us following. Limp stood at the door and said, “I'm not taking any fucking tattoos.”

  TB4 smiled at him and said, “Hey, I'm not making you. Go ahead, peruse the town if you wish. Just make it back to the facility by 8:00. Sleepy time.”

  Limp spat at the ground. “How about this, I make it back to the facility by 10:00, and if you make it a problem, I'll bash your face in?”

  TB4 paused. “I'd love to see you try. You're all jacked up, and while yours are bigger than mine, my mind is sharper than yours.”

  Limp chuckled, spat on the floor and marched out of the tattoo parlor.

  “That kid...too rabid. Too rabid.”

  Al smirked at Christine and I, as if he was telling us TB4 would have no problem with Limp gone.

  We got up to the cash register where the Asian lady was and TB4 winked at her.

  “Hello there, how's business?”

  “Slow. Like your game.”

  That got a laugh out of Al. “Oh boy, this girl. She just insulted your game man, you're gonna take that from her?”

  TB4 smiled and said, “It's cool, it's cool. So, I got the initiates here with me. You have some room for them right now?”

  She turned a page on her magazine and said, “Yeah, sure. But that Klansmen girl goes last.”

  “What? Who?”

  She pointed up at me, without looking at me. “Her. The girl with the weird name, the Vanity girl. I want her last. I'll do her myself, we have history.” She looked up at me with what I thought to be the first genuine smile I saw out of her. “Ain't that right Mika?” She took a puff of her cigarette and then exhaled a cloud of smoke.

  ---

  “So you learned not to be a racist bitch yet?” said the Asian lady, finishing up my tattoo. She hadn't spoken to me the entire time, and I considered that very convenient. It was as if I were writing a book and didn't know the process of getting a tattoo. So I started with her finishing my tattoo while she starts speaking with me. Cool.

  “What do you mean? I'm not racist!”

  “You love to call me Asian lady...my name's Juniper. Juniper Lee.”

  “Like that cartoon?”

  “What?”

  “Nevermind. Um, I'm not racist I swear. Just because my family reports every black person, calls Asians China-man, and thinks all Muslims are terrorists doesn't mean that.”

  I narrowed my eye-brows and yelled loud just to let her know I was being serious.

  “I DON'T APPRECIATE YOU CALLING ME RACIST!”

  She looked at me dully again and blew my tattoo, which felt searing hot like flames all across my arm...or some infectious STD.

  “You may not appreciate it, but you will accept it. So, since you're still alive, I hope that means no one's found out that you're Avirgent.”

  “Nope.”

  “Good.”

  She got out of her seat and handed me some lotion in a bottle that said, “YK Jelly, Lube for your tats!”

  “Here, use this for the pain. That burning sensation you feel, like someone just branded you with a burning fork...it'll go away within a couple of days as long as you use this cream.”

  I took it and said, “Thanks, but why are you so nice to me if you hate me? Why not report me?”

  She lit up a cigarette, and let out a puff of smoke. She smirked. “Keep that douche away from me. You seem like his type. Skinny, frail, look like a skeleton. He won't admit it, but he loves your type. Just ask my friend Joey Two-Tone.”

  “Oh my God, you too?!”

  “What?”

  “This Joey Two-Tone guy! Who the Hell is he?!”

  “Gangster. Famous around these parts. Few know him, most fear him. Never heard of him?”

  “No. That guy Al keeps going on about him like Jesus Christ!”

  “Well he might as well be. When he walks the streets, he makes the ground tremble, when he sees a woman he doesn't ask her for her number, he asks if he can screw her right then. When he wants you dead, he wanted you dead the day before,and you'll be dead the day he orders it. Shit like that.”

  She let out a cloud of smoke.

  “Some say he's next in line to take Jeanine's seat. If he can get an Avirgent teamed up with him, they can take it all.”

  Juniper sauntered over to my seat and put her mouth to my ear. Her lips were coral red, and her teeth very white. Even I was feeling her sensuous aura.

  “I'm sure you know most people hate Jeanine. Joey Two-Tone's a cool guy. I could get you a meet with-”

  “No! I don't care.”

  “But what if you lose?” She stood up, frowning. “You'll have to join the pathetic working class...people like us! Oh God, you don't want that! You'll chip a nail, get your fingers dirty, your hair matted with ash from the factories. Oh! You won't have your fancy mirror to look in any-”

  “I get it! I get it. Okay, I'll consider it.”

  She put her cigarette out on a little mermaid ash-tray, smashing it. “No do. Decide now. I don't have much time.”

  “You told him already?”

  “Of course. What? You thought I was going to keep it a secret to everyone? No, no, no baby. I have friends who find an Avirgent resourceful, not detrimental. Joey Two-Tone is one of them. So come on, I'm not letting you go without an answer.”

  She stood near the curtain, hands at her hips and looked down at me with sass.

  “And yes, I do have the authority to keep you here. I could say your tats infected with aids. Shit like that.”

  I wasn't sure if she did have the authority, but me being stupid, I didn't ask or challenge her. I complained. “Okay, I'll see Joey Two-Tone...but I'm not screwing him.”

