Post by america on Nov 25, 2020 23:53:11 GMT -5
America could feel his heart beating rapidly. As he sat at the booth of a small diner wearing a hoodie so as not to be recognized by a stray fan in the streets, he could feel his hands shake. When the waiter asked if he wanted anything, he ordered a coffee with his water even though he scarcely drank caffeine at the best of times. He didn’t understand it. Fighting for championships left him calm and collected. His friends in college used to call him the ice man because of how unflappable he was.
“I gotta admit. I didn’t expect you to actually call.” Isaiah said, sliding into the seat opposite America in the booth. He was dressed down as well, wearing sweats. He looked like he’d just been to the gym. It felt familiar.
“I wasn’t sure if I would.” America said. “Admittedly, that had more to do with the schedule. Apparently being a professional wrestler is kind of intensive.”
They laughed together. It cut the tension some.
“I’m sorry.” America said. “I freaked out and that wasn’t fair to you. The way I was raised…it made me feel a way about it when we were in the moment and that’s not…that’s not how I feel about you. You’re a good friend and I didn’t want to hurt you. Didn’t want you thinking that I don’t accept you.”
“I appreciate that.” Isaiah said. “In fairness, I should know better by now than to kiss guys without asking first. More than once I’ve got belted for it, so this is a welcome change.”
“You goin’ round kissin’ a lot of guys?” America asked with a laugh.
“Way too many.” Isaiah replied, sharing the laugh. “I’m a messy drunk, man. What you want me to say?”
Laughter again. Easier than before.
In its aftermath, the waitress came by to drop off America’s drinks and take orders. As America sipped the coffee, he watched Isaiah move. He thought back to the kiss. Not his first, for certain. He’d been popular enough in high school through college that he’d had many girls give him many kisses. But they never felt right. They never felt like…
“I always thought there was something about you.” America found himself pulled suddenly from his thoughts. A confused ‘huh’ made it from his mouth as an involuntary reflex. Isaiah laughed. “You were always such a serious kid. Girls would swoon over you left and right but you were always looking…I dunno…somewhere else. Made me think that maybe I wasn’t the only gay kid in that town. Well, besides the fact I was banging Cory Jeffries behind the athletics shed on the daily.”
“YOU FUCKED CORY JEFFRIES?” America exclaimed. This earned them no shortage of dirty looks as their laughter settled into more subdued giggles.
“ANYway.” Isaiah continued. “I clearly fucked up and I’m sorry about that. I thought I’d clocked you right but…maybe that was just me projecting how I was feeling at the time onto you.”
“Maybe.” America said. “Truth is, I couldn’t tell you. Never been much for dating. Never really had the time. Been looking ahead based on where everyone told me I should be going. My folks, my pastor, my coaches, my boss…I couldn’t tell you the first thing about that on account I’ve never really had a chance to sit back and think it through.
“So maybe…” America hesitated. Isaiah placed a hand over his.
“You need some room to figure yourself out. I get it.” Isaiah said. “Took me a while too, when I’d moved away and didn’t have to live in fear or under the thumb of someone anymore. You should take the time you need to think to yourself about what you want. If you need an ear, I’ll be there for you.”
America nodded.
He felt reassured even as he knew that wasn’t the answer he was looking for.
I’m tired.
Tired of old men bringing old ideas and thinking they’re going to lead the way into the future.
Tired of living like those who came before me have any great wisdom to share.
I’ve faced man after man like you Derek. Veterans of the industry, champions of dead federations, relics of another time who think that they can dig their hands into the flesh of the young and it’ll somehow give them a fresh taste of their glory days. Still the fact remains the same. You had your time and you were great in it. That time’s over. You need to accept that the business has moved past the need for Derek Wellings before it’s more than just your ego which gets broken.
You can’t do it though, can you?
After all, the accomplishments you left behind? The legacy you thought would last beyond you? All of it rests in the shambling corpses of companies that don’t exist anymore whose memories you hoped would be fondly remembered but mostly just last with those who were there with you. You expected your achievements to give you immortality and instead you’re just being…forgotten.
Now here you stand, an anachronism trying to fight the future.
You need to understand the future has already won.
Every single person in this company knows who I am. Every fan at every show tunes in to see America Jackson win matches over and over and over again. People are keeping an eye on my accolades and seeing what new height I climb to next. Call it fame or infamy, no one is questioning whether I deserve to have this gold around my waist.
