Dreams?

Working night shift was a change in habit for Tristan Cross. He had spent the majority of the formative years of his life waking early, getting in some form of exercise, working hard and then crashing early. He had always been like that, but then, things went wrong and he had to rely on the favours of friends to get by. It wasn’t a place he liked to be - owing people for being kind.

But that’s where he was.

And that’s why he was working the night shift. Sure, it had its advantages and it wasn’t exactly a strenuous vocation All he had to do was mop a floor, scrub a few toilets and clean some mirrors. It wasn’t glamorous, but in no way could it be called difficult. The job also had the added bonus of being able to use gym equipment for free, when he had finished his tasks; plus he always had access to the wrestling ring. Tristan Cross was trying to make lemonade from lemons and this time he had found a way. Work hard and work out.

What he didn’t really like about working the night shift, was the fact he was alone. No distractions; nothing to stop a mind wandering back and forth between those bitter moments that lead him down the path that he was trying to escape.

The mistakes he had made.

Loneliness.

Loss.

Heartbreak.

These were not things that Tristan Cross liked to think about, but when he was alone on the night shift and the floors were shiny, the mirrors glistening and the toilets cleaner than the tables at most chinese restaurants, those were the thoughts he often got stuck with. Tonight is one of those nights as he sits on the end of a weight bench pondering what was, what could of been and what will not be.

Tonight he will not be beaten.

Tonight he lays down on the weight bench and lifts the bar out of the rack. He starts lifting the weight on the bar with ease; though it is not heavy either. As he completes each repetition, the tears run down his face as he is occupied by the thought of loneliness, loss and heartbreak. He works hard to remember the good times; he works harder to forget the bad.

It’s all motivation for him.

He continues to raise and lower the bar with each breath.

Knowing.

Knowing he can not change his past.

Knowing he will not let it shape his future.

Knowing everything is liquid, and knowing that the good can become rancid in an instant and the bad can lead to something sweet just as quickly.

And know he was sweating. He stops lifting the barbell and sits it back in it rack. He sits up on the bench. His face covered in a sordid mixture of tears and sweat. He wasn’t happy tonight, but he had worked hard. He stands and walks to the wrestling ring.

His sanctuary.

The unlikeliest of the them all.

Tristan Cross had never grown up dreaming of being a wrestler. Never even given it a second thought and if truth was to be told - he thought wrestlers were really just a bunch of clowns with muscles. Then his lift changed - he started playing in the ring of a night. He started training with the old bastard, Jerry Eisenhower. He found a calling.

Cross climbs into the ring, and lays down on the canvas and closes his eyes.

---

“Dreams.”

The image is focused on his face, very few external details can be made out. However,the sun is just breaking the horizon and the morning rush is just starting, the traffic buzzing by can be seen in the peripheral. Spartan is clearly sitting in a dinner booth, the red vinyl seat barely showing behind him. On the bench top in front of him is black coffee.

“We all have dreams, right Buzz? Sometimes we have nightmares too, normally they come from eating too much cheese or so some old wives tales go.”

Spartan takes mouthful of his coffee.

“But, we are not talking about turning dreams into nightmares or nightmares into dreams, we don’t do that. That’s not just not how I do things, nor does it seem to be how you shake the tree. Do you know what I like about dreams, Buzz? I like the fact that dreams can’t be broken. They are not like promises and they certainly not like rules.”

“A dream can keep you going until you achieve it.”

“And it break you trying to achieve it.”

“Life is tough, like that, the question is are you tougher? From what I have seen of you, Bryan is that you are that sort of tough. I saw, and felt, what you did in Atlantic City in One Big Brawl. I saw you last until the very end of the Alpha Showdown match - it takes someone tough to do that, and there is no shame is losing to Smith Jones. I saw you battle Allen Anderson and win. There is no doubting you are tougher than most of the obstacles thrown in your path.”

“Hell, I think it shows your toughness that you are stepping back into the ring to chase your dreams. Whether that is just fame or becoming a successful wrestler. Doing what you love to do that is tough.”

I don’t doubt the toughness of Buzz. No way

“And that’s where achieving your dreams makes your tough. The thing is, Buzz, I never dreamed of being a wrestler. I didn’t grow up watching the television watching the legends executes piledrivers and fly from the top rope. It was never me. Truth be told, I actually thought it was pretty stupid. The bright lights and the neon tights it didn’t appeal. To me, the whole wrestling thing seemed to very much like the daytime soaps that my mother watched - just with men and a ring with ropes.”

Never even considered it.

“My dream, Buzz, my dream was to play in the NBA. Funny isn’t it? See, I’m an athlete, I can run, I can jump. But play basketball - I was terrible. Thing was, I thought I was going to be a great. Just like people thought Harold Miner was the next Michael Jordan just because he could dunk.”

“That was how I thought. I can dunk. I’m going to the King.”

I was delusional.

“Thing was I couldn’t shoot, I couldn’t dribble. I was never going to the NBA. That was a dream that almost broke me, Buzz. Almost. But things in my life changed and a lot of things happened and now I am here, sitting in this roadside diner talking to a handheld camera on small little tripod.”

Early morning, been up all night and can’t sleep.

“My circumstances lead me to find wrestling, Buzz. The fact that I found wrestling, is basically the reason that I am going to be facing you at Metal, Buzz and it’s an experience I am looking forward to. And then when I step into the ring with on Metal. I will get to see how tough you really are, and I will get to continue living my new dream.”

