Ugh.

Sasha Archer’s party.

I don’t wanna be here at all, but they’re making me go. I don’t even like her, she’s always picking on me, saying she likes me, but then she’ll kick me after school or have her brothers take my bike after class. But all the other kids go cause she has all the biggest and best parties. You know, an actual pony, games, and I… I think that’s Uncle Leo over there dressed as a clown. Haha, he can’t tie a balloon up!

“Oh, HECK yes!” Sasha screamed at the top of her lungs, making all my other friends at the party jealous. “Another fifty dollars from Grandma. That one’s going in the PlayStation fund!”

“Sasha, at least show us the cards first! Half of us don’t even know what you got!”

I can see my dad over there, hiding behind the camera. He’s always walking around with that silly thing, coming up with his next big project. Dad was the guy in the neighborhood with the really expensive camera, and I think that was kind of his job. Film-y producer-y stuff. All the other parents made him videotape the other kids’ parties. Mom’s walking over to him now, getting his drink. And… I think that’s Sasha’s uncle checking her out in that stupid red dress she loves so much.

The other kids at school keep telling me how hot she is. One kid, I had to kick in the face because he was talking about Mom’s boobs all the time. When Dad thinks I can’t hear him, he’s always telling our friends how cool they are, too.

Parents.

“Fuck!” he yelled. “The stupid batteries are almost dead! I just changed these!”

I just laughed. Man, I can’t wait to let the swears fly when I turn eighteen. It’s gonna be great.

“Watch your mouth, Bryan! Don’t make us look bad in front of our friends!”

Away from everybody, they scattered off back into the kitchen. I wandered over their direction, burying my face in the stupid purple flyer Sasha’s parent had made for her party. I had ninja powers, you know.

“Pfft. These people, Jessica? They SAY we’re their friends when they need something. I’m only here cause Doug and Julia are paying me to put this movie together for Sasha.”

Mom’s face got sad. “Stop it! The Archers are nice people! Sure, they’re a little bit busy. But that’s what they do!”

“They’re big shot doctors. Big deal. I think their housekeeper raises her more than they do.” He looked over at me and I quickly turned away. I’m stealthy like that, you know. “And they’re not going to be around her forever, how’s she supposed to get proper guidance to be something?

“Where is all this coming from, Bryan?” I don’t know why, but Mom looked worried.

“I… look, Jess, I’m sorry, but I just want to make this work… I want better for our son than that… we both want what’s best for Frankie. We’ll do this later, honey, I’m sorry,” Dad told her with a smile before giving her a kiss on the cheek.

Ew.

Mom hugged him back. “Look, we’ve got all that money saved up for Frank for college. And no matter what happens, we’ll be there for him.”

“Fuck, right, we’ll raise a winner!”

“Hey!”

Mom and Dad both laughed before coming back outside. And I quickly got the heck outta there. Last time I got caught spying on Mom and Dad, they were I think… doing it. I don’t know what “it” was, but they were both pretty mad and Dad whooped me something fierce.

“Ugh. Kids.”

Uncle Sonny! He and Dad went to high school together, so they’re pretty much best friends. People are always telling me how he looked kind of like the Boogeyman cause he never shaved and how grumpy he always was, but my dad really liked him and I thought he was funny. I don’t think Mom liked him, cause she was always rolling her eyes when he told his wrestler stories. Whatever, I think they’re awesome.

“They’re not all bad,” Dad told him, giving me a wink. “Buuuuuut, here comes the worst part.”

“The singing?” Sonny asked him.

“Yup.”

“Oh, rap.”

Dad was right on the money. Sasha’s dad came around the corner, holding a big old box. His ugly brown hair looked goofier every year and he always wore that stupid brown sweater. But he was awesome cause he always bought the ice cream cake. Cake? Ice Cream? How are you gonna beat THAT?

“All right, everyone, time to sing for the birthday girl!”

Mom, Sonny and all the kids and parents started gathering around the table as Sasha’s dad set the cake down, but for whatever reason, Dad held me back from the rest of the crowd. He looked down at me and smiled while the rest of the group started singing for Sasha. He knelt down and whispered to me quietly. And I’m not sure if he knew this, but I’m pretty sure the camera was still on.

“Hey, son?”

“Yeah, Dad?”

He held out his pinky and made me put mine up, not taking his eyes off me.

“Promise me, son. Promise me you’ll make the most of your opportunities in life. Don’t waste your life and work really hard at whatever it is you do.” He wrapped both hands on my shoulders. “Grow up and be somebody.”

I smirked.

“You got it.”

***********

Kent, Washington
March, 2007

“Pierce! Easy with boxes! Jeez!”

“Sorry.”

“Frank, I’m out of toilet paper. Wipe my ass with apologies! Back to work!”

