Bright Lights

Marty Murdoch had finally made it. The undersized kid from rural Indiana had carried a dream across the country on little more than perseverance, and now, at last, he was here: PRIME.

He had two constants in his life: his pursuit of becoming a professional wrestler and the support of his mother. Linda Murdoch watched as her only son packed his suitcase for his very first appearance with PRIME. Marty had spent the last year since graduating high school with her, working every independent show that would have him while she encouraged him every step of the way.

Though she would never admit it to him, there were certainly times where she had wondered if Marty was ever going to truly “make it” in professional wrestling. She didn’t know much about it, but, from her perspective at least, it seemed a daunting hill for him to climb. The wrestling she saw on television featured men that didn’t look like him. She saw men more than twice his size, standout athletes, and a whole host of others that her son didn’t seem to belong with. But now, as she watched him prepare and could literally feel his excitement in the walls of their modest house, she knew he was on the right path.

"Are you nervous?" she asked.

"Nervous?!" He responded, initially with some forced bravado before settling into a more reflective tone. "I mean... yeah, mom. Of course I'm nervous. I've spent years thinking about this but, now that it's actually here, I can hardly believe I'm actually going to be in PRIME."

He continued to pack and Linda stayed silent. She knew Marty needed a moment to his thoughts. He had always been an introspective kid, the product of growing up an only child in a small town. While Marty had never exactly been "unpopular", he had always seemed distance to other kids and it had been difficult for him to make friends. He spent a lot of time alone. She wondered if maybe that was part of what attracted him to wrestling in the first place: the escape it provided for him. It gave him something to strive for, something to build himself up toward. She had been born and raised in this small town with no intent or desire to leave it. But Marty, from the time he was old enough to have the thought, wanted nothing but to be bigger.

His fascination with wrestling started young. From the first time he saw it on television, he became obsessed. He watched every show, studied every move, and knew every name. His room quickly filled with wrestling magazines and action figures. At first, she assumed it would be a passing phase, but as the years piled on and his love for wrestling never waned, she slowly came to understand that when her four-year-old boy had told her he was going to be a professional wrestler, he had meant it.

After several moments, he spoke again. "It just feels so real now," he said. "This isn't some local show at a high school gym or a VFW. This is the real thing... it's the opportunity I always wanted. The big time. And now I have to prove that I'm ready for it..."

As he trailed off, Linda looked at his car parked in front of the house. While it wasn't much to look at, she remembered how proud he was when he bought it. The 2002 Chevy Cavalier was older than he was, the paint was faded, the air conditioning didn't work, and you had to know how to jiggle that door handle just right to get it to open, but it was his. He had spent the entire summer of his junior year working at a local diner, saving every penny, to buy that car. She had offered to help, but Marty refused. As a single mother, she didn't have a lot to spare and, while he knew that, it was important to him that it was his car, his money. He didn't care that it was old or that it wasn't particularly impressive, because it served a purpose: it had gotten him to all of his wrestling matches. Up and down the roads, from one small town to the next, Marty had put in the miles to earn this opportunity.

"PRIME has the best wrestlers in the world. It's the place everyone wants to be." He said. "It's got everything! Legends, guys I literally grew up watching. It has the best young wrestlers, the biggest venues, and now... me." His voice trailed at end of the statement, self-doubt creeping in.

He wondered privately if he really belonged in that league. Obviously the higher-ups had seen something in him, something that afforded him the chance to wrestle there, but it was a surreal feeling to finally be at the precipice of his goal. Linda sensed his doubt, walked over, and handed him his wrestling boots. The faded and chipped leather felt rough on her hands. They had been hand-me-down boots from an older wrestler Marty had befriended at a local show who graciously gifted them to him after seeing him in wrestling shoes that didn't fit him. The boots had seen many years of matches, very little of them coming from Marty, but he treasured them nonetheless.

"Marty," she said. "It's normal to be a little unsure of yourself right now. This is a big step. But you've worked so so hard for this. I've watched you dream about this for years and listened to you talk about nothing but this since you were able to talk."

He set the boots on top, the final piece he needed to pack. He zipped it shut, the sound symbolizing a sort of finality. It was time to go.

Linda rested a hand on the suitcase and looked at her son. For a moment, she didn't see the young man standing in front of her. She saw the four-year-old boy who had once proclaimed, with absolute certainty, that he was going to be a professional wrestler, the kid who spent hours watching wrestling on television, the teenager who filled his bedroom with magazines and action figures, and the young man who had spent countless nights driving home from matches in an old Cavalier. Somehow, all of them were still standing in front of her.

"You don't have to prove anything to me," she said.

Marty looked at her and nodded.

"I know."

"No, you don’t.” She smiled. "You've spent your whole life thinking you have to prove to everyone that you're good enough. Good enough to wrestle. Good enough to belong. Good enough to make this work." She paused, her eyes dropping briefly to the suitcase. "You don't have to prove any of that to me."

Marty was quiet.

"But I do want you to remember something."

"What's that?"

Linda reached over and straightened the collar of his shirt, something she had done countless times before, from the first day of school to this moment. "You don't have to be the biggest guy there. You don't have to be the strongest. You don't have to be the best wrestler."

Marty smiled. "Well, none of that would hurt."

She laughed.

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, Mom. I do."

"Just be you." She touched her hand to his chest. "Be Marty. That's what got you this far."

He looked down for a moment, then nodded.

The room fell quiet again. Outside, the old Cavalier sat parked, its faded paint catching the afternoon light. The car had carried Marty through hundreds of miles of Indiana back roads, across county  and state lines, toward little gyms and VFW halls and high school auditoriums where most people had never heard his name.

PRIME was different.

PRIME was the kind of place he'd spent years imagining. The kind of place he'd watched on television and dreamed about. The kind of place populated by the wrestlers whose names he had once memorized as a child and the young wrestlers he aspired to be like. For years, this goal had existed somewhere beyond the horizon, as distant and improbable as every other dream a four-year-old could have. He had always imagined it the same way: bright lights, a huge crowd. A wrestling ring in the middle of it all, with him in the center. When he was a kid, that was what professional wrestling looked like to Marty. It was something impossibly bright and impossibly far away, shining somewhere beyond the small town he called home.

Now it was real.

Marty picked up the suitcase and headed for the door. Linda followed him outside.

He stopped beside the Cavalier and looked back at the house. For just a moment, he seemed to hesitate.

"Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

She smiled.

"For what?"

Marty looked at the suitcase in his hand, then at the old car, then back at her.

"For believing in me."

Linda shook her head.

"Never had a doubt."

Marty grinned.

Then he opened the driver's door. He had to jiggle the handle just right. It worked on the first try.

Linda watched as her son climbed behind the wheel, started the engine, and pulled away from the house. The Cavalier rattled down the street, as it had done countless times before, carrying Marty toward another wrestling match.

Only this time, the destination was different.

This time, he wasn't driving toward the next small-town gym.

He was driving toward PRIME.