You though…you walked in here claiming past glories, talking big about how you were going to beat respect into me, throwing out the same catchphrase night in and night out regardless of how much sense it makes like a brain damaged eighties reject…I had no idea who the fuck you were. Riley had to google you and honestly, the archives of your past work seem to have been largely lost in transition.
I assure you Derek, my problem is not that you think one man’s hate leads to another man’s fate.
It’s that you think one man’s work leads to another man’s clout.
You can talk a big game about how much you deserved this shot and how great you were when I was a literal child but the fact is that all your unearned opportunity still requires you to get into that ring and beat me. And you can’t. I know you can’t. I’ve stepped in the rings with guys you rode with. I’ve wrestled Jubei, I’ve wrestled John Blade, and neither one of them were able to beat me. So when you step out here and talk unbelievable amounts of shit while getting a shot you absolutely have not earned, it gives me a little thrill because I know how this story is gonna end for you.
You fucked up sir.
You could have worked your way up. Strung together a few wins. Made your case as a competitor. The discussion coming out of this match could have been how you’d fought so hard to get back to the top and come so close only to fall short in the end. Maybe there’d be an air of hope. The idea that you might be able to fight your way back again and pull it off. Maybe you’d switch goals to a more eminently beatable champion. The point is, you could still have been someone here.
But WHEN I beat you?
You’re nothing.
You’re the guy who walked in, got handed a title shot, and fucked it up.
You’re 0-1 with the knowledge you can’t beat the champ anyway.
The instant that bell rings and my name gets announced, Derek Wellings goes from a generally well regarded champ from a forgotten fed to an absolute fucking clown who had too much hubris to realize that his best days were behind him.
Your cute little career revival will be dead.
Your legacy will be turned to garbage.
Your name.
Will mean.
Nothing.
It’s a hilarious act of sabotage and you did it all on your own. Walking on in and making demands like you’re owed something. Talking unbelievable amounts of shit before you’ve even shown what you can do. This is your chance to show the world just how good Derek Wellings is and I’m gonna be the one who gets to show you just how far you’re living from the image you have of yourself in your head.
I can’t wait.
You can’t fight the future Derek.
Time’s arrow only moves in one direction.
You can keep fighting with old ideas.
You can keep pushing the end back one more day.
In the end, fate comes for all of us.
Time marches on.
Title reigns end.
Companies die.
Maybe one day everything I do here will be forgotten.
Until then, I will fight to build the future APW needs.
I will be the champion APW needs.
I will shape my own fate.
And Derek?
I don’t hate you.
But at Vendetta?
I’ll seal your fate.
“I gotta admit. I didn’t expect you to actually call.” Isaiah said, sliding into the seat opposite America in the booth. He was dressed down as well, wearing sweats. He looked like he’d just been to the gym. It felt familiar.
“I wasn’t sure if I would.” America said. “Admittedly, that had more to do with the schedule. Apparently being a professional wrestler is kind of intensive.”
They laughed together. It cut the tension some.
“I’m sorry.” America said. “I freaked out and that wasn’t fair to you. The way I was raised…it made me feel a way about it when we were in the moment and that’s not…that’s not how I feel about you. You’re a good friend and I didn’t want to hurt you. Didn’t want you thinking that I don’t accept you.”
“I appreciate that.” Isaiah said. “In fairness, I should know better by now than to kiss guys without asking first. More than once I’ve got belted for it, so this is a welcome change.”
“You goin’ round kissin’ a lot of guys?” America asked with a laugh.
“Way too many.” Isaiah replied, sharing the laugh. “I’m a messy drunk, man. What you want me to say?”
Laughter again. Easier than before.
In its aftermath, the waitress came by to drop off America’s drinks and take orders. As America sipped the coffee, he watched Isaiah move. He thought back to the kiss. Not his first, for certain. He’d been popular enough in high school through college that he’d had many girls give him many kisses. But they never felt right. They never felt like…
“I always thought there was something about you.” America found himself pulled suddenly from his thoughts. A confused ‘huh’ made it from his mouth as an involuntary reflex. Isaiah laughed. “You were always such a serious kid. Girls would swoon over you left and right but you were always looking…I dunno…somewhere else. Made me think that maybe I wasn’t the only gay kid in that town. Well, besides the fact I was banging Cory Jeffries behind the athletics shed on the daily.”
“YOU FUCKED CORY JEFFRIES?” America exclaimed. This earned them no shortage of dirty looks as their laughter settled into more subdued giggles.
“ANYway.” Isaiah continued. “I clearly fucked up and I’m sorry about that. I thought I’d clocked you right but…maybe that was just me projecting how I was feeling at the time onto you.”