God, I hate it when the shift supervisor just starts shooting off at the mouth. Not because he’s threatening, mind you. More so, I find it hard not to laugh at his stupid Polish ass for his broken English. Thomas Bozena, or “Boz” as he’s known, is more or less the before picture of a patient prepping for gastric bypass with a head of hair thinner than the top of Mount Everest. I’m a pretty big guy, myself, but I played football for two years at the University of Washington before busting up my knee in training camp, leaving me to work in this shithole. He was just a raging fatass. But I digress. I just don’t want to laugh at his mangled attempts to seem menacing, raping the English language one word at a time.

I kept back on my work, chucking another large cardboard box en route to Bumblefuck, Somewhere, Washington. Fortunately for me, society hadn’t figured out how to make us sports burnouts obsolete just yet. There was grunt work to be done and as long as that was, there’d be a place at Puget Sound Pipe and Supply for me… until I staple my resignation right across Boz’s stupid Pole forehead. This place can’t contain me forever, I’m better than this festering turd of a company.

“Hey, Pierce, wake up! We’re already behind enough as it is.”

I couldn’t even bother lifting a lackluster middle finger to Soren Knox, that big, fucking goody two-shoes. Generally, he was a likable guy, but this job meant everything to him. He was the type of guy who’d do what it took to keep it, even if it meant stabbing others in the back. He was also one of the few people here actually bigger than me. One could tell he was in good shape and probably put in some time in the gym. Heard he was a professional wrestler. I’d asked my godfather, Sonny, about him once, since he knew everybody. Soren, though, he wouldn’t talk about. He just kind of tapered off once and I never asked him again. The guy was probably a king-sized cunt or something.

Last box, though, thank fuck. I slammed the back of the truck shut and leaned against the cement wall behind me, happy to be done. As hideous as the actual sound was, ringing around in my brain, the buzzer telling me it was break time was the perfect pick-me-up.

Annnnnnd there was the break room. Yup, still shitty as ever. I still can’t believe the company deemed it safe to keep food locked up in that shitbox called a refrigerator. It was downright pathetic, just grinding away loudly, begging to be put out of its misery. Maybe on my last day, I could be arsed to euthanize the thing. I hurriedly pulled my lunch bag out and sat down by myself, eager to dine on a meal fit for a king: leftover Domino’s, an apple, and a probably flat Diet Coke. Happily, I sat by myself. Generally the way I wanted it. I couldn’t really stand much of anybody here, I just came here, did my time, and went home. These people here were just bone-chilling reminders that places exist where dreams go to die. They needed this. Not me, though. I’m only twenty years old, this shit is not the rest of my life.

I’d just started to savor the sweet taste of a Granny Smith, but as the story of my life goes ever since I dropped out of college… irony came around and handed me a mighty big bitchslap.

“Another truck just dropped in,” came the voice of Soren. “Boz says we gotta take care of it.”

“Uh… break, dude,” I bit a big chunk of apple and sucked it dry, right in his general direction. By now, the other workers started to scatter like birds out of a tree when they knew some shit was going down. Yeah, one could find making people work on their break grossly irresponsible by law, but Soren was good friends with Boz and Boz instilled fear in most people, so you did what you were told. As for me? Well, I was really, really, fucking hungry.

“No, Pierce, you were told to load the truck. We’re behind schedule and we’ve got a lotta slack to pick up.”

He tilted his head at me, like my words were out of the ordinary. He took a seat across from me, his beady blue eyes just staring right back at me; hiding behind an unkempt mane of shoulder-length black hair. Remember when I said before that Soren was a big guy? Yeah. Even bigger up close. He wasn’t decked out in tattoos, and wasn’t trying to be a tough mofo, he just naturally was. He could’ve probably been one of those tough biker guys, but the fact he borrowed his girlfriend’s SUV for work today would say otherwise.

“Not my fault, Knox. Slag off.”

“You know what?” He bolted up from his seat, making himself even more imposing by shifting those tree trunks posing as shoulders forward. “What’s your deal, anyway?”

“Well… there’s a Special Ed Gorilla in front of me, flapping his wordhole and not letting me have my goddamn break.”

Defiantly, I just took another bite of apple, taking my sweet time chewing it. Soren just continued to stare me down.

“You piece of crap…” Soren growled before he stood up and shoved the table towards me. “You’re not above anybody here. You’re a punk-ass kid with some grand sense of entitlement, nothing more. Now just get out there, do your damn job, and load up the truck.”

For those next few uncomfortable moments, the ticking of the time clock took over the heated exchange. I took a moment to let the words really register in my head, wanting to smack that haughty scowl right off. But… I needed this.

“Or what?” Soren chuckled as he looked down on me. Not at me, as I still remained seated, but he literally looked down ON me. “You just afraid you’re gonna blow out your OTHER knee doing something stu…”

That I could remember, there was absolutely no pause, no hesitation with that particular explosion. For that next few seconds, there was nothing that could’ve saved Soren’s face.

