Fifteen Minutes - Part 1

[Sahara]

PREVIOUSLY
The Ramova

Gasping for breath, Sahara fights to free herself, but Harmony Egan has her locked in an unbreakable triangle choke. She struggles… reaching for the ropes in desperation. Despite the crowd, she could only hear her husband's words, ‘You fight ‘till the bitter end, even if it’s your own. Especially if it’s your own.’

Her face turns a dark shade of crimson as the referee pleads for her to submit… but she refuses to go out a quitter.

And the world goes dark…

~~~~~

Back at the Ramova…

After speaking with the students for what felt like hours, I found myself overwhelmed by the sheer number of questions. Some were about wrestling, but most were about the people I was lucky enough to be around.

Something I sometimes forget…

What was Tamika like? Bitchy, but cool. What about Ball Ball? Funny. Crash? Kinda miss him… just don’t tell him that. PIC? Cutie. Harmony? Exhausting and amazing. What about Thad? Exhausting and amazing for a different reason…

I mean, I understood why they wanted to know such mundane things… I was once on the outside looking in myself. It’s funny how that works. There was a time I’d have done just about anything to be a part of something like the OCW… and now that I’m there, I take it for granted.

But I also felt something else while talking to them; an odd sense of pride in the OCW. I’ll admit, their reverence for the neighborhood girl that grew up to become a wrestling star felt amazing, but then again, vanity was poison in my veins.

Meanwhile – the owner and proprietor of the Ramova known as Tiny – was tucked away in a small corner office, boots kicked up on the desk, reading a newspaper. Yeah, an actual newspaper. Made out of paper! I didn’t even know they still made those!

“Yanno, they invented iPhones for that…”, I said with a smile.

“Ahhh, there she is!” He folded up the Tribune and tossed it on the desk. “You can get lost in that phone world. It’s endless. That’s the best thing about a good ol’ fashioned newspaper; eventually they run outta room to print their bullshit.”

You might expect Tiny was one of those gentle giants, but he wasn’t. He was direct, to the point. Because he had to be. Back in the day, violence was a way of life for us – I suppose it still is – and I just happened to be the biggest kids’ best friend. So if I started some shit, it was usually Tiny that ended up fighting my fight.

That’s the way it was…

I talked shit… and he’d get hit.

It’s a wonder we remained friends through all that.

“You uh, you mentioned earlier that you know why I’m here?”

My voice trailed as he motioned for me to follow. Pushing himself away from his desk, the wheels on his chair squealed with age as he stood up and grabbed a ring of keys.

“I wanna show ya something…”

While the Ramova had been rebuilt under Tiny’s ownership, Chicago had weird union created rules about building codes. And if you knew how those rules worked… let’s just say there were ways to do things incorrectly correctly. If you tear a building down, you can only rebuild it under modern standards, however, if you knock down just three of the four walls? That wouldn’t be new construction… now would it? That’d be rehabilitation.

And no shit, that’s how it actually works around here.

Unlocking a large steel door toward the back, he kicked it open as a loud groan echoed through the cavernous space. He hit the breaker, and as electricity crackled through copper veins, the lights flickered to life; shedding an ambient glow above a dilapidated old wrestling ring, as particles of dust danced in the pale light.

“No fuckin’ way–” My words were full of wonder and amazement. “How…?”

“Well, I had it refurbished a bit. I just couldn’t convince myself to get rid of it. Feels like it belongs here. Goddamn thing is like bouncin’ on concrete, though. I don’t know how we ever did it.”

I ran my hand over the dusty old canvas and grabbed hold of that familiar blue wrapped rope, giving it a push. It was a lot looser than what we use today. No wonder nobody thought of doin’ springboard moves back in the day. Wouldn’t be possible. I leaned down and smelled that disgusting old canvas and it somehow made me smile.

“That’s why you came here…”

I looked at Tiny with a bit of a sarcastic smirk, “To smell disgusting old sweat?!”

“No. To rediscover something you’ve lost…”

Rolling beneath the bottom rope, I jumped up and dusted myself off.

“What have I lost? You do realize I’m the TransAtlantic champion, and soon to be the undisputed Paradigm champion! I think I know what I’m doi–”

“Yeah? You gonna cheat to win that one, too?”

At that moment, everything stopped. I mean… everything.

“What the fuck kinda question is that?”

“A simple one. And come off it, Lauren… I ain’t one of your business partners, managers, or any of the other yes men that surround you. It’s me! It’s Tiny!” He tapped the center of his chest for emphasis. “And I ain’t about to coddle you like the people you pay.

“You don’t think I watch your matches? To those of us you left in the dust, you’re our everything on Monday nights. We live through you. My students out there? They revere you. And I gotta bust my ass to keep ‘em in line, cuz when they see you cheat and they see that it works… they copy it thinkin’ it’ll help them get ‘em outta this place…

“You remember how we used to pretend to be stars of the past when we’d bump around in this ring?”

I nodded.

“That’s you now. You’re one of the stars they emulate…

“But what they can’t see is that you’re still that frightened little girl that doesn’t believe she deserves anything she’s got. It’s so ingrained in ya… it’s almost heartbreaking. You’ve been told you’re worthless for so long, deep down you actually believe it.”

I had no words.

My life was having words, and I suddenly had none.

Tiny heaved a sigh, “If you wanna beat this Nickleman for that new whatever-they-call-it championship–”

“Paradigm…”, I interjected.

“Yeah, that’s the one. It’s gonna take more than trainin’ to get it done. You already got the skill, but somewhere along the line, you lost your heart. There was a time you did this because it was fun. Because you loved it. Not for the money. Not for the Instagram follows. You need to find that again if you wanna win this thing.”

