'I... I don't know,' he replies, looking for some acceptance in her eyes.
The woman is Candace Parker-Wilson, the sister of Jason O'Neil. A strong resemblance facially, she's attractive for being nearly forty years old, her long, brown hair with hints of grey splashing off her shoulders and onto her purple blouse. She shakes her head as she looks at her brother across the table of the darkened restaurant. 'I just thought you wanted to come back. Back to a normal life. Damnit, Tim...'
'Jason.'
'Mom named you Timothy. Not Jason. Forget the name Jason. Forget Jason O'Neil. Goddamnit, Timmy!'
'Don't call me Timmy, Candy. Come on. I have to do this!'
'Why? Why do you have to?'
'I don't know. Do you remember Mikey O'Malley?'
'The retarded kid?' Candace asks, scrunching her face, unsure if that's what her brother meant.
Jason shook his head. 'No, the mentally challenged kid. But, yeah. Him. I remember sitting on the porch watching him in his front yard. He never had a care in the world that I could tell. He was so happy, no matter what was going on around him.'
'Tim, that kid ended up in a box, because someone told him to see if he could jump in front of a car like friggin' Superman.'
'Yeah. I don't care. I'm sick and tired of knowing what the right thing to do is. Maybe we're the retards. Maybe we're the jackasses who work nine to fives, and live these damn rote lives. All in the pursuit of living comfortably until we die? No. I refuse. There's no way I'm going to do that with the rest of my life, money be damned. I want to be happy. And wrestling makes me happy.'
'No, it doesn't. It makes you miserable.'
'Yes. But, I'm happy when I'm miserable.'
'I just got used to you being home all the time, Tim,' Candace says, looking at her brother. 'Come on. Stay. Please. I gave you a job at the firm, and...'
'You know I'm going to die, don't you?' Jason O'Neil asks, suddenly. Candace drops her fork, and stares at her brother in disbelief. 'Yeah. It's true. Soon, I'm going to die. I don't know how, and I don't know from what, but, I'm going to die. And, goddamnit, Candy, I'm not going to die without making the mark I should have ten damn years ago.'
'God, you're fucking selfish.'
Jason shrugs off the comment. 'I know. I have to be. I've got to erase everything from my past in order to look to the future,' he says, looking at his sister, her jaw still on the floor from the death comment. 'Even you.'
'Me? Excuse me?'
'You heard me. This dinner is goodbye, Candy. We've got nothing tying us together anymore, except for blood. And even that's not enough for me. When I walk out that door, everything I used to be these thirty-six years is gone. I'm done being two different people. I'm making a choice.'
'And you're chosing to be a fucking wrestling character, instead of being my brother?'
'Sorry. I have to. It pays better.'
Candace looks at Jason O'Neil, as a tear falls from her eye. Her face scrunches, and her rage comes out in a split second, her hand meeting her brother's face, slapping him out of the chair and onto the floor. 'FUCK YOU!' she screams, as she grabs her purse and turns around, flipping him the bird.
'Thanks for not taking it as hard as I thought you would, Candy.'
------------------
Friday night was a new beginning, yet there was a single constant. The butterflies in his stomach, he'd never been able to get rid of. He stood backstage, waiting for the music to play, and mere seconds before it did, he threw up into the bucket he asked for. O'Neil could never hide -- the bucket and the barf was his trademark. He'd done it every match, and every first segment since he'd become a wrestler.
For the first time in four years, he wasn't met with apprehension backstage, simply because no one knew he was coming. Literally minutes before his debut, the contract on the ink had yet to leave the pen. But, when he heard FUSE was in Cleveland -- his town -- he had to do it.
But, there he was.
The fans cheered when they saw him, finally in shape again. And, it's true. He's a far cry from what he was just 9 months ago. But, that's in the past. Forget the past. Look to the future.
He spoke, and the people listened, and they appreciated it, because O'Neil's always been genuine. He always backed up what he said. And though, that may be in the past, we won't forget that part of the past, while we look to the future.
And when it was over, O'Neil wanted to do it again. Because he was looking to the future. Which is not the past. Because we're ignoring the past. Look to the future.
The past is over. No amount of name dropping Angelo Deville would matter anymore. The two hadn't wrestled since 2006, and that was even more one-sided than it ever had been. O'Neil was overmatched by the Cadillac, as was the usual case. But, forget that, now.
Forget now his departure from OSW. And PWC. And FSW. And RPW. And EHWF. And IWF. And IWA.
Forget his attack on Nova, and his subsequent arrest, and community service.
Forget going 22-1 in 2002 in GCW, his only loss coming to the Jhub in a number one contender's match, because O'Neil was tired of protecting Caldera and Badger Benandanti.
Forget that just two months ago, Steven Caldera goaded him out of retirement. Forget that he wanted to go anywhere else BUT GCW.
Forget Los Primerios.
Forget The Jackass, The Dark Messiah, the Scarecrow and the Omega.
Forget Silvio Rochelli (Please.)
Forget your friends.
Forget your enemies.
Forget it all.
This is about redemption. This is about absolution. This is about reverence, reclaimation, and retribution. This was about living up to the name that people gave him, the reputation he tried to earn. This was his second chance, and he wasn't about to blow it.
None of that matters now as he sits in Pittsburgh, the feeling of last week gone. Ten minutes until he kicks off his first professional wrestling match in almost a year. Ten minutes until Jason O'Neil enters the ring, and locks up with Itachi. And nine minutes until O'Neil stands at the entry way, and vomits into a five gallon pail.
Somethings are easier forgotten than others.