Post by Crash Rodriguez on Oct 1, 2022 10:18:29 GMT -5
Drip
Drip
I watch as blood forms a pool on the cold concrete floor, slowly spreading out, growing into a puddle.
Drip
Drip
Drip
I bring my hand to my face, clenching my nose shut and leaning back, trying to stop the blood flow, but the crimson fluid still floods the floor. I feel hands grab my shoulders and spin me around, only to greet me with a knee to my stomach.I barely catch myself from face planting the hard floor beneath.
“You don’t belong in this business. You are simply no-good, how they say, too soft, mijo”
I barely hear him as my mind only focuses on sucking in oxygen. Between gasps for air, I watch as my blood continues to trickle on the pavement and rippling from each added drop. I hear his footsteps echoing towards me. I close my eyes, forcing air into my lungs.
Smoke rises from my mouth,as I exhale the drag from my cigarette. I stare down at my hands, my fingers running over the zippo’s casing. The distant memories fade from my mind completely, as my representation hastily opens the back door, and steps out onto the porch.
“Kid! Did you hear?”
“Did I hear what, Lou?”
“Harmon beat Helena! I mean, this is good news. They’ve been on a cold streak, I mean since winning at Truth or Consequences, watching them is like watching a train wreck. Hardly the launching pad they thought it would be.”
“Lou. Losing streaks, winning streaks, they don’t matter. Once you step foot in that ring, it’s all gone. All that’s left is that moment. You live in that moment, burning and shining or…”
I smash my cigarette onto the porch’s wooden rail, snuffing out the embers.
“You get put out. Extinguished. Snuffed. You let doubt, or overconfidence creep in for a second, and you end up defeated.”
“That makes sense, kid. I got a question though, why the I Quit match? I mean, the mute, Bas, she can’t exactly say she quits. It seems you’ve put yourself in an unfavorable spot. I mean, I get the barbed wire cage, keep those PTSD idiots outta your business and all, but the rest of it? It doesn’t make a lick of god damn sense, I’m telling y-”
“Bas can’t quit, but Halsey… Halsey can, and I wonder how long it would take before she throws in the towel? Think about the pain she’d feel watching her sister let out empty screams of agony, as I pull and tear her body apart, Lou. Think about the absolute mental anguish she’d feel being stuck with the choice between a title and Bas’s health; Hell, even her pride is on stake.”
“So you’re running the mental game on one, whilst-”
“Physically tearing apart the other, yes, that’s the idea.”
“That’s… Actually pretty brilliant. Seems all this exposure to me has finally done you some good.”
My lips crinkle into a smirk, as I pull another cigarette from my crumpled pack.
“It’s about time some good came from dealing with you all this time.”
I watch Lou’s face morph, displaying the slight sting my words left behind. He quickly shakes it off, as I bring the open flame to the tip of my cancer stick. A few puffs get it started, before I take a long full drag, letting the smoke fill every crevice of my lungs, ready to suffocate on the tar and soot. I stifle a tickle at the back of my throat, as I exhale the cloud of toxins.
“You do realize that it’s gonna be a big night for us. Not just the match, but the entire event. You ready for that?”
“Kid, it aint gonna be a thing I can’t handle. That’s a Louis Pohl guarantee, absolute promise.”
“I think you’re underestimating this.”
“What’s so hard bout telling a bunch of people who to fight and when? Look, let me focus on the behind the scenes of it all, and you focus on the in-ring bit, how about that?”
I shake my head, I can already tell Lou is in over his head with this, but it could be entertaining. After all, it’s always a fun time when he gets overwhelmed; frantically running around like a chicken without it’s head.
“Alright, Lou. I trust you.”
The recently reinstated attorney smiles over his small victory, when I hear familiar whining coming from inside.
“Ah, looks like boyo’s up from his nap.”
“Mind getting him dressed so I can finish my smoke?”
“No problem, kid.”
Lou pats my shoulders before disappearing back into the house. My eyes linger towards the sky, watching the clouds pass by slowly. A moment of tranquility before the hell to come. I slowly burn through my cigarette. I smother the ember before crushing the butt beneath my boot. I head inside, sliding the door closed behind me. I make my way to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of tequila. I unscrew the cap and take a couple of swigs. As it warms my belly I begin to return the bottle as Lou comes in.
