Post by Jenna on Aug 9, 2019 16:57:49 GMT -5
The place I go when my eyes close is always the same; surrounded by a mystical mist. I am wearing a pale pink dress and my bright blonde hair is down and straight. I am standing on the sidewalk and see a pristine house with a white picket fence. Going through the fence, I walk up the stairs onto the wrap-around porch and enter the front door. The smell of chocolate chip cookies is intoxicating as I enter the kitchen.
Music is blaring out of the radio and my mother is dancing with my father to 70’s rock and roll. Leaning against the frame of the door, I smile, laughing at their silly love. My mother stops, points her finger at me and laughs, not happy with me mocking their love. She comes over, launching herself at me, going in for a hug and as our skin meets she explodes into dust. I look around in horror and my father looks at me as the mist begins to engulf in flames.
“This isn’t real,” he says, calmly.
Attempting to hug my father, the length betweens us begins to stretch so he is now unreachable and the flames spread throughout and suddenly an explosion occurs and everything is black.
“Why can’t it be real?” I softly cry.
This is the part where I wake up – every single time with a loud scream. I catch my breath and glance towards my phone, the time reading five in the morning. I shuffle my body so I’m sitting on the side of the bed and put my face into the palms of my hands, sobbing. I open the side table and bring out a folder that reads “case notes”. I hold it in my hands, trembling at it. I shake my head, opting to put the folder back into the table and close the drawer loudly. I lie back down and close my eyes, only to realize there’s no point – I have to be up soon. With a heavy sigh, I roll out of bed, hop into the shower quickly and then head into the kitchen wearing a sports bra and sports trunk.
The sky of Key West is still dark as I turn on the lights to my open-concept condominium at 1800 Atlantic Condominiums – paid dearly by daddy, utilities and all. The entrance, kitchen and living room weren’t hindered by walls. Some may call me a hypocrite, trying to make a name for myself in wrestling without the aid of his name yet I gladly accept his money to pay for a place to live but hell, I need a place to live. I pour myself a glass of ice-cold water and drink it, staring at the stack of letters addressed to me from the Monroe County prison. I pick up the latest one that I grabbed from my mailbox yesterday, dated July 31st. I opened a drawer and grabbed a letter opener, slicing the paper and pulling out the paper. I had another forty minutes until the green route transit bus would show up right outside the condo building to take me to the gym. I rolled my eyes and opened it up, this being the first time I would read one of his letters.
Dear Jenna,
It has come to my attention you are wrestling... just because I’m being poorly mistreated inside these walls, I do know what’s going on. I have a team that is watching the OCW program and is, trying the keyword here, to monitor you. Not that I have people stalking you, but just making sure you are OK. I wish you would come visit me, I don’t know why--
I took the letter and ripped it to shreds, and in anger, turned on the oven and threw the rest of the ten or so letters in their too, closing the door. I watched, with tears dripping down my face, as the personal letters began to catch fire and disintegrate into ash.
“I need to tell the truth,” I whispered softly to myself.
The only gym open this early in the morning was Key West 24HR Fitness Center, all the way across the island at the corner of Caroline and William. It was close to 6:30 when my bus stopped at the corner of William and Eaton, one block from the gym. The usual busy, vibrant streets of Lower Key West were quiet, as we were an hour before rush hour. The sun was beginning to rise from the Atlantic, above the buildings, visible in the sky. I walked past a restaurant, and homes with white picket fences, like the one from that particular dream, stared back at me with their dark windows. I stopped for a moment, hesitant to go further as there was a group of men smoking under a large tree with branches that swooped down, almost touching the road.
I decided to cross the dead street and walk down the other sidewalk as I was going to have to cross soon anyway. A few moments pass as I glance at the sign Sawyers Lane from the other side of the street and I can hear footsteps following me. I poke my head over my left shoulder to see the group of guys following me. I pick up my pace, but not to run, as I was close to the main intersection that would lead me directly to the gym. I almost clear the space of Sawyers Lane opening but a hand tugs at my arm, hooks it, and begins to guide me back to the lane. I nonchalantly try and tug it away but the man keeps a firm grip. Against my better judgement, I decided not to create a scene and see what was about to happen. We enter the darkened lane and I’m pushed up against the fence, with my back facing the group. I turn around and see the group of men, who faces earlier were somewhat visible, now had black ski-masks on and the one in front was wielding a switchblade.
“Guys,” I said, beginning to panic, “we don’t have to do this.”
The men didn’t respond to me, they just stared at me, from head to me.
“Is it money?” I asked frantically, “look, I don’t have much on me, but if you take me to an ATM, I can empty out my bank account.”
“Fuck,” one of the masked men said, with a deep tone.
“What?” said another, this one’s voice a little squeaky.
