I find myself staring at the Security Monitors at the Farmhouse more often than one should when they are supposed to be centering themselves.

It’s a habit.

Honestly though--- it is because I now understand how to feel fear and it seems to seep into my subconscious hourly.

There I was staring so hard the monitors began to fade into the background. Just another window into a troubled world that I can never fully grasp and cannot embrace. I sighed and licked my lips, realizing how thirsty I was. I looked down at the empty glass that stood on the desk with the monitors. It was a reminder of how I felt every time I woke up alone in a California King bed. Lot of room to feel like you are being suffocated.

“It’s a mental thing,” I muttered.

This is where I should feel safe. Where I feel like myself again but feeling like myself again also brings many issues I have never dealt with. It is hard to come back after a loss and not bring the feeling of failure with me. I put on a smile for them because they don’t know what’s going on. I am here for them as much as they are here for me.

I heard the creak of footsteps on the wooden front patio and then the unfortunate words of “HEY MON,” were yelled at the same time as the front door opened.

I blinked.

I was no longer standing in front of the monitors. I was standing in front of an open refrigerator staring at absolutely nothing. I had been thirsty, right?

“Don’t let all the cool air out, mon.”

I grit my teeth at that comment and shut the door. I turned to see the still black and blue face of Jack Marley. I don’t know how he did it, but he was grinning at me like nothing was wrong. “Ya still look like your face was used for batting practice, but you are smiling like you won the game.”

Jack rubbed his face, “you know what they say: just put some tussin on it.”

I heard the door shut and The Doc slowly walked into the room. He nodded towards me and then shook his head towards Jack. “I took his blindfold off, and he just ran in here, Steve. He even left the door open.” Jack did not currently know where the farmhouse was because even though he was always there for me I could not trust him with that info.

I took my eyes off the monitors for…I looked down at my watch. “AN HOUR!?!?”

Jack jumped when I yelled but The Doc calmly walked over to me and seemed to stare directly into my soul. “Have you been sleeping?”

I rubbed my eyes, “of course, Doc.” I wouldn’t say this was a lie. I just don’t remember sleeping.

“You smell,” Jack blurted out.

Well, my hygiene is worse, I guess.

When was the last time I took a shower? I have been held up at the Farmhouse for weeks working on escape routes and ideas to pay off what I owed. It always came back to wrestling. It is all I know I said sadly inside my head.

“I don’t need to remind you right, Steve?”

I looked back at The Doc, “I know...I have to take better care of myself.”

“And your junk!” Jack said as he tossed me a box.

I opened the box and then rolled my eyes, “really?”

--

Let’s pause for a second because I really need to elaborate on how I feel about wrestling in general.

It’s a means to an end.

The end is that myth called happiness.

For someone who lost ten years of their life to a coma it is hard to come to grips with my current age and how little I have accomplished. When I was a kid and told I could be anything but a wrestler because that would look poorly onto my privileged family, I took it as a challenge. When I look back at it, I only can remember shadows and poorly worded sentences that all ended with me being ostracized by my father.

I was just a tool for his ambitions.

Guess I was a disappointingly made one.

Heh.

Heh.

My dream became a reality when I was trained by a legend and his…Jack Marley…I kid you not, he helped in submission executions.

I was cut off then, but his ambitions never ceased.

That is another story and one I buried with the pit. I don’t feel like backtracking on my family inadequacies. I have the here and now for THAT!

Inadequate.

I’m slow.

I’m apathetic.

I’m dumb.

How else can I define my current self when compared to the fire, the heart, the goddamn soul I used to put on display every week when I ran with the Highwaymen?

Now I run on beer and expectation.

I expect to win without putting any of myself into it.

I lost to Crash Jackson after he fucking WEAPON GOT me and used my own ball punch against me. Even a loss reminds me of Conor Fuse and his annoying smile when he looked down at me after he beat me.

That smile.

THAT SMILE.