“Alright, I got little man dressed, and the babysitter should be here any minute, you bout ready?”
“I don’t see why we don’t just bring him with us.”
“Oh, right, good idea. Let’s bring Bash to a bar, I’m sure that’s the picture of responsible parenting. A baby waddling around a bar.”
“You said we were doing an interview, to raise awareness for the ‘Kids Are Expensive Wrestling Extravaganza’, not a bar.”
“Kid, relax. It is an interview. She just chose to have us meet at the bar. Look, we go out there, maybe get a drink or too, loosen up a bit right? Then she’s just gonna ask you some questions about you, the kid, and the show, you answer them, and Bing, bang, bop, done deal. Trust me, it’ll be stupid simple, even that dumb fuck Harmon could keep up. Get it, dumb? Cause he’s a mute?”
“First off, that’s wildly offensive. Secondly, if she’s interviewing me, why are you going?”
“Well, you see, she’ll be bringing her mother. So I thought, while you two are talking, who’d keep this fine woman comp-”
The doorbell rings out, cutting the lawyer mid speech. I make my way to the door, opening it to reveal some girl, no older than 16.
“Hello, my name is Becky, I’m here for the babysitting job. I tried calling but the line was busy.”
“Oh, uh, hey. Ok so-”
“I got this, Crash. Go get the Pohl Patrol readied up, and I’ll give her the rundown.”
“We’re not calling the minibus the ‘Pohl Patrol’, I told you that name’s stupid as fuck.”
“Well, I know quite a few moms out there who call it the Pohl Patrol, so I think we are.”
I make my way outside and towards the minibus. The thing’s grown on Lou, even if at first I definitely strong armed Lou into trading his car in for this. In my defense, I thought he’d put up more of a fight. I unlock the doors and start the engine as Lou hurries down the porch steps. As we cross through the city, we eventually arrive at our destination. We make our way through the front doors, and are immediately greeted upon entering.
“Crash, thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I’m Charlene Hamilton.”
“Hey, that's kinda funny.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”
“Charlene Hamilton. Can be shortened to charred ham. I own a butcher shop.”
Charlene looks at me perplexed.
“Look, kid's always doing shit like that. Just a joke, he even makes puns out of my name.”
Charlene’s gaze moves back towards me, and for a moment I’m frozen in time, only being thawed out by the words sauntering from her lips.
“Care to get some drinks before we start?”
“Of course, my treat.”
We make our way to the barkeep, as Lou stays back talking to the older woman. Before long drinks turn to shots, and the questions are thrown out for flirtations. Before I
know it the bar is closed and we’re heading to her home in a cab. Her warm smile feels welcoming, a sight for sore eyes. I don’t know if it’s the booze getting the better of me, or my other head calling the shots, but I follow her up the stairs and into her apartment with haste.
“I think I got some tequila in the fridge, shall I pour us some before we continue”
I smile as I watch the three of her swirl before me, I go to speak, but before I get a word out a shot glass is put in my hands. I raise it high, and throw it back, as she pulls me towards the bedroom. She falls back on the bed as my consciousness finally concedes to my overindulgence of alcohol. The next thing I know I’m pulling myself from the bed, Charlene still laying peacefully beside me.
“What… a night.”
I slowly sneak out of bed and gather my garments. I quickly throw them on before heading out the room and towards her kitchen. I open the fridge, only to find it heavily understocked. Expired milk, a jar of pickles, and some old chinese food. I slide my phone from my pocket and begin tapping Lou’s number into the glass. The phone rings twice before it answers.
“You dirty dog. I saw you and Charlene got along really well.”
“Is Bash okay?”
“Yeah, I took off once I started to see how plastered you got. Figured, one of us had to be the responsible one and get home to the kid.”
“Thanks Lou, I really appreciate it. Things just got out of hand last night.”
“Out of hand and into someplace else, I’m sure”
“Haha, very funny. Look, Imma grab a cab and pick up the minibus, mind having some food ready when I get home?”