“We can’t,” the first one said, trying to get the second to put away his knife.
“Why?!” the third piped in, his chords raspy as if he’s been smoking since birth.
“She’s on TV,” the first exclaimed, “fuck, I told you I knew her, why didn’t you listen?”
“You’re damn right I’m on TV!” I yelled out, pushing the guy with the knife causing them all to be shocked, “What? You think every girl you hustle is going to bend over and let you squirt a load in them?”
“She’s got a potty mouth!” the third said, still jaw dropped.
“Are you sure she’s on TV?” the knife wielder asked, “The way she talks – sounds like she’s from a backdoor porno or something.”
“You wish you’ve seen these tits in a porno,” I smirk.
“Dude,” the first one said a bit shaken, “she’s really not backing down. Maybe we should--”
“Are you a pussy?” the second looked back, astonished.
“YEAH ARE YOU A PUSSY?” I yelled out at the top of my lungs, making all three men jump at once.
The noise from me screaming caused a light from the home next to the lane to turn on. This caused the three men to run away before anything crazy could happen. A man, in his 50s, walked out with a robe on, looking at the men leaving the scene.
“Oh my gosh,” he exclaimed in horror, coming from off his side deck and approaching from the other side of the fence, “are you okay missus?”
“I’m fine,” I nodded, “those guys honestly didn’t scare me. I’m a professional wrestler. If you hadn’t come out, I would’ve made them cry. Thanks, though!”
I turned around and walked back down the lane. I looked around; making sure those guys weren’t anywhere. Laughing, I made my way down the rest of street, crossing the intersection and going through the doors to the gym, looking forward to a good workout.
I told myself that when I started this little wrestling venture I wasn’t going to get into anything crazy. I was going to start of small, slow, and just do it as a means to make some money, independently. Going from Jack Puffer to getting randomly teamed with the OWNER of OCW in the Margarita Mix tournament for ultimately a shot at the OCW Championship is not something I really planned for, but hey, here we are! I know I’m known for my little time in OCW, alongside my father, for having a loud mouth and saying things when I shouldn’t and I’m really trying to improve on that by staying out of other people’s affairs unless it’s going to directly involve me.
I really hope I do not let the owner down, and I know Zybala knows my father personally, so I guess there is a lot to live up to – being the father of a Hall of Famer. I am worried though that Zybala’s limited wrestling could hinder us but I know he’s former Boardwalk champion, I think he held every title if I remember my research correctly, so even though he wrestles part-time, he’s no push over – like me! The only thought I truly worry of Zybala is how many enemies you have on the roster – from Mike Best, Lilith, and beyond. Your ability to make enemies with practically everyone better not hinder my chances at winning this tournament. If I do lose I want it to be because I need to improve, not because we get interfered on.
We face the other random team of Erin Gordon and Logan. I really don’t have anything negative to say about Erin Gordon, I actually see her as a role model of sorts. She’s good inspiration for young women to look up to in how to conduct yourself in the ring. She’s had moderate success and if I can even replicate what she’s done in OCW, hell, I’d be pretty happy! You’re sending an amazing message to your son and I’m sorry if I get in the way of that message but I look forward to putting on a good match with you.
Logan on the other hand, well, sorry Gordon but it seems you didn’t luck out like I did with the random draw. I mean, he is the OCW Savage Champion, but at least my partner is sane. Logan, I’m definitely not a fan of your behaviour, you claim to be an intelligent man but how much intelligence do you have if you think people are pawns... tools? I watched a man once act exactly like that, and learned that he was my father, so I know how to deal with a lunatic like you. You think treating people poorly, whether they deserve it or not, is the way to win. You might have short term success here with that attitude but when it comes to the grownups versus the children... you’ll always be at the kids table.
With that said, let me make this perfectly clear, because I know you Logan, and probably 90 percent of the roster, will treat me like a child. If you underestimate me – you'll have a #badtime. I’m going to prove to you all I’m not pushover. I’ll be ready for my mentions to blow up once I begin to win but a quick word of advice... do not @ me or all you’re going to get is a #HOTMIC!
A pamphlet that laid in front me I picked up, not to read, but to use as a fan as I waited in this hot prison. I had been sitting in this seat for awhile now, and as each minute passed I contemplated leaving. Does he need to know? What he knows won’t hurt him... right? But what if he finds out? My thought process was this – if I tell him straight from my mouth, it’ll be better. Finally the door on the other side of the glass opened up and out walked my dad in chains and an orange jumpsuit, just like in the movies. He looked like absolute shit – but a happy shit as his eyes met mine. He practically leaped into the seat opposite me as he picked up the phone and I did the same.
“You came!” TIO exclaimed, almost in tears, “Jenna, it’s so good to see you.”