  She chuckled. “He's not interested in that with you anyway, only your Avirgent condition.”

  She unstrapped me from the seat and my hands were free, and so was my lovely tattoo. I think and hope to God that TB4 loves it too.

  Juniper said, “Besides, you're not Joey's type. He's more into curvy women.”

  “Fat women?”

  “No. Women like me.”

  “Yeah, so fat women,” I said with the innocence of little girl.

  Juniper snarled and balled her fists. She sighed with a light chuckle. “Whatever kid. Just...get out of here. I'll send a connect to you soon. They should be at the facility by tomorrow. Joey has his ways.”

  “What's he like?” I said, curious.

  She shrugged. “Cool, laid back. Loves to joke, screw, drink, play video games, and watch TV using the tax free money he raped from our government. The American dream if you ask me.” She pulled the drape back from our booth. “Get a move on, you'll learn more about him tomorrow.”

  I walked up to the exit, but just as I was about to leave, Juniper grabbed my wrist where the tattoo was. “You sure you don't want me to cover it up? Change it to something else?”

  I shook my head, and she sighed, with a string of her hair swinging back.

  “Whatever, you'll learn.” She pulled the curtain back and I saw Christine propping her head up with her elbow leaning against a table, watching Al and his sister giggle to each other.

  “Unique couple huh?”

  “What? Oh yeah
, them.” Christine sighed and scratched the patch where I assumed her tattoo was.

  “So what did you get?”

  “The Tricker logo, a skull and bones crying blood. I couldn't think of anything else better. I've been sitting here for the past few hours wondering just how the Hell I got myself in this hot mess. I try to think positive, but I don't know Tumbleweed.”

  I leaned over the table with her. “Why? What's wrong?”

  She shrugged. “Oh, nothing...except for the incestuous brother and sister, douchebag instructor, psychopath that could kill us at any minute...and of course our society in general. What a terrible concept for...anything.”

  She turned her head to me. “Tumbleweed, if you make it out of here, and beat all of us...although I highly doubt you will. I can whoop your ass. Let's make no mistake about that. I know I can and I will. Got it?”

  “Yes,” I said, shaking.

  “Good. But on the off chance, on the miracle that you do win...I just want you to promise a better future for our children. For I do believe the children are our future, and they don't deserve the future we have waiting for them.”

  I stared at her blankly. “What?” she said, standing up straight, hands on the counter.

  “Um...why do you call me tumbleweed?”

  She shook her head. “I bet my words were like air just brushing by your hair huh?”

  I frown. “No, I get what you mean, but why do you call me tumbleweed?”

  Christine smirked. “It's something I got from my grandma. She used to call us that and more. She'd call us tumbleweeds whenever we said something stupid, and whenever we did something stupid she'd call us little shits.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. She would have called you a little shit from the get-go. Anyway, all it basically means is you're wandering around with almost no purpose. Like a tumbleweed. Hell, you think about it, we're all tumbleweeds in the end. Just rolling from place to place till we cant roll no more and our number's called up.”

  I slouched. “Sounds depressing.”

  “Yeah. Some are able to give their life purpose, meaning. You know, so that when they're on their death bed, they know people out there remember their name. Others...”

  She paused and stared me in the eye longingly before continuing. “...just reap from the success of those who've already succeeded and are only proud of what they own, not anything they've produced themselves. All those types do is consume.”

  She patted me on the back. “Get what I mean Mika? Consuming is alright, but it's like eating a cake all the time. You eventually get sick. Consuming too much causes you to deteriorate in some ways. But producing, nothing's better than producing and creating something of your own that you can be proud of. Something for you to say...”

  She put her hands up to the lights. “I did it! They remember my name!”

  “Bullshit!” shouted Al, who was suddenly behind us.

  “How did you get there?” said Christine with a shaky voice.

  “I teleported, and I guess you could say, I was enjoying the rear view. Heh.”

  We rolled our eyes. He waved a dismissive hand and said, “Doesn't matter. What I'm concerned about most isn't your snatch but that little speech of yours about a uh...consumption right?”

  Christine folded her arms. “Right.”

  “Yeah well, it's bullshit. Who's gonna give a fuck if people remember their name or not once their dead? Huh? Once it all goes black that's it! No memories, no conscious, no nothing. Just black!”

  “Yeah, but-”

  “Wait, let me finish. Cutting me off? Come on Chriss-y ba-by! Sweety, don't cut me off.”

  Christine mouthed, “Chriss-y?” at me and Al continued on. “Then there's this whole 'being proud of what you make,' deal you got. You want to know what I'm proud of?”

  “What? Your hair-grease?”

  Al chuckled. “Heh, good one. Good one. But no, I'm most proud of how much money I make a year. Now I can't get into actual figures but let's just say that thanks to Joey Two-Tone, I'm like that Trump guy from years back. Heh.”

  Christine narrowed her brows. “Don't get me wrong Al, you're cool, but that's a very vain way to look at things. Money isn't everything. I'll take quality and competence over that any-day.”

