Post by Drunky McGee on Mar 29, 2012 11:28:29 GMT -5
PART 1: THE FIRST LETTER
Danita,
How does one begin a letter to the ex wife he hasn't spoken to in six years? I've been wrestling with that question for almost an hour now, sitting at my desk with this pen in my hand. So I've decided to just write whatever I'm thinking, though my hand can barely keep up with my mind right now. Scratch that, it can't keep up at all.
I guess I'm writing to you because I don't understand what happened to us. I don't mean our relationship - I understand why we got divorced. It takes quite a man to be a great professional wrestler and even an adequete husband.. and I'm not sure if I accomplished either one of those tasks. And bringing you into the wrestling world WITH me - subjecting you to what PCW made you become.. it was one of the biggest mistakes of my life. I can't even begin to imagine how difficult it was for you to go out every night and have fans yell that you're a whore, slut, and whatever else they said. I've said this a million times but I'm sorry. I know that can't make up for anything, and I know you'll say it was your decision.
So I understand why our relationship fell apart.
But after that we didn't need divorce lawyers, we didn't need a prenup... you know as well as I do we didn't hate each other. We didn't even dislike each other!, if we'd never been married we could have been best friends. You went your own way and I went mine - I can't begin to tell you how many times I listened to that damn Fleetwood Mac song, by the way - but I thought that after a year or two we'd at least be able to talk again.
Why was I wrong?
I'd say that I don't know if you got my previous letters, but I'm sure you did. No response, as you know. You've never answered my calls... and I guess I just want to know why? God, I've been crazy at times, I know that, but we've been through so much. And you've been crazy too! I don't want to fall in love again, I know that is never going to happen and I'm not even sure if I'm capable of such a feat at this point in my life. I just want some answers. What have I done to warrant this contempt? I just don't want to live the rest of my life with the belief that one of the best people to ever happen to me hates me.
I want you to know, also, I'm doing very well for myself. I bought a new house - finally. All those years of penny pinching and living below my means have paid off. I'm financially set for the rest of my life. I don't need to step foot in a wrestling ring ever again. But you know me, of course I'm going to, anyway. I couldn't tell you why.. I know that in another ten years my body is probably going to be shot. But I can't stop myself.
But right now, I'm happy, and I'm doing well. I just want you to know that.
And, God, I hope to hear back from you this time.
Love,
Rick
PART 2: THE INVESTMENT
Rick's surroundings were in start contrast to the last point of his letter - they don't give off the impression of even the least bit of happiness. Rick is sitting hunched over at a wooden desk. The room is lit only by a small lamp sitting on the desk. Rick sighs deeply to himself before very carefully folding the letter with the necessary three folds to fit into an envelope. He's already filled the envelope out, and he inserts the letter. With another heavy sigh he licks the edges and seals it up, wondering if it will ever even be opened.
Outside the room, the clouds finally pass by the moon, letting some moonlight provide some extra light. Although devoid of happiness, certainly, Rick's room does suggest that his assertion about having provided for himself financially was accurate. He has a beautiful mahogany bed, of course with a matching night stand, dresser, and armoire nearby. In front of the bed is a 50 or 55 inch television.
Although the room gave a feeling of opulance, it suggested no comfort, no warmth.. no feeling of home. It was as if even if you slept there every night for ten years, you'd still feel as if you were sleeping in a stranger's room.
The one item that broke up this feeling was the small mini fridge besides Rick's desk. Rick opened it up, revealing it to be full of Yuengling Lager, besides one large bottle of rum. Rick opted for the rum tonight, quickly twisting off the cap and taking a huge gulp of it before slowly standing up and stretching his arms, his sore muscles cracking. He picked up his envelope and left the room.
Rick navigated down his stairs by memory, as the entire house was dark. He paused at a landing midway down, with hallways going in both directions. Each hallway had a small green nightlight plugged in midway, which casted an admittedly eerie glow. Looking in either direction from the landing, you couldn't quite see the end of the hallway, and had no idea how long the halls actually were. Regardless, no sound came from either end; useless rooms, just creating the sensation of emptiness. For a brief moment, Rick missed his small, cramped apartments.
Finally reaching the bottom, one small light was lit by the kitchen sink. This provided enough light for Rick to reach the door to the outside, which he opened quickly, almost in a hurry to get out of his own home, and closed quickly behind him.
Rick then began the long walk down his driveway. Ironically, his driveway was lit up better than his house was - nothing stopped the moon from illuminating everything, and the light from nearby streetlamps shone brightly.
It was an unusually warm night for this time of year, and Rick didn't need a jacket. He wore only a black T-shirt and blue jeans, with his long red hair tied back in a ponytail. He walked quickly down the driveway, and reached his mailbox in a few moments. He opened it, put the letter in as if he was casting off a heavy burden that had been with him since the moment he started writing it, and closed the door, sighing with relief. He turned, ready to head back inside, but then turned back to the street. He saw bright lights in the distance, as he was only a block away from the main street of the town he'd decided to "settle" in. He pulled out his cell phone.
