I felt like the walls were closing in. Inescapable doom moving closer and closer toward my inevitable demise. Or I could skip the overdramatization entirely.
It was Benny Minor, coming in from the garden, a pair of heavy work gloves stained fresh brown. When you're emotionally alone and incapable of pursuing the careers and hobbies you love, you have to find something to fill your time up, right? He can't wrestle anymore, so he grows flowers when he's not at the gym.
'Hey. That magazine's going to mess with your head. Put it down and go for a drive or something.'
I hate when he says that. Every five minutes, Benny will tell me that something is going to screw me up somehow, with no good reason why. Something just flips that 'overprotective father switch' in his head, I guess.
In this case, I was sitting in the front room, trying to ignore Dr. Phil's jabbering about undersexed teen strippers who screw their dads, or something like that, on the television, with a PTC magazine splayed open on my lap. I'd been reading about all the new people making waves over in FUSE, and about the Jewel in the Crown tournament going on in PRIME.
'Did you hear me?' He sighed, walking over to my chair. 'I said --'
'I know,' I said, as calm as I could possibly be, 'It'll fuck me up. So what if I want to know what's happening? I will get hired somewhere eventually.'
He didn't look like he understood -- after all, he's known success all his life. He's always been that much better, that much more charismatic than everyone else, and he's always gotten the job done. Benny's like that...he doesn't know how to deal with someone who can't break through the self-imposed glass ceiling?
Self-imposed...huh. Maybe I am afraid of success. Maybe I'm a nuclear failure reactor.
'Anyway,' I sighed out, shaking my head to clear these masochistic thoughts from my head since they wouldn't do me any good, 'What's it to you what I do in my free time? I'm sure you have better things to do, like drilling the plebe patrol. Or calling Julissa up like you do every day.'
Benny settled down in his recliner, the big brown luxury model next to mine. 'I'm more worried about you right now. Sure, I could spend a few hours putting the kids through drop toe hold drills. I could call up the daughter I haven't seen in a year, and probably won't see for a long time until she decides to forgive me for blowing up on her. But you...well, I've taken care of you for the last few years of your life. I watched you grow up in that ring, smartest damn kid I've ever seen, tons of raw ability...and I see that wasted, because you believe the shit a bunch of people you'll never meet have said about you, rather than believing the people who actually give a damn.'
That did make a little sense. But more than anything, I wanted to know what the hell was going on with me. Was the ceiling made of glass, or concrete? Was it something I could break through? All I wanted to do was to find out where I screwed up and how to fix it, and everything would, hopefully, fall into place.
I looked at the magazine in my lap. A guy that Benny knew from back in his National Wrestling Council days was on the cover, Ian Nackedy, semifinalist in this year's Jewel in the Crown. The guy was very successful as part of the tag team, Sound and the Fury, but this taste of singles success had to be something to be proud of.
'Don't,' Benny said. He was eventually going to be my manager. Hopefully dismissing his role of Father figure completely. The guy knows buckets of stuff about the business. But even after so long, he still didn't know me.
I kept reading.
Benny just stared at me. 'What,' I asked him, 'are you trying to protect me from? Do you think I'm going to do what Juli did and go behind your back, because in case you haven't noticed; I have no reason to.'
'It's not that,' he said, cryptically. Or at least, I didn't understand where he was coming from. I was about to call him on it when he picked up on my confusion. 'Look, it's just that I have this friend over in FUSE. They're gonna have this tournament, and I pulled some strings to get you in.'
'Come on now,' I said, trying not to laugh. 'If you're gonna blow smoke up my ass, you should at least find something a little bit better to fan it with, old man.'
'I'm not messing with you, Jay. This is real. It may not be the main event of a pay per view like the stories I tell the rest of the guys in the gym, but it's a foot in the door - I thought that's what you were looking for. My mistake, though...' Benny sighed, pushing himself up from the chair, atrophied muscles straining to balance him upright. A stroke or two will do that to you. 'You're worried about your reputation instead.'
Very true, I thought, keeping that in while the old man walked toward the kitchen. We'd talked about the same things, off and on, for almost a month now. And what it all boils down to is this: I really am more worried about my reputation than winning. My reputation as a guy who someone can always rely on, as someone who always comes through in the clutch for his fans. As someone who won't choke at the last second and screw up.
Over the past year and a half that I'd been training, I had been none of the above.
And still the old man believes in me. Go figure.
I realize now, that you don't know me. You don't care to know me. And the worst thing I could do to you all is shove myself and my background down your throats. Go ahead and chew on it...attack it if you like. Snap a chunk off and masticate it, let the flavor roll down into your stomach, then like a bulimic teenager, stick your fingers down your throat and regurgitate it. Throw it back in a shape where it doesn't even remotely resemble what I am.
I'm waiting for it.