“Just raid her fridge.”
“I tried man, there’s less in there than an Ethiopian child’s dinner plate.”
“Alright, I’ll try and whip something up. Take it easy kid, see you when you get here.”
“Thanks Lou, I’ll see you at home.”
I quickly end the call, when nausea begins to wash over me. I dart my way towards the bathroom, ramming the door open and curling over the toilet bowl. I get ready to prepare myself, but am caught off guard by a wave of violent vomiting. I hover over the toilet, slowly trying to catch my breath. The sounds of rhythmic water droplets catch my ear, as I turn my attention towards her sink. I watch as the faucet drips.
Drip
Drip
Drip.
The blood hasn’t stopped, it doesn’t feel like it will stop until I’m a carcass to mop the newly crimson painted floors with. I try pulling myself up to a knee, but topple over as my father stands over me.
“You are an embarrassment. Do us a favor, say you quit, give up and go back to America.”
The thought doesn’t sound half bad. It’s been six years of torture. Six years of abuse and violence. I’ve wanted to be a wrestler for as long as I could remember, it was my dream, my passion. Watching old clips on youtube, and pirated pay-per-views as a child, yet over these last 6 years, my dad has turned my dream into a nightmare. No, it’s not quite a nightmare, in a nightmare you eventually wake up, but this, living with this man. This is hell and I’m being given a chance to escape.
“Go fuck yourself”
As the words leave my mouth, I’m left stunned. Why did I do that? Why? I struggle for an answer only to be interrupted by my fathers knee crashing into my nose.
“Fuck myself, huh?”
My father’s fists begin to rhythmically bounce off of my skull, a few shots catching my face, as I try like hell to get my arms up and block. My vision blurs and morphs like a kaleidoscope in a fog, as my ears ring out. I faintly see the image of my father as he yells indistinctly at me. The punches keep coming as my guard becomes nothing more than spaghetti noodles. I begin squirming, kicking and flailing to survive, and in what feels like divine providence I somehow wiggle free. My vision remains impaired, as all I see of my father is a blob advancing towards me as I shimmy backwards on my ass. As it stands over me I kick out in desperation and hear a loud snap.
“AAAAAAAH! CHINGADO! MY LEG!”
I listen to my father’s screams of agony, as I fall on my back and slowly begin to control my breathing.
In and Out.
In and Out
I wipe my face clearing me of my crimson mask, as I rise to my feet fighting the pain in my everything. My vision slowly clears, as I step towards my father, who hastily tries to crawl away.
“You’ve put me through hell. Tarnished my dreams, poisoned my mind, and picked apart my bones. You’ve treated me like a leper. For six years you’ve broken me down over and over, in the name of wrestling training. You turned my passion into poison. Now you tell me to quit? To give up? I’ll never give up. I’ll fucking kill before I quit, because I refuse for you to take everything from me. I’LL KILL YOU BEFORE YOU GET THE CHANCE!”
I reach down, scooping up the heavy rope we use for jump rope exercises.
“God, I’ve been trained by a man who can’t afford to give us actual jump ropes. What a joke.”
“Get the fuck away from me.”
I whip the rope at him, watching as the force brings my father flat to the ground. I continue to whip him, watching his face contort due to the pain rushing through him. I throw the rope over his head, and around his neck as I start yanking back. I look down at my father’s face expecting to see terror. Instead I see nothing but pure spite and malice, sending me further into my rage. I begin pulling as hard as I can,as I watch my father try and pull the rope from his neck before reaching out to claw at me. I place my foot on his back, but keep the rope held tight, as I see his body fling in all directions, desperate to survive.
“STOP!”
I look towards the source to find my sister Carmen. She’s shaking, watching from the doorway. I let go of the rope, and my father falls forward onto his face as my younger sister rushes to his side.
“Carmie, I- He was- I swear it’s n-”
“Look, I get it, he’s made your life hell, but you were killing him! Our dad! We’re familia!”
“I wasn’t going to kill him!”
“He couldn’t breathe! You were hanging him! You need to learn to quit.”
I stand, wounded inside. I bow my head, soaking in this melancholy, as my words barely leave my throat.