“Maybe.” America said. “Truth is, I couldn’t tell you. Never been much for dating. Never really had the time. Been looking ahead based on where everyone told me I should be going. My folks, my pastor, my coaches, my boss…I couldn’t tell you the first thing about that on account I’ve never really had a chance to sit back and think it through.
“So maybe…” America hesitated. Isaiah placed a hand over his.
“You need some room to figure yourself out. I get it.” Isaiah said. “Took me a while too, when I’d moved away and didn’t have to live in fear or under the thumb of someone anymore. You should take the time you need to think to yourself about what you want. If you need an ear, I’ll be there for you.”
America nodded.
He felt reassured even as he knew that wasn’t the answer he was looking for.
I’m tired.
Tired of old men bringing old ideas and thinking they’re going to lead the way into the future.
Tired of living like those who came before me have any great wisdom to share.
I’ve faced man after man like you Derek. Veterans of the industry, champions of dead federations, relics of another time who think that they can dig their hands into the flesh of the young and it’ll somehow give them a fresh taste of their glory days. Still the fact remains the same. You had your time and you were great in it. That time’s over. You need to accept that the business has moved past the need for Derek Wellings before it’s more than just your ego which gets broken.
You can’t do it though, can you?
After all, the accomplishments you left behind? The legacy you thought would last beyond you? All of it rests in the shambling corpses of companies that don’t exist anymore whose memories you hoped would be fondly remembered but mostly just last with those who were there with you. You expected your achievements to give you immortality and instead you’re just being…forgotten.
Now here you stand, an anachronism trying to fight the future.
You need to understand the future has already won.
Every single person in this company knows who I am. Every fan at every show tunes in to see America Jackson win matches over and over and over again. People are keeping an eye on my accolades and seeing what new height I climb to next. Call it fame or infamy, no one is questioning whether I deserve to have this gold around my waist.
You though…you walked in here claiming past glories, talking big about how you were going to beat respect into me, throwing out the same catchphrase night in and night out regardless of how much sense it makes like a brain damaged eighties reject…I had no idea who the fuck you were. Riley had to google you and honestly, the archives of your past work seem to have been largely lost in transition.
I assure you Derek, my problem is not that you think one man’s hate leads to another man’s fate.
It’s that you think one man’s work leads to another man’s clout.
You can talk a big game about how much you deserved this shot and how great you were when I was a literal child but the fact is that all your unearned opportunity still requires you to get into that ring and beat me. And you can’t. I know you can’t. I’ve stepped in the rings with guys you rode with. I’ve wrestled Jubei, I’ve wrestled John Blade, and neither one of them were able to beat me. So when you step out here and talk unbelievable amounts of shit while getting a shot you absolutely have not earned, it gives me a little thrill because I know how this story is gonna end for you.
You fucked up sir.
You could have worked your way up. Strung together a few wins. Made your case as a competitor. The discussion coming out of this match could have been how you’d fought so hard to get back to the top and come so close only to fall short in the end. Maybe there’d be an air of hope. The idea that you might be able to fight your way back again and pull it off. Maybe you’d switch goals to a more eminently beatable champion. The point is, you could still have been someone here.
But WHEN I beat you?
You’re nothing.
You’re the guy who walked in, got handed a title shot, and fucked it up.
You’re 0-1 with the knowledge you can’t beat the champ anyway.
The instant that bell rings and my name gets announced, Derek Wellings goes from a generally well regarded champ from a forgotten fed to an absolute fucking clown who had too much hubris to realize that his best days were behind him.
Your cute little career revival will be dead.
Your legacy will be turned to garbage.
Your name.
Will mean.
Nothing.
It’s a hilarious act of sabotage and you did it all on your own. Walking on in and making demands like you’re owed something. Talking unbelievable amounts of shit before you’ve even shown what you can do. This is your chance to show the world just how good Derek Wellings is and I’m gonna be the one who gets to show you just how far you’re living from the image you have of yourself in your head.
I can’t wait.
You can’t fight the future Derek.
Time’s arrow only moves in one direction.
You can keep fighting with old ideas.
You can keep pushing the end back one more day.
In the end, fate comes for all of us.
Time marches on.
Title reigns end.
Companies die.
Maybe one day everything I do here will be forgotten.
Until then, I will fight to build the future APW needs.
I will be the champion APW needs.
I will shape my own fate.
And Derek?
I don’t hate you.
But at Vendetta?
I’ll seal your fate.