***********
Two days later

“Sorry, Frank, we just can’t keep you anymore.”

And here I was. Surprised it hadn’t really happened sooner. I looked across from him and he right back at me.

The HR manager, Rob Roy. One of the more straight shooters I’d ever met. An older African-American fellow, well-trimmed beard, powder-blue dress shirt, tie, the whole nine. He smiled a faux pleasant grin in that way you know they wanted to can your ass, but feigned niceties to make the situation a little less awkward.

“I wish things hadn’t turned out the way they did, but to be perfectly frank, this is unacceptable. This was the second fight that you’ve been in this month and you were already on probation. Soren just had surgery for his broken nose and he won’t be back for a few days. There’s no third strike here, Frank. We need to cut you loose.”

And there were the words. I bit my lip, trying to come up with some aloof response. When nothing came out, I just nodded, affirming what I knew was already coming the second my ideals clashed with somebody else’s. Read: Rocking Soren’s snotbox.

“So…” At this point, it was all just fluff that came out. “What about some compensation, Rob?” I started to unbutton my jumpsuit. Not like I would need this constricting sauna anymore. “If I’m just getting canned, I kinda need some severence. I keep hearing about this economy crap on the news. Shit sound’s bad.”

“Pfft,” he scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “This isn’t a cushy office job, Pierce. You’ll get your last check in the mail and that’s it.” He slid a clipboard across the desk, landing directly in front of me. “Just read through those, sign it, and you’ll be on your way. Anything else that you’d like to add?”

I could sugarcoat it. I could downplay it. I could try and make nice with the guy, but he was a trained Human Resource goon. Next to lawyers and therapists, they were consummate bullshitters. Besides, what’s done is done. And DUDE, the way I cracked that doofy fuck in his schnozz was a visual I’d keep for years to come. Even now, though, I’d decided that certain things were not negotiable. My pride was not going to let me remain subject to this blue-collar prison any longer.

“Well, Mr. Roy, I’d just like to thank you for this opportunity. If at any point you guys need a helping hand around here and somebody that knows this place in and out, you have my contact information. I’m also inviting you and everyone else here, cordially; to each get spoons so you can all eat my ass.”

A calloused finger kindly showed me the direction of the door.

“Get out.”

***********
Two Weeks Later

“Good set, Frank. Go on. Take a breather.”

Feeling the burn coming off an intense repetition, I sat up off the bench-press and stared down, mat beneath me soaked with sweat. I took a few moments to catch my breath before heaving my body back to its feet. Sonny was my spotter today, he’d invited me to come and work out with him. Despite the infamy he’d gained in professional wrestling, at least to me, he was always a good friend to me and my family. Though if both of my parents were still with us on this mortal coil watching him drag the human race back fifty years, they’d slap each other stupid after they appointed him my legal Godfather. But all that notwithstanding, he’d always been good to me after my parents died. And probably the only person who wanted to really deal with my shit.

“Sorry to hear about the job, Frank,” he’d said, gripping the bar and lifting it over his torso.

“Meh. Bunch of stupid pricks, anyway,” I replied, indifferently.

“So what are you gonna do about your apartment? You gonna be able to afford it?”

“…Nope.”

My head was lowered the whole time, tossing about the depths of shame for the first time in a good while. And along with it, a nice run-in by uncertainly kicking me right when I was down. But it was true. I was kinda already late with last month’s rent since I felt that red or black deserved a little more attention down at PJ Pocket’s Casino. No fucking way they were going to let me stay in that shithole they tried to pass off and as a “quiet and serene establishment” right next to a truck stop and liquor store. True story, folks: should’ve gone with black.

“You know, I’d love to have you over for a while, but Eme kinda doesn’t like you.”

“No offense, Sonny… she’s kind of a bitch.”

“That’s what I’m told, but I’ve got a good feeling that we can work it all out when she realizes that wrestling’s providing for her and Gaby.”

He set the bar back after another twelve or so repetitions. Sorry if I couldn’t recall the exact amount, I was still kind of in panic mode. I needed to put my mind elsewhere. Hopefully, a couple ten-pound weights were going to do the deed. I took my spot back on the bench and pumped the fuck out of the iron once more.

“What are you planning on doing now?” Sonny asked me, eyes following each and every push.

“Fuck if I know,” I fired back, almost on instinct. I wanted to remain indifferent to the whole thing, but I knew and Sonny knew that was Grade-A Horse Manure. I knew him long enough to know when something was on his mind. He had THAT look to him. The same one that when the gears were turning. Dr. Frankenstein-esque, even.

“I suppose.” That was just the warning shot. He was about to fire and this time, he wouldn’t miss. “…Strange question, Frank.”

“Shoot.”

“Ever think about trying your hand at wrestling again? You loved it when you got out of high school.”

