“It’s crap.”

Jonathan Rhine looks up suddenly at Jeffrey Gray, his eyes slightly widening in surprise. “Really?”

Jeffrey sweeps his arms across the beige walls of his office, his eyes taking each glittering plaque for a second in turn before looking back at Jonathan, his cocky smile turning up the ends of his graying mustache. “You see those pieces of gold on the wall? The things that are more prevalent in this room than pictures of my family? Those are symbols – you know, things good poets use from time to time. Do you know what they are symbols for?”

Jonathan, with no choice but to continue this obvious mockery, looks down at his recently-shined dress shoes and sighs. “No.”

“They are symbols that say, if you listen hard enough, ‘You know that guy Jeff Gray? That guy is awesome at editing and critiquing poetry! It’s why he’s in a nice office and not watching stupid jocks wrestle like his dumb father used to do! Although for some reason it doesn’t keep one of the dumb jocks who knew his father at one time from coming in and showing him terrible poetry!’”

Jonathan lifts his head and tries a weary smile. “It says all that, huh?”

Jeffrey Gray is the son of former academy instructor Patrick Gray. Pat was a trainer who had helped train NWC stars such as Page, Montgomery, and Nackedy, who would go on to train Rhine. Jeffrey, however, does not concern himself with such name dropping. The only names he reacts to are names like Wordsworth, Keats, Shelley. There are also some names that have actually done poetry in the past thirty years (the actual reasons for the plaques on the wall) but Jeffrey is an appreciator of the classics.

“Yes, it says all that,” he says smugly, then points to the notebook Jon’s poem had been scribbled on. “Do you know how many plaques this sort of thing would bring?”

“None,” Jonathan said, gritting his teeth. He knows he doesn’t like where this is going, but he feels he owes it to Jeff’s father to stick around.

“Good guess, Sparky. Zero. And do you know why?” Jonathan finally decides not playing along is a good policy, but it doesn’t stop the husky Gray as he leans (rather plops) over the desk, leaning forward to get as close to the FUSE Universal Champion as possible. “Because some people write. Some people fight. To write is right for some. To fight is right for some. To fight and write for you ain’t right. You dig?”

Jonathan stands up, grabbing his notebook. “I was expecting constructive criticism.”

“Constructive criticism? On an emo poem about ‘truth clawing at me trying to be free’? With what you’ve got here, kid, there’s no such thing as constructive criticism.” Jeffrey sees how Rhine is taking this abuse, and he runs his hands through his graying hair, sits down, and sighs.

“All right, let me level with you, Jon. I know you. I still keep an eye on the biz from time to time. And you’re great. You have the face, the talent, the charisma, and everything to keep you on top of the wrestling game until you’re forty or until you break a hip.” Jeff’s eyes flicker from Jonathan to his notebook. “You’ve got everything you want, kid. Why do you want to pick up a pen and voice these cliché concerns you don’t even have?”

Jonathan fixes a long stare at Jeffrey Gray before muttering, “I don’t have everything.” He turns around and walks out, dropping the notebook in the wastebasket as leaves.

“This is the best dinner I’ve ever had, Jonathan. I’m serious.”

It is the fifth time in the past month the couple has returned to New Orleans, and this time they are splurging. Jonathan Rhine and Katie Malick sit in a dimly-lit room that has an oblong, boxy shape. The restaurant is La Crepe Nanou, and the shape of the room they are dining in is supposed to be the shape of a streetcar, one of the city’s quaint charms. It’s supposed to help with the ambience, and according to Katie, it’s working smashingly.

“I know, the food is great,” says Jonathan, a little less than enthusiastic. The events from earlier are still on his mind.

“It’s not just the food. It’s…it’s everything.” Katie puts down her fork and lets down her long brown hair before looking up at Jonathan, her eyes full of sincerity. “It’s you. It’s what we’ve become.”

“What do you mean?”

