(I've never been one who felt he needed to explain himself. I've been a fighter all my life, and I'd much rather go out swinging, shouting, and spitting blood in someone's face... before I'd willingly turn and walk away from what I love. I've given the best years of my life to wrestling, and for all the pain, there's been enough joy. Through the suffering, I've seen enough light to keep on going. I've taken plenty of hits... but I've hit back twice as hard. I've got a share of the glory... enough, at least, to make me look back every once in a while... and smile at what I've made of myself.
But this wrestling life of mine-- and I'll be damned if it isn't the most unpredictable ride anyone could take in their life-- could all come crashing down on me soon. Much sooner than I'd like.
It's due to the recent messages I've received over the past few months. These cryptic interruptions in my professional career, and my personal life. The writing on the wall-- literally. Questions about my past... leading to an uncertain future that even I can't see clearly, at this point.
That's why, as I sit with my woman, Cindy Winsted-- the one who's stayed with me through much of the pain and joy I've seen, all that comes with a wrestling life-- and I see the real concern on her face, looking back at me, because I missed half of what she just told me, while I was zoned out and rolling all the possible names.... the potential scenarios that could have led me to this point in my career.
This crossroads.
When I know she's been wondering for months, "What's happening to this man?" I realize I haven't trusted her through this time, and that I should.
I never told her... I never told anyone. Not about the event that, I feel, is at the crux of the messages, and the writing on the wall, and the unmarked mail dropped off at my home... my own home, affected by this!
It's time I told her. She isn't a stupid woman. I don't hold onto the stupid ones, and we've been together, in one sense or another, for as long as I'd like to think back and remember.
Because we met not long after.. that time....)
"I know you've been distracted, Larry... and I want to help. But you have to trust me. You don't have to cover up things you've done... and I think I've earned the right to know. I think you should know that I can handle it," she told me this week, after I'd basically zoned out through an entire dinner outing with another couple.
That night, we sat down on the sofa and I looked at her, not saying anything for a little bit. I wanted to keep the image of her, from that moment, in my head. I wanted to remember her from before I told her.
Because I didn't know if she'd ever look at me the same again.
"It was a while ago... a decade ago," I began, swirling around the red wine in my glass. I took a sip for a little liquid courage. At this point I might finish the bottle before I was done telling.
"We-- myself and the few friends I'd made on the indie circuit-- had formed an alliance, of sorts. We weren't that similar, but we had the same ambition-filled dreams. We didn't have the same styles, but the same morals. Where it counted, we had overlap. We were brothers in combat. We were an Epic alliance."
"A couple of our old friends-- ones that didn't have that same moral code as us-- had broken off and formed their own alliance. Naturally we weren't the friendliest in the ring, but some of it boiled over into the back. At some point along the way, both of our groups pushed the other over the brink. It got personal."
"Around this time, I had gained the Heavyweight Championship of the promotion were were all in. Aside from being at the top of the pack, feeling like my training was starting to pay off, and I might get to crack through to the "big time"... there was another meaning to holding that belt."
"It was a status symbol between our two factions. It was like having bragging rights for winning a season series. If we held that strap more times than they did, we'd make sure they knew it." I took a moment to sip more wine, and surprisingly, cracked a little smile at the memories of those faction wars. It surprised me a little, smiling. "Admittedly, it wasn't all bad, those days. The time I spent with that alliance was more than I ever believed I was getting myself into. But," I paused, the sweet veil of nostalgia lifting again, and the day that still haunts me coming back into focus, "I can't say I'd do it all the same again, if I had the chance."
Cindy looked a bit confused. "Sounds like you were on top of the world back then. You must have been able to beat a lot of the guys in that place, so I can see if you weren't the most popular. But since when did that bother you?"
I laughed a little. "It wasn't so easy to just go into the ring and beat someone there. It was a step away from the mainstream circuit, and everyone there wanted into the Main; that's what we deemed the "big time" circuits. The wrestlers in that place were a mix of technique, style, and psychosis. You could literally be in anything from a backyard street fight-- a REAL one-- or a pure wrestling match, depending on who you were facing on a given night. The Champion had to be fierce and effective, and definitely not take a night off. Do that, and you could end up on the shelf, injured, and out of the hunt. No one could stand the thought of that; so while nobody's perfect, everyone tried to be, and showed up ready."
"The problem that creates is that losing is that much more killer. You don't just lose one match, your peers look at you as weak. Everyone wanted to believe they could beat everyone else, and a lot of the time that wasn't so far from the truth. The losers were like a cut man in a pool of hungry sharks. The higher up the ranks you were, the less blood the rest needed to strike, because everyone needed... everyone WANTED a reason to strike the guys at the top. Strike them down. With our two groups, it was that, plus. If we had a chance to face one of the other faction in the ring, there were no holds barred."
