Question Of The Day

TW: Alcoholism, severely dysfunctional parent-child dynamics

The moment the wooden tip of the cane explodes on his forehead, a sharp pain shoots through his skull. The noise and the lights die out instantly. He thinks he’s conscious, but he isn’t a hundred percent sure. He stumbles back, no control of his extremities, before crumbling pathetically to the mat.

She makes the cover, and she grabs a hold of his tights. One…Two…

Luc Labelle jolts awake, saving himself from the memory of his loss to Rose. He’s in a small apartment in the Saint-Henri neighbourhood of Montreal, and though he’s spent the bulk of the last month here, he doesn’t recognize it for a moment.

Dahlia Duquette sits on the edge of the bed, focused, typing away at some article she’s been writing. Luc guesses she’s been awake for hours.

“Same dream?” she asks him. She doesn’t even need to look at him to know.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t elaborate, rolling himself towards the nightstand on his side of the bed to check the time. 11 AM. His match against Steve Lemieux, technically not official yet, is a week away, but Labelle and his brother Michel have decided to fly into Indianapolis a week early to settle in. Their flight is at 6 PM, but with Montreal traffic, that means that Double L needs to get moving. “What are you writing?”

“Ah, just some Alouettes training camp info. Menial stuff, basically writes itself.” She closes her laptop. “Only needs to be in at 2, so I’ve got time. You want breakfast?”

The two of them lumber into the dining room…slash living room, slash kitchen. Luc grabs a box of Frosted Flakes out of the cupboard, and Dahlia grabs the milk. They each grab their own bowls and spoons.

It’s a simple routine, one already memorized to the point of automation. It’s only been a month, and nothing is official, and everything has been moving quicker than Luc could have prepared for. He tries not to think about the gravity of it all.

“So…question of the day?”

Dahlia and Luc have not talked directly about how fast their relationship, if that’s what it could be called, has been progressing. The question of the day is their way of addressing it without addressing it. Every time they wake up under the same roof, they ask each other some sort of personal question. Luc’s idea. It fills in the knowledge gaps, and it removes some of the awkwardness of having a toothbrush in Dahlia’s apartment. A toothbrush older than the “relationship”, might I add.

“Okay, uh…” Luc needs to start prepping his questions the night before. “How did you first get into sportswriting?”

“That’s a GOOD one, surprised you haven’t asked it yet!” Dahlia’s face lights up. Labelle admires how much his situationship adores her line of work. Occasionally, he feels the same about his own. “Well, growing up, my brothers were always playing something, right? Football, hockey, lacrosse, whatever. I always wanted to, but my dad was sort of old school, right? Wanted me to focus more on school, barely even wanted me doing gym class. By the time I could make the choice for myself, I was pretty dogshit at any sport I tried besides, like, badminton. But I could write, and so I joined the school paper in high school and college. Did pretty good, put together a solid portfolio, and took journalism at Concordia. I guess I was kind of lucky to get a job out of college, because most people don’t. Pays like shit, case in point.” She gestures around the claustrophobia-inducing apartment. “But it pays better than unemployment, and the travel is sweet, and you meet some pretty cool people.”

“Like who?”

Dahlia smiles, but doesn’t answer. “Plus, I get to stay involved in sports without risking the CTE.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Luc teases from across the table.

She laughs and chews her cereal before offering up her own question of the day. “Alright, I might as well ask the same thing. What got you into wrestling?”

Luc finishes his own bowl, preparing for somewhat of a long story. “I never really got into wrestling, honestly. I got into fighting. My brother and I played hockey when we were younger teens, and believe it or not, Michel was a LOT better than me. Silky hands, great defense, cannon of a shot. I was basically just skating around, trying not to trip over my own shadow. But the thing is that Michel is 6’4, half-Samoan, a ton of kids would pick on him.

“Half-Samoan?” Dahlia interrupts. “Don’t you guys have the same parents?”

“Nah, different dads. We use our mom’s last name because neither of us have a clue what our other last names would even be.”

“Didn’t know you guys were half siblings.”

“Well, I just call him my brother. Anyways, he wouldn’t hurt a fly, he was never quite as mean as me, but other kids would see him as some impressive target or whatever. So I remember this one time, we were on the ice at the same time, and I was just looking down at my skates to make sure I wasn’t gonna fall over. I heard this crazy sound from the other side of the rink. Some snot-nosed fuckin’ brat from the other team had hit Michel from behind. Drove his head right into the boards. Could have ended terribly. So I skated up, right? Kid’s hockey doesn’t have fighting, but I didn’t care, and I guess this kid didn’t either. I threw my gloves off, and I just closed my eyes and I threw the hardest punch I possibly could. First punch I ever threw. And I kept my eyes closed, and all I hit was air. Opened my eyes and the kid was out cold on the ice.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. Anyways, my mom took us both out of hockey. One of the reasons I love my brother is that he never blamed me, you know? I just…I kinda just know that if it was the other way around, I wouldn’t have gotten over it. But my mom put us both in self-defense courses, these cheap-ass ones in a strip mall because it was all we could afford, and I took to it like that.” Luc snaps his fingers. “Long story short, when I was old enough, I started fighting, and I got pretty good. Did that until my mom took me out of it, and th-”

“What the fuck? She took you out of that too? Did she even want you to be happy?”