It was only 10 PM, and he was considering going home and getting drunk enough so he could just pass out and stop thinking. What had become of him?
Not tonight.
Rick nodded to himself, somehow energized and deciding that he'd take some kind of chance tonight. He began walking down the street, heading into town.
PART 3: THE PARADOX
Somehow, the darkness of Rick's home-that-wasn't-home managed to convey the exact same loneliness that a moderately well lit up bar did. The bar that Rick had decided on, Sabastian's Pub, was by no means a dive, though it wasn't classy either. Rick sat at the bar, still solitary even though he'd been there for about two hours now. He glanced up at the TV. Basketball was on. He feigned paying attention, despite the fact that professional wrestling was the only sport he had any interest in whatsoever. With a big swig, he finished his beer. He'd been tipping generously all night, so the bartender quickly approached.
Bartender: Another lager, mister?
Rick Mad: You know it.
The bartender, a nondescript, slightly overweight college age student took the empty bottle and quickly produced a full one. This was an average night for the pub - not full, but a lively enough crowd. A group of college kids playing pool here, a group of fortysomethings looking to recapture their youth there, and a few retired old men also sitting at the bar. Rick sighed, realizing that he didn't really fit in with any of these. All of his friends and colleagues were in the wrestling business, which meant that any given time any of his acquiantances could be anywhere in the country. Or, hell, anywhere in the world. He couldn't just call someone up and have them meet him - his best friend Zach was a few hours away in Reading right now, for instance.
Rick chuckled to himself. He and Zach hadn't actively been "best friends" ever since he and Danita got divorced, and yet no one else had ever stepped up to take that title away from him. No, Rick shook his head bitterly. Rick had just been too much of a coward to seek out any kind of friendship.
He took yet another drink from his bottle, starting to feel its effects, and wondering if he'd made a mistake by bothering to come out tonight. Somehow, being amongst all these people was just making him MORE lonely, not less. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a woman who bared a resemblance to his ex wife, and his heart jumped a little, his pulse racing for a brief moment, before his brain caught up and realized that wasn't her. Depression suddenly overtook him.
Rick Mad: Fuck this.
Rick set down his half empty bottle and turned to get up, thought better of it, picked the bottle up and chugged it till it was empty, then did finally get up to leave. He walked out the door, mumbling to himself.
Rick Mad: I have all the money I need.. a beautiful house.. on Thursday I go back to a job that I've always wanted to do.. I've accomplished the goddamn American dream! And what do I have to show for it?
Rick looked around at everyone talking to someone before finally opening the pub door.
Rick Mad: Nothing.
Rick stepped back into the fresh night air.
PART 4: THE OPPONENT
Back in his house, somehow Rick had sunk even deeper into patheticness. Drunk now, without a doubt, he sat in the only other room he frequented besides his bed room - his computer room. Underneath the table with his computer on it was a mini fridge just like the one in his bedroom, presumably containing the same kinds of beverage. The only light once again came from one source, the pale blue glow of his computer monitor. Rick gazed into it, not above just talking to himself now.
Rick Mad: The Otaku Angel?, huh.. Mia Lang..
He was on the UWA website. He really should have researched the roster of the company before now, but somehow it had never crossed his mind. He clicked the link to her roster page, and his eyes went wide.
Rick Mad: That hair...
He had a flashback to his ex wife, once again. When she was young. Lang's hair reminded him of her, exactly. That was where the similarities ended, of course - Danita certainly wasn't Asian - but the hair was enough. Over emotional from the alcohol, a tear or two came to Rick's eyes as flashes of memory passed through his mind's eye.
Rick Mad: DAMN IT!
He threw his bottle into a wall, smashing it.
Rick Mad: FOCUS! This isn't about your goddamn ex wife, you've got a job to do, Rick!
He continued looking over her bio, doing his best to keep his emotions in check. Rick, for all his faults, was not a man to understimate an opponent. Just a few days ago he saw a small, but tough, woman defeat a monster known as Odin Balfore at a match in Philadelphia. Some animal instinct in him told him that there was no way a man like him could lose a fight to an eighteen year old girl, but his higher brain functions supressed that.
Rick Mad: Haven't been in the ring for quite a while now.. this bio isn't going to tell me anything.
Rick slumped over, hitting the button to turn off his monitor. The room was totally dark now. Rick spoke to no one but himself.
Rick Mad: All I can do is go out and do my best. If I win, I win. If I lose, I lose. I don't know what I'm even trying to prove anymore.. fuck.
And with that, the room went quiet. Rick drifted off into restless drunken slumber.