Tiny pulled out a faded Polaroid and slid it into the ring–

“Remember her?”

Though faded by age, I could still see it was a particularly bloody photo of me. My hair was so bloodsoaked, it almost looked black. Of course, this was before I had the money or the time to dye it, so it looked like more of a matted dishwater color. I was probably around eighteen or so. But there I was, smiling through that crimson mask. I could almost feel the adrenaline–

“Remember how much it snowed that day?”

Tiny nodded, “Yeah, and that gave you the one opportunity you needed… I knew right then you were gonna be somebody.”

The night that photo was taken, it was anything but an ordinary winter day in Chicago; it was snowing something crazy. It was windy, cold… and downright miserable. Tiny and I had gotten to the venue pretty early as part of the ring crew… settin’ up and whatnot for around six bucks an hour. As the day went on, the snow didn’t let up. When all was said and done, we ended up with damn near twelve inches. By evening, traffic was so jammed up, cars were being abandoned from running out of gas right there on the roads.

The venue didn’t give two-shits, either. They made it clear they weren’t refunding or rescheduling, so they told the promoters to figure it out. That was my first taste of how savage business dealings could be. So the people in charge decided we may as well try to make chicken salad out of chicken shit…

I don’t know what stars aligned that day or why, but they somehow packed the house in spite of the weather. I’m talkin’ standing room only. And yeah, I know it wasn’t a big arena or anything and only held a few hundred people, but considering the weather? It was pretty damn cool.

And that’s when it happened.

As showtime approached and half the wrestlers still hadn’t made it to the building, the promoters started to panic. Matches were already being stretched to fill time, but it wasn’t enough. That’s when they started askin’ anyone if they had any in-ring experience at all–

That’s when they asked me, “Hey, sweetheart, you're easy on the eyes… think you can go fifteen?”

I was so surprised he was talkin’ to me, I was like, “Minutes?”

“No, dumbass, fifteen hours! Yeah, minutes! Do you think you can go fifteen in front of a live crowd without rehearsal?”

“Fuck yeah,” I told ‘em, “I can do it… easy!”

I totally couldn’t, but I wasn’t about to say no… so then he’s like, “I’ll give ya twenty-five bucks if you don’t kill the town.”

It may not sound like much to you, but I’d just gotten booked for my first ever event.

In hindsight, it was the hardest twenty-five bucks I’d ever earned, but it was like free money as far as I was concerned. I didn’t feel like I was working a job, even though I did one.

I felt like I was floatin’ on air that night.

I got busted open pretty good on a post shot, and almost got knocked out doin’ it. At the time, I don’t think people were used to seeing women bleed, especially as much as I did. So for a few minutes – in a little indy venue in front of a sold out crowd on one of the snowiest days in Chicago history – I got a small taste of what it was like.

I’d never felt so alive.

Tiny nudged me back to reality and motioned to the Polaroid, “What happened to her?”

I didn’t have an answer.

“I wish I knew…”

“Lauren,” he looked up at me standing in that dusty old ring. “We only get so long to do what we do. Few of us ever find our calling, and even fewer ever make it. We end up workin’ whatever job pays the bills… and by the time we look back, there ain’t enough left to change it.

“You… loved this. You still love this… I know you do. Only now you aren’t bleeding in front of a few hundred people for twenty-five bucks. You’re in the OCW. You guys pack arenas. You’re in the big time, on the biggest stage. And I guarantee you, that promoter that put you on that show? He tells everyone that’ll listen that he discovered you. That he’s the reason Sahara exists… and that should mean something to you.”

“I just–”

“I once heard you say in one of those shoot interviews that the only reason you still do this was for the money… only now that you married Thad you don’t need the money. See the issue?”

I did see it. But I had no idea what I could do about it.

“You gotta rediscover your love for this, like when we were kids. It’s the only chance you’ll have against someone like Harmony, or PIC… or even Nickleman.”

I looked at Tiny as tears welled up in my eyes, “I don’t know how…”

“Thaddeus Duke”, he replied.

“Tha–what? What about him?” My confusion was evident, but if I knew Tiny, there was a reason he’d invoke my husband's name.

“Your husband is considered one of the best ever… and even he loses. You think when that happens he just throws his hands up and quits?”

I shook my head.

“Your confidence is fragile, kid. Your opponents have used your high risk mindset against you… they wait for you to make a mistake and capitalize–

“You know what”, Tiny smiled. “I got an idea. First we gotta clear your mind, and I got just the thing…”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Forget about wrestling. What you need is a bit of mindless fun, some shit talk… and a gun.” He bent down and picked something up. “Like I said earlier, sometimes ya gotta unplug yourself. Sometimes a little bit of fun can help us rediscover something we’ve lost.”

“Wait, did you say something about a gun?!”

“Yeah…”

Pop, pop, pop!

SON OF A BITCH!

I grabbed my shirt as a stinging sensation spread across my chest. I looked at pink paint on my fingers–

“What the fuck?!”

“Paintball! You in?!”

“Paintball?! How in the hell is that supposed to help me beat Nickleman?”

He laughed, “Do you trust me?”

I nodded, “Other than you shooting me in the fucking chest?! Yeah…”

He shrugged, “Good. And that’s gonna bruise like a bitch from this distance… but there’s a lesson in everything.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“Be ready for anything, even around people you trust…”