Luc tries to smile through pained, gritted teeth. “That’s a question I don’t like asking myself.”

“But weren’t you an adult?”

“Yeah, but I was under her roof. So I booked it over to PRIME when I got the offer, and I’ve been doing that ever since.”

“How have you been liking PRIME?”

Luc gets up and laughs. “It’s one question a day, Lia.”

“Huh. That’s a new one.”

“Yeah, I haven’t gotten the hang of this nickname thing yet.” Luc grabs his coat off the rack and starts to head out. “Listen, I’m gonna be gone for a week, but I’ll call you every night if you’re alright with that.”

“More than alright with that, but before you go, could you do me a favour?”

Luc generally doesn’t like doing favours, but he’s been making a lot of exceptions for Dahlia Duquette lately. “Depends. What do you need?”

“Well, my editor has been wanting me to do more interviews lately, and since our relationsh…” She catches herself. “Since this thing we’ve got going on is…since we’re not like, officially official or public or anything, it TECHNICALLY wouldn’t be a conflict of interest if I maybe got an interview with you?” Her tone sounds even, but Luc knows her well enough already to tell that she’s basically pleading. He’s not really an interview guy, but…

Two minutes later, Luc is out on the sidewalk, ready to pretend he’s never seen Dahlia before in his life. “We gotta make this quick by the way, Michel is gonna be here any minute now.”

“Alright, alright. Thanks again!” Luc backs up a few paces, physically distancing himself from her. Can’t arouse any suspicion.

Dahlia fiddles with the tripod for a second and turns the camera on. “Hello everybody, I’m Dahlia Duquette, and I’m here with somebody that many people might consider the fastest rising star in all of PRIME, Luc Labelle. Luc, how are you today?”

Luc doesn’t like reporters, so as hard as it is for him right now, he’s got to play the heel. “You’re really gonna waste my time with nothing questions like that?”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “Fair enough, Mr. Labelle, here’s one of substance. You’re coming off of a hard-fought match with Rose, and though you gave the veteran a hell of a fight, you came up short. How are you dealing with the aftermath?”

“I mean, credit to Rose, right? She pulled the tights, which is bullshit, but as far as bullshit goes, it’s tame for PRIME. I appreciate that she didn’t bring out The Red Army, especially after I helped them out against Steve Lemieux. But let’s face it, if it isn’t for Dr. Zeke hitting me in the face with his cane, I probably would have won that match!” He points to his forehead. “This bruise still hasn’t gone away, so every morning when I look in the mirror, I’m reminded of how Sandwich Man Steve Lemieux and his gang of assholes have kept fucking me over time and time again! Rose beat me, that’s an L I can hold, and that I can hopefully avenge one day, but I just can’t rest until I can permanently prevent any of Lemieux’s bullshit from fucking with my career.”

“That brings me to my next question. Dr. Zeke Badguy Esq. challenged you to a Lumberjack Match on Steve Lemieux’s behalf. Do you accept his challenge?”

“Of course! After everything that happened to me at Steve Lemieux’s hands, do you really think I’m going to pass up an opportunity to face him? I don’t know if he’s smart enough to realize what he’s gotten himself into, but make no mistake about it: at Ascension, I am going to kick Steve Lemieux’s ass…as soon as I find out what a Lumberjack Match is.”

“Thank you for your time.”

Luc storms off, not answering her. She turns off the camera and Luc immediately walks back over to her. “Was any of that too mean?”

“No, no, that was perfect! Pretending you don’t know what a Lumberjack Match is too, great touch!”

Luc laughs with her, too embarrassed to admit that he truly has no clue. Suddenly, he sees Michel’s car turning onto her street.

“Alright, it’s been nice seeing you, I’ll come right back here next week!” He kisses her goodbye, ushering her back into the apartment complex as fast as he can.

“Come on, when am I going to get to meet him?” Dahlia asks.

“Never.” Luc says jokingly.

They wave, and she goes back upstairs right as Michel pulls up to the curb. Luc gets in his big brother’s car.

“Come on, when am I going to get to meet her?” Michel asks.

“Never.” Luc says, less jokingly.

The two of them pull away. Luc officially hired Michel as his personal assistant last week, and as he notices a giant “ASSISTANT” lanyard draped over Mic’s neck, Luc wonders if his older brother is taking the position a little too seriously.

“You packed my luggage?”