You see, life is simple like that...with progress comes complexities, with everything we do to supposedly make our lives easier, we find ourselves more willing to pay for someone else's services to handle a problem that progress creates. Take, for example, a brand new car. Now back in the nineteen-fifties, and even on into the seventies, a man could easily repair a car assembled in that era. Nowadays, to make life easier on the manufacturers, they're made of numerous cheap and easily breakable parts that serve just the same function as a carburetor once did. That same man now has to hire a trained specialist to bring his vehicle back into working order, and that specialist has to know a parts salesman, who has to...you get the idea.
I've never thought of myself as a trendsetter. Intelligent and talented, thoughts brought on by the praise of my elders and peers, maybe, but never a leader. But I suppose I was wrong, because for all your complexities, for all the trouble you take to build yourself up with your quirks and ideals and egos, I've laid everything out for you. I may not be the first, but I'm giving you a look at where I come from, how I function.
I've heard that I had 'potential'. It was in the underground dirt mags here in Texas, on Indy net reports, the fan'zines. Now it's hard to get any kind of recognition...nobody wants to talk about a flake. But it's not over yet...
'So, what do you make of this,' I asked him over the headset while I swung my view over toward a long corridor to my left. 'I mean, I get to surprise a lot of people in this thing. These guys have as much exposure as I do, and we're pretty much starting on a level playing field.'
'Just goes to show ya, bro, the world is your oyster when you can do some sweet shit in that ring.' That Keith. He's one of those guys that's just fun to listen to. For a guy who's had to train himself for the most part, he sure can back it up, too. It makes me think that if I'd let myself out of the cage more, I might be a good talker too.
I rounded the corner slowly, strafing against the wall with my sniper rifle ready. Nobody was going to get our flag. I'd make sure of that...Keith? Well, I didn't quite know what he was doing, but I bet it had something to do with plastic explosive traps and a lot of running.
Wild and crazy guys, that's us.
I lined up my field of vision so that I could pick off anyone on the small bridge leading to our flag room. With so many people on the team I didn't know, I probably wouldn't see much action, since most guys seem more interested in their kill counts rather than winning. They'd handle my job for me while I made sure the flag was safe. I don't like to lose, you know.
'So you're saying,' I said over the wire to Keith, chuckling, 'I'm the obvious choice here. The guy to watch, literally, and therefore the guy the suits should get behind as the next big thing.' A pause, as a guy in the opposing red uniform started rushing across the bridge, just to fall over dead the second I got a clear shot. I wished I could get a good look at his face after that nice blood spray subsided. A 'what the fuck' kind of look. 'Sorry about the break there, Keith...caught a red trying to sneak to the flag while you guys were busy sniping fools. Anyway, I think you may be on to something with this.'
'You got that right, man.' I heard him chuckle, crackling over the headset connection. 'You know something really freaky, though?'
'What's that?'
'I never thought you to be the type to play Halo.'
What a kidder. Heh. 'No, seriously. Get to the point before I switch teams and kill you.'
Keith laughed. I heard some bombs in the background...yeah, there he goes. 'I don't think anyone is going to expect much out of you.'
'Yeah, that's what I figured too,' I said, laughing as another hapless red sap marched into my line of sight, subsequently taking a bullet to the head. They probably knew I was there by now, so I'd have to change position a little to keep them on their toes...didn't want to take any grenades or rocket launcher hits. 'I'm...well, I'm not really sure what to expect right now. Give me a few weeks and I'll know the ropes like a vet, but right now I'm a bit nervous.'
'There's nothing to be nervous about, Jay. Just go out there and do what you do, and everything will fall into place.'
I thought back to my first sparring match, it was against Keith. Every move we made was smooth as silk -- maybe it was the similar wrestling style, or we just expected a lot, or maybe even a little of both.
I caught myself laughing. Bet Keith was wondering why. 'Can't say that's going to keep me from feeling a little freaked. I haven't worked for a promotion like this before, and I don't want to look like some wet behind the ears curtain jerker, you know.'
'You sure you're up to this?' I heard Keith ask.
'I'll be fine, Keith. A few late nights aren't going to get me down...hey, have I ever let you down?'
'Nope.'
'Exactly.' Bam! Another frag, another message on the screen from an annoyed red team guy. FUCKING CAMPER! U CUM OUT HERE ILL HAX U!!111 Riiiiiiight. STFU, whiner. And get that lead finger off the shift key.
'Brass tacks though, K-man,' I continued, taking advantage of the lull in the moron conga line trying to reach my base. 'I have some ground to cover in the next few days. If you need me for a punching bag, or you just want to help me work on some strategy, just give me a call. You know my cell's always on.'
'Sweet deal. Hey, one of our guys is coming back with the red flag!'
'Kickass! I'm going to get out there and give him some cover...I'm going to enjoy the downtime while it lasts. I won't have much soon.'
'Oh yeah -- Future LiveWire champ, Jay Bridden!'
Gratuitous virtual violence...ahh, just what the doctor ordered. I wondered if I could find enough time to play later in the week, something in-between gym sessions.
Another thought hit me just as our teammate ran back to base – I don't know a damn thing about my opponents.
So much for video games.