I nodded back, half-heartedly. “True, but it didn’t love me. Remember, that Rosemary Avalon lady? You got me that tryout with tSC and yeah… kinda went south. Said I was too stiff… and I called her a whore.”

“Well, to be fair, you pretty much deserved that. And that was a few years ago. This is a sport where everything changes. It’s all “go, go, go” with little to no rest. You’re built for that. Frank.”

“Yeah, that’s all fine and dandy, Sonny, but wrestling pretty much gave me the middle finger once before. I say ‘fuck it.’”

He was a pitbull, that ol’ Sonny Silver. Stuck his teeth into something and just would not let go.

“Hey, what have you got to lose, anyway?” he asked me, gripping the bar. “You’ve pretty much hit the literal depiction of rock bottom. And what the fuck would your Dad say if he saw you in this mess?”

For the first time in his grilling, I’d heard something else in that salesmen pitch he called a baritone voice. Call me crazy. Hell, if you knew the man, you probably would, but there was… something. Compassion, maybe? He’d thrown this spiel at me a couple times, but never minded it. I was set on football. But that was two years and one busted knee ago. Now, Dad was probably waiting for me to visit him up there so he can make what Ike did to Tina look like a day at the spa.

“Just think of it as a release, if anything, Frank. You’re pissed. You lost out on a golden opportunity at U-Dub. You got fired from a job by a guy that wasn’t worthy enough to hold your jock. You’re far better than any of those pricks. And besides, far be it from me to shoot you a line, but… you’ve got nothing to lose.” He held off talking, probably to let the words really sink into me. “Plus… you’ve got jackshit going on at the moment. I’m pretty sure Jack just left, actually.”

I lifted the bar about halfway before I could feel the vein starting to pop out of my head, almost in time with the ticking clock I kept imagining, counting down the minutes until it got to the point where I could no longer make something of myself. Pfft. Like I’d let myself fall into that trap.

“Well…” I finally uttered after a sip of water. “I’ve lost my job and by the first of the month, I’ll have lost the apartment. But… there’s a problem with all this. Lack of funds OR place to stay to really afford all this.”

“Hey, don’t worry about all that,” Sonny told me, reassuringly. “If you want… there’s a loft I own not too far from the gym. You can stay there in the meantime.”

In mid-sip, I nearly deposited my water all over the tacky, stained carpet. Trying to catch my breath again, I glanced at him with the kind of look that you would give somebody if a miniature alien crawled out of their ear and started singing “The Michigan Rag.”

“Sonny, I’m not some charity case, I’m not going to…”

“Hey!” I was shocked into silence by his outburst. “This isn’t without a couple provisos. You need to find some other job while you’re training, since you’re STILL going to pay rent. I’ll throw you the old Sonny Silver training discount since you’re my favorite… scratch, only Godson. First month is free, but if you welch on even one payment, it’s back out on your ass. How’s that for a charity case?”

I was surprised by his offering, but I most certainly wasn’t disappointed with hearing that I’d at least have time to get back on my feet, even for a little bit. I’d humor this whole training idea of his. If things went tits up, I’d figure something else out.

“And you need to promise me one thing, Frank…” I tried to turn away, but he kept my hands on both of these shoulders. He talked. I listened. “If you do this… and I mean REALLY do this… promise me that you’re going to make the most of this opportunity. Be somebody.”

I quietly pondered all of this. This idea, to actually throw myself into the competitive fires, it seemed bold. It also seemed destined to fail, given I was 0-for-my-lifetime with promise.

“So, then if somebody decides to just wail on me because he doesn’t like what I’m saying, I’m… you know I’m going to take it as a personal affront and shit-kick them right back, yes?”

“Counting on it. That’s what sells… confrontation.”

Weirdly, though, that was the clincher. If I tried and I mean, Honest-to-God tried, who knew what was going to happen? Ultimately, I wanted the same thing out of this as I wanted with the gridiron. I wanted people calling me the best. That was only going to happen if I gave myself wholly to this endeavor.

“Deal.” We shook hands and that was that… so I thought before I pondered my next question. “So…” I gestured my fingers around the room, not believing this was the same Sonny Silver that I’d heard horror stories about. “You throw this sales pitch at ANYBODY that you see in here when they work out?”

At that moment, he and I shared a glance at our surroundings. We were enveloped in a sea of pathetic sweat and fat. Rolls, everywhere as far as the eye could see. People who’d quickly burn off the calories, then go out afterwards and replace them with the closest Budweiser or Sausage McGriddle. He turned back at me and shook his head.

“Nah. Sometimes, it’s hilarious as shit to tell one of these fat pricks that they have a chance. They come to the tryouts, then I pretty much berate them in front of their friends they invite. That’s what they get for calling my sport ‘fake.’”

My mistake. THERE he was.