  Al chuckled and smacked his hands together, “Then I guess we know who's ending up a working class citizen! Hey Christine, how about you do me and everyone a favor and a uh...get off the horse's dick here.”

  “What?!” yelled Christine.

  I saw TB4 march out of a booth, panting, gripping his shirt tight in his hands. His face was dripping with sweat, and so was his hands. Hailey hid behind a counter. “What the Hell's going on?!”

  Christine and Al looked at TB4, and Christine shrugged. “Nothing sir. Nothing.”

  TB4 looked around at us and said, “So you guys are finished?”

  “Yeah,” said Al, his voice grave, whatever a grave voice is.

  TB4 looked between them again and said, “I'll be finished in a couple of minutes.”

  “I thought you didn't believe in tattoos?” said Al sarcastically.

  TB4 didn't respond and went back behind his curtain. I didn't notice any tattoo marks on him. I wonder what he was doing.

  “Heh,” Al wagged his thumb at TB4's booth and whispered to us, “I see places like this always hand out happy endings.”

  That got a chuckle out of Christine, and Al patted her on the back. It was as if their argument never happened. “Am I right, or am I right?”

  She laughed loud, but I didn't get the joke. “What happened? What do you mean?”

  Al and Christine stared at me like I was some alien from a foreign planet.

  Al said, “Come on Mika, how old are you?”

  “16.”

  He took his hand off of Christine's back and patted me on the shoulder.

  “16 years on this planet, four of them a teen...and you don't know what the term 'happy ending,' means?”

  I shook my head. “It's not anything like a book having a happy ending right?”

  “Hell no. This is something much different. And if you don't know, I envy you. I wish I still had some innocence left, but the world made me grow up so fast.”

  “So what is a happy ending?”

  He waved his hand, and stood up straight. “Don't worry 'bout it.”

  He looked at Christine. “Hey listen Chrissy, you got your thing, and I got mine. I'm not apologizing for what I believe in, ya know?”

  She sighed. “Yeah, same here. I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree, but I want to hear Mika's thoughts.”

  “What?”

  She opened her eyes wide. “Remember? Production or Consumption? Should society start producing their own memory to leave behind, or revel in the ones people leave for them? You know, just using their money to exist and entertain themselves, rather than live.”

  Al sucked his teeth. “You can still live with just money.”

  “I'm not talking whores, drugs, amusement parks, and partying. I'm talking about leaving a legacy behind. So Mika, what do you think?”

  They both looked at me this time as if I were some old monk that knew the answers to the universe, and they were my congregation. I didn't know or care. I just wanted to know what a happy ending was, but I had an idea, and if what I thought was true, then I must make TB4 mine before it's too late.

  I looked at my wrist tattoo and told them, “Listen, I'll think about it. Until then, do you guys love my new tattoo?”

  I held it up and they gasped in shock. “What the Hell's wrong with you?” said Christine.

  Al said, “Joey Two-Tone's old girlfriend made the same mistake. She never saw him again. Let me tell you, you'll regret this.”

  I turned my tattoo around, smiling. “You're both just haters.” I smiled back at my tattoo of TB4, and he smiled back at me with those beautiful blue British eyes of his. Underneath his face said, “TB4Ever.”

  I felt a poke on my sh
oulder, and saw Hailey standing next to me with a serious look on her face for the first time ever. “And I thought I was an idiot.”

  CHAPTER 6: ELVIS HAS LEFT THE BUILDING

  I thought I was going to die.

  TB4 took off his shirt again once we got back into the facility, and found himself at ease. He flexed his muscles and put on his theme music-without the live band this time. Instead, he used his smart-phone. He set it low and spoke to us in the main lobby.

  “Shit, there's only a few of you left, and let me be honest with you guys here, since Limp is MIA...drop out now.”

  We looked back and forth at each other in confusion.

  “What do you mean?” I said, like an innocent little girl.

  He sighed, and paced around the room.

  “There are no possible way, no possible tricks or techniques I can teach you that can defeat such a monster as Limp. He will kill whoever faces him, and even with my authority, I can't stop that. He'll do whatever he wants. Which is why I say drop out now, send your tax information to our pestering friends at the I.R.S, and find yourselves a job. The working class is better than death. Hell...” He walked over to a table, his hands and arms sweating and picked up a couple of pamphlets. He handed each one out to us. When he handed one to me, I held out my right wrist with the tattoo in plain sight, but he never noticed it.

  He stood back in center of the lobby as we looked through the pamphlet. On the front it said, “Overworked, Underpaid: Become a member of Dystopian Chicago's Working class today!”

  He opened the pamphlet up and said, his arms shaking, and sweat dripping down in beads, “Okay...so, on page one we have landscaping. Heh...” He shook and his voice shivered, as if something really bothered him. “That's a uh...an honest job. Right?”

  Al chuckled. “Yeah, if you're an immigrant named Juan. Listen, I ain't doing someone else's garden!” He threw the pamphlet to the floor as Hailey and Lisa laughed in glee.

  “Hey, I'm Mexican, and even I thought that was a good one,” said Lisa

  Christine was indifferent and I didn't get the joke yet again. Maybe she was right. I needed to get out more.