“See, Buzz, while I told you I didn’t dream of being a wrestler while growing up, and it’s true I didn’t. But now, now that I have found the squared circle. I dream of being the best that I can possibly be. And I can assure I didn’t dream of winning the Hardcore Title at Alpha Showdown, but I can also assure that I intend to be the best damn Hardcore Champion that I can possibly be. And facing you and defeating you - that’s going to help me achieve those dreams.”

Funny that.

“Dreams are funny like that, aren’t they, Buzz. They change, they evolve but they never ever stop playing in our minds. I am certain when you made your return to the ring in Alpha Pro that your dreamed of becoming the North American Champion. But, now that you have earned that contendership - you dream of knocking of Road Dawg and taking that Championship. It’s a dream worth having. And while, I’m sure you did dream over winning the World Championship - that’s the dream of every competitor - to be number one. And those that say they don’t care about winning the top prize - they’re lying.”

“But I digress, we don’t need to talk about World Championship dreams , just yet - maybe in the future when you are trying to dethrone me, emphasis on trying. See, tonight we are talking about a wrestler’s dreams.”

“Victory.”

“And right now, Buzz, our dreams they are on a collision course. Quite simply, you and I are two locomotives hurtling towards each other. Destined to collide head-on at Monday Night Metal. And while, dreams don’t get broken. Bones do, and I don’t intend on breaking anything at Metal - which leaves only one of us that make break some bones.”

“If it comes to that.”

“And it’s not a threat, Buzz. I’m not heading out to the ring to hurt you. I intend to beat you. I don’t want to see you injured, but is that just happens - I am not going to make apologies for the by-products of fighting.”

“Sorry, Buzz. It’s just is what it is.”

“And injures happen - it’s risk versus reward - and sometimes the risk outweighs the reward. And while you are the number one contender to the North American Title. I am the reigning Hardcore Champion and say what you will about a hardcore wrestler, there is no way I can allow myself to succumb as a champion. What would say about me? What would that say about my World Championship dreams. That being said if you can beat me, it certainly elevates you - doesn’t it?”

Can’t allow that to happen. Not at my expense.

“And I am not going to allow that to happen. Not without one hell of a fight. See, Buzz you and I hit Alpha Pro at basically the same time. You returning to the ring, me debuting in the ring. I am pretty sure we both made our debuts in One Big Brawl. I know the fight I put forward in that match and I have to commend you for competing in that crazy fight. I have to respect that. I know what I went through to lose that match, so I have an inkling of what you went through. Anyone that survived Atlantic City has and deserves my respect just for competing.”

“That’s tough, Buzz.”

“But you’ve been through even tougher battles than that. Sure, the Showdown match may not have been as violent as the One Big Brawl, but arguably it was tougher. For you to make it all the way to end, that’s tough. To almost defeat the man who would be king, Smith Jones. To absorb the scattered fire of Allen Anderson and emerge victorious, that’s tough.”

“You’re though, Buzz, real tough.”

“No matter how understated you try to be.”

“But you’re toughness is why, when I beat you in that ring. One. Two. Three. My victory will be so sweet.”

All victory is sweet.

“How sweet it will be to pin you one, two, three.”

“Sweet dreams are made of this and who I am to disagree?”

Spartan shakes his head.

Did it again.

He takes another mouthful of his coffee, his facial expression seems to indicate that it’s gone cold.

“When things go my on Monday, Buzz. I will send you on a revolution and I will win.”

“Not a promise to be made.”

“Not a rule to be broken.”

“Not even a dream to be had.”

“Just the way it is.”

---

Tristan Cross lays on the mat with his eyes closed.

There she was, across the club from him with her friends. Her subtle curves always teased Tristan from afar. While, his friends teased from nearby. Cross was always nervous when it came to women. But, this woman, he was lost in her image. Her auburn hair that rested effortlessly on her shoulders. Her jade eyes, that Tristan had caught once or twice, but never had the chance to gaze into them for as long as he wanted.

“Talk to her, T.” Dante nudged in the back with a cookie cutter blonde on each arm.

“T, ya spend every night staring at her like a crazed man. Go talk to her.” Quinn Black tells him with his own blonde on his right arm and a brunette on the left.

“I don’t know, guys.” says Tristan nervously.

“Just go.” says Dante as he shoves him in the woman’s direction.

With a little momentum, Tristan makes the nervous walk towards the woman of his dreams. The woman with auburn hair and jade eyes with curves than men love and boys don’t understand. As Cross approaches her, he stops and looks back over his shoulder. His friends are watching him and waving him on towards her.

He crosses the floor and gets close enough to her, that she turns and looks up at him. She smiles, and he smiles nervously back.

Moments pass, mere seconds. But for Tristan John Cross it feels like a millenia.

“Can I duy you a brink?” he stammers.

His face drops. He is embarrassed. She smiles.

“You can duy me a brink, but first tell me your name.” she says with a giggle.

Tristan doesn’t feel as embarrassed now. “Tristan.”

She extends her hand “I’m Penny.”

Tristan takes her hand and shakes it. “What do you drink?”

Tristan open his eyes. He sits up. He looks shaken. His body is covered with sweat, Not the workout sweat, but the sweat of man who has just woken from a nightmare. Tristan wipes his brow. He looks around and realises his surroundings. He gathers himself.

“I hate nightmares.” he says to no one in particular.