Phew.

Crash, I don’t need an apology nor am I even upset at you. You did what you had to do, and I didn’t even see it coming. I know it was probably a little alien for you to cheat to beat me, but I don’t hold a grudge against you. But do realize that I won’t forget either.

I have learned over time that failure often puts me in a state of uncontrollable anger. I don’t flip out and beat people up or put holes in the wall. No, I let it build up within me.

Totally natural, right?

 

--

“Thought you might need it, boss.”

In the box Jack had given me was a jockstrap and cup. I was overflowing with—annoyance. I looked at him and then let go of the box. Jack's smile faded as his eyes followed the box as it bounced on the hardwood floor. “What's wrong with you?”

Jack took his eyes off the jockstrap and looked back at me with apparent anger in his eyes. I was not accustomed to this, “What's wrong with you, boss? I am just trying to help.”

“DOC, GIVE US THE ROOM,” I said loudly, unable to control the thunder coming from my voice as Jack had finally made me realize I had to talk to him about what I knew. I had given it some thought but not as much as I should have. I knew I needed to put my foot down but at the same time I am lazy. I wished for it to be solved on its own, but that would take a maturity in others that does not exist in reality. Just in fairy tales and religious texts.

“You are doing too much, Jack,” I said as softly as I could muster.

Jack’s eyes dropped in disappointment. His shoulders slouched and his still swollen lip quivered. He looked down at the floor and then balled his hands into two fists and punched each of his thighs. “I do what you need me to do, boss. Is there such a thing as too much?”

I paused as I respected his resolution, but this had to be said. “Am I that pathetic to you these days?”

“Uh…”

“Do you think I can’t handle anything?”

“Uh…”

He just stammered over and over, unable to look me in the eyes after each question. I had had enough at that point. I look a loud step forward, my foot stomping a foot away from his right foot. He moved swiftly to step back but the only thing behind him was a wall. “Are you afraid?”

“Uh…no, boss. I just don't know what I should say.”

I sighed and stepped back again. “This is my fault.”

Jack relaxed his shoulders and took a step forward, no longer flat against the wall as he became less scared, “what do you mean?”

I put my left hand on his shoulder and smiled, “it is the responsibility of the one in charge to take care of his employees…”

He peered up at me, “and friends?”

I rolled my eyes, “sure. This means I have failed because you are consistently doing things, I never asked you to do,” my left hand clenched down on his shoulder a tad harder. I wasn't sure if it was because I was angry or if what I said needed a punctuation that he could feel as much as he heard.

He cowered downwards, his knees taking the brunt of his inability to withstand the pain, “ow, ow, ow.” I eased up on the grip and he was able to stand up straight again. My hand did not leave his shoulder though as he responded, “I…I…I am not sure what you mean, boss mon.”

“What do I mean?”

He nodded.

“What. Do. I. Mean?”

“Yes, boss.”

‘WHAT DO I MEAN!” The grip became a vice. My face became scorching, and I no longer could see or hear anything.

—

This is what holding in your feelings does to you…naturally.

BUT WHY ARE PEOPLE SO DUMB?

Why are my own people so dumb?

Because of me?

Because of my failures?

It is always scratching at the back of my brain. Every condescending and insulting comment my father made had made itself a little home there. I have tried to become the person I always dreamed I wanted to be when I was kid. It is hard to explain the ordeals my mind has gone through since 2010 but let's just say: being merciless was his plan not mine.

But I cannot let it go.

It's always there.

It is what a ‘Harrison’ does.

They win.

They succeed.

They squash those in the way without a second thought.

They are alone.

They are without redemption.

They only succeed so thousands of others will fail.

You know, the normal ups and downs of life.

That isn't what I want for ME or those who have put their trust in me. ‘I am not alone’…I whisper that every night before I sleep. I silence the doubts, the anxiety that comes with being an actual human being.

It is hard.

SO. VERY. HARD.