“I’ll never quit.”
Drip
I watch as blood forms a pool on the cold concrete floor, slowly spreading out, growing into a puddle.
Drip
Drip
Drip
I bring my hand to my face, clenching my nose shut and leaning back, trying to stop the blood flow, but the crimson fluid still floods the floor. I feel hands grab my shoulders and spin me around, only to greet me with a knee to my stomach.I barely catch myself from face planting the hard floor beneath.
“You don’t belong in this business. You are simply no-good, how they say, too soft, mijo”
I barely hear him as my mind only focuses on sucking in oxygen. Between gasps for air, I watch as my blood continues to trickle on the pavement and rippling from each added drop. I hear his footsteps echoing towards me. I close my eyes, forcing air into my lungs.
Smoke rises from my mouth,as I exhale the drag from my cigarette. I stare down at my hands, my fingers running over the zippo’s casing. The distant memories fade from my mind completely, as my representation hastily opens the back door, and steps out onto the porch.
“Kid! Did you hear?”
“Did I hear what, Lou?”
“Harmon beat Helena! I mean, this is good news. They’ve been on a cold streak, I mean since winning at Truth or Consequences, watching them is like watching a train wreck. Hardly the launching pad they thought it would be.”
“Lou. Losing streaks, winning streaks, they don’t matter. Once you step foot in that ring, it’s all gone. All that’s left is that moment. You live in that moment, burning and shining or…”
I smash my cigarette onto the porch’s wooden rail, snuffing out the embers.
“You get put out. Extinguished. Snuffed. You let doubt, or overconfidence creep in for a second, and you end up defeated.”
“That makes sense, kid. I got a question though, why the I Quit match? I mean, the mute, Bas, she can’t exactly say she quits. It seems you’ve put yourself in an unfavorable spot. I mean, I get the barbed wire cage, keep those PTSD idiots outta your business and all, but the rest of it? It doesn’t make a lick of god damn sense, I’m telling y-”
“Bas can’t quit, but Halsey… Halsey can, and I wonder how long it would take before she throws in the towel? Think about the pain she’d feel watching her sister let out empty screams of agony, as I pull and tear her body apart, Lou. Think about the absolute mental anguish she’d feel being stuck with the choice between a title and Bas’s health; Hell, even her pride is on stake.”
“So you’re running the mental game on one, whilst-”
“Physically tearing apart the other, yes, that’s the idea.”
“That’s… Actually pretty brilliant. Seems all this exposure to me has finally done you some good.”
My lips crinkle into a smirk, as I pull another cigarette from my crumpled pack.
“It’s about time some good came from dealing with you all this time.”
I watch Lou’s face morph, displaying the slight sting my words left behind. He quickly shakes it off, as I bring the open flame to the tip of my cancer stick. A few puffs get it started, before I take a long full drag, letting the smoke fill every crevice of my lungs, ready to suffocate on the tar and soot. I stifle a tickle at the back of my throat, as I exhale the cloud of toxins.
“You do realize that it’s gonna be a big night for us. Not just the match, but the entire event. You ready for that?”
“Kid, it aint gonna be a thing I can’t handle. That’s a Louis Pohl guarantee, absolute promise.”
“I think you’re underestimating this.”
“What’s so hard bout telling a bunch of people who to fight and when? Look, let me focus on the behind the scenes of it all, and you focus on the in-ring bit, how about that?”
I shake my head, I can already tell Lou is in over his head with this, but it could be entertaining. After all, it’s always a fun time when he gets overwhelmed; frantically running around like a chicken without it’s head.
“Alright, Lou. I trust you.”
The recently reinstated attorney smiles over his small victory, when I hear familiar whining coming from inside.
“Ah, looks like boyo’s up from his nap.”
“Mind getting him dressed so I can finish my smoke?”
“No problem, kid.”
Lou pats my shoulders before disappearing back into the house. My eyes linger towards the sky, watching the clouds pass by slowly. A moment of tranquility before the hell to come. I slowly burn through my cigarette. I smother the ember before crushing the butt beneath my boot. I head inside, sliding the door closed behind me. I make my way to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of tequila. I unscrew the cap and take a couple of swigs. As it warms my belly I begin to return the bottle as Lou comes in.