Katie smiles sheepishly. “Well, I know we’ve had a bit of a rough spot. And I won’t lie to you, I was very doubtful of our chances together after the things going on at work. But we’ve been able to talk, be together, and just live the way we’ve wanted to in these past few weeks. I’m really glad we’re getting past everything.”

Jonathan nods. “Yeah, me too.”

Now Katie notices the lack of enthusiasm. “What’s wrong? Still thinking about work?”

Jonathan nods, then leans forward. “Do you know how I told you I needed a release when I started FUSE?”

“Yeah, and then you started seeing Sarah Riley. Who, by the way, is a total bitch. I mean, costing you the match like that? That’s stupid, why would she –”

Jon holds his hands up, beckoning for her to stop. “Well, now that Sarah is part of my work life and I can’t exactly run to her for my problems anymore, I’ve tried to…get my thoughts out in other ways.”

“What other ways?” Katie asks through her veal.

Jonathan sighs here, looking down at the his filet mignon. “…poetry.”

He waits for the laugh, for the berating, for everything he’s heard about it to come at him. Instead, he feels a hand on his cheek, gently lifting his face up. “That’s great. That’s definitely something you should do if you feel like you need to.”

“Really? Pat’s son told me it wasn’t good.”

Katie laughs. “Well, it doesn’t matter if it’s any good, Jon. Were you planning on selling it?”

“No…”

“Then who cares! The poetry isn’t something that you need to show people to have them marvel at how good you are. Stuff like that isn’t like professional wrestling. It’s a private, inward experience, and I’m glad you’re able to trust yourself enough to let some things out.” She twirls her spoon around in the soup bowl, looking up innocently. “Now, you don’t have to tell me this if you don’t want to…but what are the poems about?”

There’s a long pause as Jonathan shifts, eating his steak and taking a long time to acknowledge the question. Then, he swallows and smiles. “Just some issues I’ve been having with letting out my feelings. With being the good guy.”

“I see,” she says, smiling. “Any love poems?” she asks, then giggles.

After another brief pause, Jonathan smiles. “Yeah, there’s one or two in there.”

Jeffrey Gray sighs and closes his office door, looking at the clock and sighing. It’s been a long day.

As he starts to walk back to his desk so he can slump over and powernap before going home for the day, he takes a look at the black notebook sticking out of the garbage can. The one that Rhine kid tossed in there after Jeffrey didn’t play nice.

Laughing, the oversized editor grabs the notebook and sits down, pilfering through the pages. His eyes, trained and true, flip back and forth over the pages, grimacing at most. There’s the tiniest bit of promise, he thinks, but most of these poems are just so…

His eyes stop scanning and widen slightly, and he begins to read, not as an editor or critic, but as a fan. He nods slowly, then begins to read it aloud, to listen for inflections.

2/1/08
Advice

I only wanted a break from the fire
And you gave me an unused match
It’s perfect and small, harmless by itself
But my hands are trembling, and I’m cold
I loved ice puddles at first, keeping to myself
In the world I knew, no matter the temperature,
But the more everyone breathes, the worse it gets
My fingers won’t listen, they’re bodies of their own.

FWSHT

Now we’re holding flame, something wrong but oh so good,
I only wanted a break but now I’m warm and fulfilled
The books tell me to stay with ice, with calm, with familiar,
But you’re the one who gives advice, and you say burn
So with your blonde hair raging I withstand the flames.

Jeffrey reads it again, and a third time. Jeffrey then grabs a pen and sets the book aside, scribbling on a card some notes that he always makes when discovering something good.

Polish, great imagery
The fire is powerful, the flames convey both connotations
Rhine has lots of power when he’s writing about his girlfriend

Jeffrey suddenly stops writing and looks up as a thought flashes in his mind: something isn’t right. After looking at his last note, he shakes his head and searches his memory. Then, he scratches his head. He was sure that Rhine’s girlfriend didn’t have blonde hair…