I miss it when it was easy. When I didn't care what others thought of me. When I would just cheat…not to win…but to hurt someone. To watch them suffer as I casually go about my business.

It doesn't matter if you wear a Cowboy Hat either…but I certainly don't have an affinity for it right now. To step on it were it be a Stetson or a Clay, I wouldn't care. To insult your identity means more than insulting how you speak or look. It is like peering into the darkness and finding that there isn't anything there but a frightened child looking for acceptance.

Is that what I was? A frightened child looking for acceptance?

Nah.

I am a frightened adult looking for meaning.

But I am not afraid of any wrestler. There is nothing an opponent can do to me that I haven't already felt and overcome. I have had knee surgery, I have bled like I chew on aspirins, I have been in a car accident, and I have been in a coma.

It’s all led to what I am now: a fucking mess.

I don't want to be the person who loses himself and harms a friend, an ally, or someone I love. I…want to be more. I want to be able to talk about the pain, the struggle, the annoyances in my life.

I can change though.

Right?

Can you help me with my failure, Mr. King? Can you look me in the eyes and tell me honestly that you want me to let loose and not hold it in?

I shudder…hehe…

…With excitement.

–

I wasn't sure how much time had passed but the next thing I remembered was being soaking wet and Doc grabbing my arms. I looked down and saw my hands being pulled away from both shoulders of Jack Marley. He laid on the floor with tears streaming down his face and drool dripping from his mouth. I pulled my arms away, both hands shaking uncontrollably. I rubbed both on my pants, the sweat from my palms soaking through and dampening my legs.

“Wha…” I couldn't finish my sentence as I stumbled backwards and hit the couch in the living room and slumped to the floor.

I looked up and saw Doc tending to Jack. An empty cup was laying on the ground from what I could only fathom was once full of water he had tossed on my face. He looked over at me and he turned as pale as a ghost. Jack slowly stood up with the help of the Doc. He looked over at me, his face wet with tears and sweat but he dropped his eyes when he saw me looking back at him. I fumbled in my pocket and pulled out my phone and pushed the camera icon and then the selfie button and what I saw wasn't me.

It wasn't, I whispered to myself as I stared at the floor. My body shook, I put the phone on the ground and pushed it as hard as I could across the wooden floor to get what I saw as far away as I could. I peered up enough to see The Doc talking to Jack but all I could hear was muffled sounds like they were both under water. He walked him slowly to the front door and led him outside. Doc shut the door behind Jack and then turned around and walked towards me.

Before he could get over to me, I took both my hands.

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

Both hands, with all my might, smacked my cheeks in unison. It hurt, but to me in that moment the pain was something I was happy to feel. To me it meant I was awake…back to normal…well at least as normal as I could feel at the time and place.

Doc got to where I was and looked down at me, “don't worry, whatever THAT was, is gone.”

“Jack?”

Doc shook his head, “no, the look you just smacked off your face.” He leaned down and put his right hand out to me. I paused as I stared at this hand and then slowly took a hold of it and lifted myself up. I looked down at the shorter older man and realized he wasn't acting like he was scared which helped relax me a little bit. “What?” He asked as he caught me staring.

“Nothing…I um…guess I should apologize.” I leaned against the couch that I had collapsed on the back off and rubbed my face with my hands. My hands were still damp but at least they had stopped shaking.

The Doc shrugged, “I won’t say what happened wasn't eye opening…but I also can't say he didn't have it coming.”

I chuckled quietly, “is that your way of trying to make me feel better?”

“Maybe,” He clicked his tongue, “but he did admit to a few things while you were in that state. Do you have any recollection?”

Of course I didn't, I wanted to yell. I don't remember anything but every time I blinked, I saw the ME that wasn’t ME and it was making me nauseous. “No, I think I need to lay down.”

HEY GUYS!