“Alright, I got little man dressed, and the babysitter should be here any minute, you bout ready?”
“I don’t see why we don’t just bring him with us.”
“Oh, right, good idea. Let’s bring Bash to a bar, I’m sure that’s the picture of responsible parenting. A baby waddling around a bar.”
“You said we were doing an interview, to raise awareness for the ‘Kids Are Expensive Wrestling Extravaganza’, not a bar.”
“Kid, relax. It is an interview. She just chose to have us meet at the bar. Look, we go out there, maybe get a drink or too, loosen up a bit right? Then she’s just gonna ask you some questions about you, the kid, and the show, you answer them, and Bing, bang, bop, done deal. Trust me, it’ll be stupid simple, even that dumb fuck Harmon could keep up. Get it, dumb? Cause he’s a mute?”
“First off, that’s wildly offensive. Secondly, if she’s interviewing me, why are you going?”
“Well, you see, she’ll be bringing her mother. So I thought, while you two are talking, who’d keep this fine woman comp-”
The doorbell rings out, cutting the lawyer mid speech. I make my way to the door, opening it to reveal some girl, no older than 16.
“Hello, my name is Becky, I’m here for the babysitting job. I tried calling but the line was busy.”
“Oh, uh, hey. Ok so-”
“I got this, Crash. Go get the Pohl Patrol readied up, and I’ll give her the rundown.”
“We’re not calling the minibus the ‘Pohl Patrol’, I told you that name’s stupid as fuck.”
“Well, I know quite a few moms out there who call it the Pohl Patrol, so I think we are.”
I make my way outside and towards the minibus. The thing’s grown on Lou, even if at first I definitely strong armed Lou into trading his car in for this. In my defense, I thought he’d put up more of a fight. I unlock the doors and start the engine as Lou hurries down the porch steps. As we cross through the city, we eventually arrive at our destination. We make our way through the front doors, and are immediately greeted upon entering.
“Crash, thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I’m Charlene Hamilton.”
“Hey, that's kinda funny.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”
“Charlene Hamilton. Can be shortened to charred ham. I own a butcher shop.”
Charlene looks at me perplexed.
“Look, kid's always doing shit like that. Just a joke, he even makes puns out of my name.”
Charlene’s gaze moves back towards me, and for a moment I’m frozen in time, only being thawed out by the words sauntering from her lips.
“Care to get some drinks before we start?”
“Of course, my treat.”
We make our way to the barkeep, as Lou stays back talking to the older woman. Before long drinks turn to shots, and the questions are thrown out for flirtations. Before I
know it the bar is closed and we’re heading to her home in a cab. Her warm smile feels welcoming, a sight for sore eyes. I don’t know if it’s the booze getting the better of me, or my other head calling the shots, but I follow her up the stairs and into her apartment with haste.
“I think I got some tequila in the fridge, shall I pour us some before we continue”
I smile as I watch the three of her swirl before me, I go to speak, but before I get a word out a shot glass is put in my hands. I raise it high, and throw it back, as she pulls me towards the bedroom. She falls back on the bed as my consciousness finally concedes to my overindulgence of alcohol. The next thing I know I’m pulling myself from the bed, Charlene still laying peacefully beside me.
“What… a night.”
I slowly sneak out of bed and gather my garments. I quickly throw them on before heading out the room and towards her kitchen. I open the fridge, only to find it heavily understocked. Expired milk, a jar of pickles, and some old chinese food. I slide my phone from my pocket and begin tapping Lou’s number into the glass. The phone rings twice before it answers.
“You dirty dog. I saw you and Charlene got along really well.”
“Is Bash okay?”
“Yeah, I took off once I started to see how plastered you got. Figured, one of us had to be the responsible one and get home to the kid.”
“Thanks Lou, I really appreciate it. Things just got out of hand last night.”
“Out of hand and into someplace else, I’m sure”
“Haha, very funny. Look, Imma grab a cab and pick up the minibus, mind having some food ready when I get home?”
“Just raid her fridge.”