“Hi Dad,” I said with a simple smile but the emotions were on my face.
“What’s wrong?” TIO asked, worried, “anyone bothering? Tell me everything.”
“Listen,” and with a heavy sigh, I started, “I came for one reason. This has been hanging over me and I need to get it out. When I gave information on Rowe – the prosecutor’s said I’d still get locked up unless I gave them dirt on one more person.”
It took my father a minute to figure it out. His eyes widened in horror.
“You’re in jail because of me.”
Music is blaring out of the radio and my mother is dancing with my father to 70’s rock and roll. Leaning against the frame of the door, I smile, laughing at their silly love. My mother stops, points her finger at me and laughs, not happy with me mocking their love. She comes over, launching herself at me, going in for a hug and as our skin meets she explodes into dust. I look around in horror and my father looks at me as the mist begins to engulf in flames.
“This isn’t real,” he says, calmly.
Attempting to hug my father, the length betweens us begins to stretch so he is now unreachable and the flames spread throughout and suddenly an explosion occurs and everything is black.
“Why can’t it be real?” I softly cry.
***
This is the part where I wake up – every single time with a loud scream. I catch my breath and glance towards my phone, the time reading five in the morning. I shuffle my body so I’m sitting on the side of the bed and put my face into the palms of my hands, sobbing. I open the side table and bring out a folder that reads “case notes”. I hold it in my hands, trembling at it. I shake my head, opting to put the folder back into the table and close the drawer loudly. I lie back down and close my eyes, only to realize there’s no point – I have to be up soon. With a heavy sigh, I roll out of bed, hop into the shower quickly and then head into the kitchen wearing a sports bra and sports trunk.
The sky of Key West is still dark as I turn on the lights to my open-concept condominium at 1800 Atlantic Condominiums – paid dearly by daddy, utilities and all. The entrance, kitchen and living room weren’t hindered by walls. Some may call me a hypocrite, trying to make a name for myself in wrestling without the aid of his name yet I gladly accept his money to pay for a place to live but hell, I need a place to live. I pour myself a glass of ice-cold water and drink it, staring at the stack of letters addressed to me from the Monroe County prison. I pick up the latest one that I grabbed from my mailbox yesterday, dated July 31st. I opened a drawer and grabbed a letter opener, slicing the paper and pulling out the paper. I had another forty minutes until the green route transit bus would show up right outside the condo building to take me to the gym. I rolled my eyes and opened it up, this being the first time I would read one of his letters.
Dear Jenna,
It has come to my attention you are wrestling... just because I’m being poorly mistreated inside these walls, I do know what’s going on. I have a team that is watching the OCW program and is, trying the keyword here, to monitor you. Not that I have people stalking you, but just making sure you are OK. I wish you would come visit me, I don’t know why--
I took the letter and ripped it to shreds, and in anger, turned on the oven and threw the rest of the ten or so letters in their too, closing the door. I watched, with tears dripping down my face, as the personal letters began to catch fire and disintegrate into ash.
“I need to tell the truth,” I whispered softly to myself.
A bus ride later...
The only gym open this early in the morning was Key West 24HR Fitness Center, all the way across the island at the corner of Caroline and William. It was close to 6:30 when my bus stopped at the corner of William and Eaton, one block from the gym. The usual busy, vibrant streets of Lower Key West were quiet, as we were an hour before rush hour. The sun was beginning to rise from the Atlantic, above the buildings, visible in the sky. I walked past a restaurant, and homes with white picket fences, like the one from that particular dream, stared back at me with their dark windows. I stopped for a moment, hesitant to go further as there was a group of men smoking under a large tree with branches that swooped down, almost touching the road.
I decided to cross the dead street and walk down the other sidewalk as I was going to have to cross soon anyway. A few moments pass as I glance at the sign Sawyers Lane from the other side of the street and I can hear footsteps following me. I poke my head over my left shoulder to see the group of guys following me. I pick up my pace, but not to run, as I was close to the main intersection that would lead me directly to the gym. I almost clear the space of Sawyers Lane opening but a hand tugs at my arm, hooks it, and begins to guide me back to the lane. I nonchalantly try and tug it away but the man keeps a firm grip. Against my better judgement, I decided not to create a scene and see what was about to happen. We enter the darkened lane and I’m pushed up against the fence, with my back facing the group. I turn around and see the group of men, who faces earlier were somewhat visible, now had black ski-masks on and the one in front was wielding a switchblade.
“Guys,” I said, beginning to panic, “we don’t have to do this.”
The men didn’t respond to me, they just stared at me, from head to me.
“Is it money?” I asked frantically, “look, I don’t have much on me, but if you take me to an ATM, I can empty out my bank account.”