I turned to see Jack Marley staring through the window with his Pious Penguin Plush Toy that Don Winters had given him. His eyes were heavy from crying from the pain I inflicted on him. I felt bad but he actually looked at me from the window with hope in his eyes. Was he more worried about being forgiven by me than what I did?

I gave him a little nod and he smiled back at me.

HE SMILED!

I felt nauseous again.

The Doc patted me on the back and with a reassuring smile told me, “I think he knows this is his fault, Steve. Your attack in some weird way probably gives him hope that you do care about things again. Go spend some time with THEM and try to relax. I will take Jack back into the city and will come back to make sure everything is ok with you.”

I nodded and turned around as The Doc left the farmhouse. I began walking towards THEM but after each step my body became heavier and heavier. My steps vibrated my body and my mind got fuzzy as I yelled at the ceiling “HE SMILED!”

I reached the doorknob and looked over to the left in the hallway and saw myself in the mirror. I vaguely remembered what I saw…a smile.

I shuddered.

I turned the doorknob, and it all went black.

–

There was a realization that came over me when I stared at Jack Marley looking through the window: my failure has created cracks in our family.

I am assumed to not care about anything but the farmhouse.

I suppose that is an easy thing to conclude. Being indifferent is not my goal but it has been difficult to find that spark for wrestling again. I can talk a big game and promise to bring it, but those words have been emptier than the rundown factories of Oklahoma.

Progress means leaving the past behind and that has become extremely difficult for me to grasp. I can understand watching everything crumble around you gives you a prescriptive that is hardened and ill informed. Unlike you Stetson, I have watched myself reach for amazing heights to just crumble under the weight of it. You have just watched the world around you become nothing but a group of uneducated old people fighting over the copper wiring from the walls of a dilapidated McDonalds housing more mice than the humans it used to employ.

Run from everyone.

Find something that calms the storms building in my mind.

That was my goal.

Your goal would be becoming a famous wrestler. A Ghost of the Industry is your moniker, but the truth is you will soon just become another footnote in a history book full of people who never quite lived up to their own hype. A Ghost as you will, hah.

What do you know about this industry? This godforsaken, uncaring profession that would rather you bleed for others enjoyment then get health insurance. It doesn't care about your ideals or false claims. I can make that dream a reality for you though. I can put you in the hospital with a bill you could only hope to pay by being Max Kael's gopher. Max, my old business partner normally hops on a good thing before anyone else does.

This time, I must believe he has gotten into every Snow Globe I have ever fashioned because there is nothing that screams ‘the future,’ about you but your slow descent into a pit.

The pit.

Max Kael is finally home: nope it is his slow talking cowboy hat wearing bell boy.

I digress though because I know you are a fighter. I watched your match with Jason Snow and was impressed with your desire to win. You don't give up and you will give it your all. Ah, to be young again. You don't quite realize you are over your head yet but don't worry what Snow started, I will continue by beating it repeatedly in that skull of yours: that you aren't ready for this firing squad of a wrestling company.

I will reach down and pull my damn soul back from where it hides and leave you Enlightened.

That's all I can do.

That's all I know.

Smile.

—

Hours later

Hahahaha!

Hahahaha!

That is all The Doc heard as he reentered the Farmhouse. He followed the sounds, walking as quietly as he could.

Hahahaha!

It got louder as he got closer and closer to the sound. He finally got to the room and grabbed the knob to the door and opened it one centimeter at a time to not disturb what was inside. He had finally got it opened enough to look and he peered his head in and saw Harrison sitting at a table with cards in his hand.

HAHAHAHAHAHA!

“UNO!”

The Doc closed the door and rubbed his eyes, not believing what he saw. “He was playing uno with THEM,” he whispered to himself.

“And that smile,” he turned and walked away from the room, “it is bone chilling.”

He jumped as other noises came echoing from the room that wasn't Steve and made a quick exit to the security monitors. The laughter did not stop though as Doc pulled out his phone and sighed.