“I tried man, there’s less in there than an Ethiopian child’s dinner plate.”
“Alright, I’ll try and whip something up. Take it easy kid, see you when you get here.”
“Thanks Lou, I’ll see you at home.”
I quickly end the call, when nausea begins to wash over me. I dart my way towards the bathroom, ramming the door open and curling over the toilet bowl. I get ready to prepare myself, but am caught off guard by a wave of violent vomiting. I hover over the toilet, slowly trying to catch my breath. The sounds of rhythmic water droplets catch my ear, as I turn my attention towards her sink. I watch as the faucet drips.
Drip
Drip
Drip.
The blood hasn’t stopped, it doesn’t feel like it will stop until I’m a carcass to mop the newly crimson painted floors with. I try pulling myself up to a knee, but topple over as my father stands over me.
“You are an embarrassment. Do us a favor, say you quit, give up and go back to America.”
The thought doesn’t sound half bad. It’s been six years of torture. Six years of abuse and violence. I’ve wanted to be a wrestler for as long as I could remember, it was my dream, my passion. Watching old clips on youtube, and pirated pay-per-views as a child, yet over these last 6 years, my dad has turned my dream into a nightmare. No, it’s not quite a nightmare, in a nightmare you eventually wake up, but this, living with this man. This is hell and I’m being given a chance to escape.
“Go fuck yourself”
As the words leave my mouth, I’m left stunned. Why did I do that? Why? I struggle for an answer only to be interrupted by my fathers knee crashing into my nose.
“Fuck myself, huh?”
My father’s fists begin to rhythmically bounce off of my skull, a few shots catching my face, as I try like hell to get my arms up and block. My vision blurs and morphs like a kaleidoscope in a fog, as my ears ring out. I faintly see the image of my father as he yells indistinctly at me. The punches keep coming as my guard becomes nothing more than spaghetti noodles. I begin squirming, kicking and flailing to survive, and in what feels like divine providence I somehow wiggle free. My vision remains impaired, as all I see of my father is a blob advancing towards me as I shimmy backwards on my ass. As it stands over me I kick out in desperation and hear a loud snap.
“AAAAAAAH! CHINGADO! MY LEG!”
I listen to my father’s screams of agony, as I fall on my back and slowly begin to control my breathing.
In and Out.
In and Out
I wipe my face clearing me of my crimson mask, as I rise to my feet fighting the pain in my everything. My vision slowly clears, as I step towards my father, who hastily tries to crawl away.
“You’ve put me through hell. Tarnished my dreams, poisoned my mind, and picked apart my bones. You’ve treated me like a leper. For six years you’ve broken me down over and over, in the name of wrestling training. You turned my passion into poison. Now you tell me to quit? To give up? I’ll never give up. I’ll fucking kill before I quit, because I refuse for you to take everything from me. I’LL KILL YOU BEFORE YOU GET THE CHANCE!”
I reach down, scooping up the heavy rope we use for jump rope exercises.
“God, I’ve been trained by a man who can’t afford to give us actual jump ropes. What a joke.”
“Get the fuck away from me.”
I whip the rope at him, watching as the force brings my father flat to the ground. I continue to whip him, watching his face contort due to the pain rushing through him. I throw the rope over his head, and around his neck as I start yanking back. I look down at my father’s face expecting to see terror. Instead I see nothing but pure spite and malice, sending me further into my rage. I begin pulling as hard as I can,as I watch my father try and pull the rope from his neck before reaching out to claw at me. I place my foot on his back, but keep the rope held tight, as I see his body fling in all directions, desperate to survive.
“STOP!”
I look towards the source to find my sister Carmen. She’s shaking, watching from the doorway. I let go of the rope, and my father falls forward onto his face as my younger sister rushes to his side.
“Carmie, I- He was- I swear it’s n-”
“Look, I get it, he’s made your life hell, but you were killing him! Our dad! We’re familia!”
“I wasn’t going to kill him!”
“He couldn’t breathe! You were hanging him! You need to learn to quit.”
I stand, wounded inside. I bow my head, soaking in this melancholy, as my words barely leave my throat.
“I’ll never quit.”