"And because the factions studied each other's adversaries, looking for weaknesses to exploit, it made us all pretty familiar. It made it a tougher match. We pushed ourselves further with them, doing things we weren't necessarily accustomed to, just to press some kind of advantage."
"Isn't that kind of how wrestling is, though?" Cindy asked. I shook my head.
"Not the level we took it. When wrestling stops being the focus of a wrestling match, you've gone past the brink of what should be allowed. And at the pinnacle of this feud, things went too far. It became a personal offense to your group, losing to one of them. And because we knew each other well, and didn't want to disappoint our group... it made winning more important than your own health. We'd think about trying **** that would hurt us, but destroy them," I explained, finishing off my glass.
(A face came into view, then. He was my age, but taller, with the sides of his head shaved, and golden hair on top of his head, extending all the way down his slimey neck. He always had it knotted into that ponytail, and he always gloated about how ****ing great he was. Whether in the ring, with his power style; or picking women out of the stands, "targets" for us, that night, who we'd go after like it was some competition. Hell, it WAS a competition. A lot of sweet words from a couple of heartless assholes. Two guys who just wanted to embarrass the hell out of each other, and didn't care if the women they used had a heart. As long as they were what the other wanted. And he'd do anything to make me feel like ****, right down to pimping out himself and acting like his shiny new wardrobe, or his ****ing tan were something to behold. What a shallow bastard... and yet, I can't pretend like I wasn't just as bad, with my TVs, stereos, gaming systems, and places I'd wine and dine women. Different valuables, separate tactics, same bastard, I guess.)
I refilled my wine glass and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. There wasn't any more background one needed to really know. The stage was set. "At the time, like I said, I had won the Championship. It took me to a cloud of euphoria that... well, I don't know if I ever want to try reaching again."
"Why? Isn't it a great thing to win a Championship? Shouldn't you be happy?" Cindy posed the question, completely justified. Why shouldn't I be happy to win? But little did she know...
"It changed me. It made me do some things I'd never thought I would. Winning that belt was almost a curse, because it made me feel invincible. It made me feel like I could do anything, bring anyone into a match, and because I was so good, I could win under any circumstances. With anyone..."
"You say 'anyone' as if you pulled a cripple into the ring, and tried having them compete with you or something?" Cindy joked. I looked down, not smiling. "Okay, now you're creeping me out a little. You didn't take a cripple into the ring. I'm pretty sure your judgment was never that bad. What are you talking about?"
I took down a sizable swig of wine, then looked back up. "Did I ever tell you about my brother? He was a teenager back then... a few years younger than myself. He looked at me with complete adoration, and wanted to do just like me. He wanted to get into wrestling, and make himself 'famous' just like I was. Or, as I made him think I was. Really, I was more ego than reality."
"I had no idea," Cindy said. "Why didn't you tell me you had a brother? That's not something you typically hide, Larry."
"You don't, you're right. But see, there's some things a person can't remember. Or doesn't want to, for a reason. There are some things you don't want to remember, ever. I think the recent messages I've received, they're related to him. To... m-my," my voice cracked a little. Calm down. "My brother."
I never thought it would still be difficult to bring up. I guess you don't have to worry if you never intend to.
"It was just before a tag team match. My brother had been backstage, because he was so keen on getting a real look into wrestling. He wanted to see just what I went through before a match, how I 'did it.' I didn't want to deal with him, or anyone else, before my match, because we were going against Nappi," the image of the man with the golden locks flashed through my mind again, "one of the other faction."
"Finally, I thought I was going to just smack my brother because of the questions. The questions, the remarks, the observations... he was killing my focus. I couldn't lose to Nappi. And then we got word that my tag team partner was taken out by their side. He was done for the night, at least. It was less than an hour before my match, and I didn't know who I was going to get to replace him..."
"No," Cindy looked at me, wide eyed for the first time tonight.
"My brother... he kept bugging me with these comments. He wanted to know how I would deal with the situation, because I was the Champ, and I could take them on my own even, and... it was just overloading my mind, at the time. I was young and ignorant, and I don't know where my head was. I didn't think about it, I just reacted to him."
"I put HIM in the match as my tag partner."
Cindy looked at me with this gaze worse than I could ever imagine. Somewhere between uncertainty and knowing exactly what could be coming. I answered her next question before she could ask.
"He... Nappi got to him before I could help, during the match. I thought I could take he and his partner alone, but they stunned me and cornered my brother..."
"I never went to the hospital after the match. I wasn't there... when my brother died."
I finish off my glass, look at her.
"I was responsible for my brother's death."