“Fuck,” one of the masked men said, with a deep tone.
“What?” said another, this one’s voice a little squeaky.
“We can’t,” the first one said, trying to get the second to put away his knife.
“Why?!” the third piped in, his chords raspy as if he’s been smoking since birth.
“She’s on TV,” the first exclaimed, “fuck, I told you I knew her, why didn’t you listen?”
“You’re damn right I’m on TV!” I yelled out, pushing the guy with the knife causing them all to be shocked, “What? You think every girl you hustle is going to bend over and let you squirt a load in them?”
“She’s got a potty mouth!” the third said, still jaw dropped.
“Are you sure she’s on TV?” the knife wielder asked, “The way she talks – sounds like she’s from a backdoor porno or something.”
“You wish you’ve seen these tits in a porno,” I smirk.
“Dude,” the first one said a bit shaken, “she’s really not backing down. Maybe we should--”
“Are you a pussy?” the second looked back, astonished.
“YEAH ARE YOU A PUSSY?” I yelled out at the top of my lungs, making all three men jump at once.
The noise from me screaming caused a light from the home next to the lane to turn on. This caused the three men to run away before anything crazy could happen. A man, in his 50s, walked out with a robe on, looking at the men leaving the scene.
“Oh my gosh,” he exclaimed in horror, coming from off his side deck and approaching from the other side of the fence, “are you okay missus?”
“I’m fine,” I nodded, “those guys honestly didn’t scare me. I’m a professional wrestler. If you hadn’t come out, I would’ve made them cry. Thanks, though!”
I turned around and walked back down the lane. I looked around; making sure those guys weren’t anywhere. Laughing, I made my way down the rest of street, crossing the intersection and going through the doors to the gym, looking forward to a good workout.
***
I told myself that when I started this little wrestling venture I wasn’t going to get into anything crazy. I was going to start of small, slow, and just do it as a means to make some money, independently. Going from Jack Puffer to getting randomly teamed with the OWNER of OCW in the Margarita Mix tournament for ultimately a shot at the OCW Championship is not something I really planned for, but hey, here we are! I know I’m known for my little time in OCW, alongside my father, for having a loud mouth and saying things when I shouldn’t and I’m really trying to improve on that by staying out of other people’s affairs unless it’s going to directly involve me.
I really hope I do not let the owner down, and I know Zybala knows my father personally, so I guess there is a lot to live up to – being the father of a Hall of Famer. I am worried though that Zybala’s limited wrestling could hinder us but I know he’s former Boardwalk champion, I think he held every title if I remember my research correctly, so even though he wrestles part-time, he’s no push over – like me! The only thought I truly worry of Zybala is how many enemies you have on the roster – from Mike Best, Lilith, and beyond. Your ability to make enemies with practically everyone better not hinder my chances at winning this tournament. If I do lose I want it to be because I need to improve, not because we get interfered on.
We face the other random team of Erin Gordon and Logan. I really don’t have anything negative to say about Erin Gordon, I actually see her as a role model of sorts. She’s good inspiration for young women to look up to in how to conduct yourself in the ring. She’s had moderate success and if I can even replicate what she’s done in OCW, hell, I’d be pretty happy! You’re sending an amazing message to your son and I’m sorry if I get in the way of that message but I look forward to putting on a good match with you.
Logan on the other hand, well, sorry Gordon but it seems you didn’t luck out like I did with the random draw. I mean, he is the OCW Savage Champion, but at least my partner is sane. Logan, I’m definitely not a fan of your behaviour, you claim to be an intelligent man but how much intelligence do you have if you think people are pawns... tools? I watched a man once act exactly like that, and learned that he was my father, so I know how to deal with a lunatic like you. You think treating people poorly, whether they deserve it or not, is the way to win. You might have short term success here with that attitude but when it comes to the grownups versus the children... you’ll always be at the kids table.
With that said, let me make this perfectly clear, because I know you Logan, and probably 90 percent of the roster, will treat me like a child. If you underestimate me – you'll have a #badtime. I’m going to prove to you all I’m not pushover. I’ll be ready for my mentions to blow up once I begin to win but a quick word of advice... do not @ me or all you’re going to get is a #HOTMIC!
“You came!” TIO exclaimed, almost in tears, “Jenna, it’s so good to see you.”
“Hi Dad,” I said with a simple smile but the emotions were on my face.
“What’s wrong?” TIO asked, worried, “anyone bothering? Tell me everything.”
“Listen,” and with a heavy sigh, I started, “I came for one reason. This has been hanging over me and I need to get it out. When I gave information on Rowe – the prosecutor’s said I’d still get locked up unless I gave them dirt on one more person.”
It took my father a minute to figure it out. His eyes widened in horror.
“You’re in jail because of me.”