“Yup.”

“You have the tickets?”

“Yup.”

“You washed my gear?”

“Yup.”

“You promoted the match on my socials?”

“Yup.”

“You got my check from ReVival 73?”

“Uh…about that.”

Luc sharply draws in his breath, trying to hide his frustration. He knew there’d be something.

“Where is it, Mic?”

“Well, I set up that PO Box for your mail, right? And I sent the new mailing address to almost everybody, but I forgot to send it to PRIME’s financial department, so it went to…uh…”

“Mic…don’t tell me…”

“It’s at Mom’s.”

Fuck.

“Damn it, Mic! Tabarnak! Can you get it from her?”

“That’s the tough part, Luc. She wouldn’t give it to me. She said she’d only give it to you.”

Luc Labelle has not seen his mother since he left for PRIME. He has not answered her texts. He has not answered her calls. He has not answered her emails.

“I’m sorry, man.”

Luc rests his head on the dashboard, trying to will away the pit in his stomach. The pit only gets larger, and more all-consuming, and more physically painful. What can he even say?

He remembers the anecdote he told Dahlia. How lovingly he talked about his brother, how thankful he was for Michel’s ability to forgive.

“It’s okay, Mic. Let’s go to Mom’s.”

-

Having no clue what else to do, Labelle does his best to fall asleep on the way to Montreal-Nord. But despite squeezing his eyes shut as tightly as he could, despite counting what felt like millions of sheep, he hasn’t been able to rest for as much as a minute before pulling up to the half-dilapidated bungalow.

Luc’s whole life was in there, and yet it feels like he’s never seen the place before.

“Can you come with me, Michel?” Luc almost never calls his brother by his two-syllable name. But this is serious.

Michel solemnly shakes his head. “Can’t do it, Luc. She said she wanted to see you alone.”

Luc walks up the rickety steps to the door, trying not to throw up. He puts his key into the keyhole and pushes his way into what might as well be hell. At this point, Luc Labelle isn’t even close to being as nervous for Ascension as he is for the next few minutes.

The aged hardwood floors are dotted with empty beer cans. More than ever. The walls are more stained than they’ve ever been. The place has always smelled like cigarettes, but they smell cheaper than Luc remembers.

“Took you long enough to visit.”

Luc turns around. His mother, Chantale, despite being half his size, is the most imposing figure that he’s ever come across.

Luc drops his gaze, unable to bear looking at her. “I was busy, Maman.”

“Too busy for family? Too busy to stick around for me, to help out around here? Too busy to LISTEN TO ME?”

Luc can’t physically bring himself to talk back to her. “What was I supposed to do, Mom? I love this, and I couldn’t do it here anymore. You always told me life is short, why do you want me to waste it here so bad?”

His plea for empathy falls on deaf ears. “A waste? Am I a waste to you? Do you not care about your family?”

“I gave Mic a job!”

“And I can’t pay for my electricity! You could have been here for me, Luc! My baby, my youngest son! You’re smart, you could do actual work instead of killing yourself in a cage!”

“Oh, don’t worry Mom, I’m killing myself in a ring now! For more money than I’ve seen before in my life! ALL OVER THE WORLD!”

Luc Labelle can’t believe that he just yelled at his mother. She can’t believe it either. Holding his PRIME check, she walks up to his chest and looks up to him.

“How can you talk to me like that? I worked so hard to provide for you and Michel, to put a roof over your heads, to p-”

“NO!”

His yell echoes through the house. Through the pigsty of a living room, through the roach-infested bedrooms, through the cheap picture frames on the walls and the stale bread in the pantry. Through the entirety of the place that Luc Labelle once called home.

He already yelled at her, he might as well continue.

“You worked hard to provide for your six-packs, and your wine coolers, and Michel and I went HUNGRY! Do you realize how much being hungry hurts, Mom? Do you realize how much it hurts to love something, only to be told that it’s more important to focus on providing for somebody who NEVER PROVIDED FOR YOU? You can afford your electricity, it’s just less important than all those cans on the ground, right? Right? RIGHT?! I’m done paying for you, because I can use my paychecks on myself, and on Michel, and on my girlfr…on more important things! And there are things you can do to get back in my life, Maman, but I just…I have trouble believing that you’ll ever do them. I’ve believed it too many times, and I don’t want to get hurt again. I just don’t.”

There has never been anything louder than the silence that fills the household. Chantale begins to tear up. She hands the check over to her youngest son. “Je t’aime, Luc.”

Fuck. Luc feels his throat tightening up, and the blood rushing to his head, and his tear ducts filling him. He hasn’t done this in years, and it’s not going to start. He can’t say anything back.

He just walks out. Back to the safety of his big brother’s car.

“So…” Michel’s tone is gentle. “How’d it go?”

Luc knows that he should just let himself cry. But he can’t allow himself to give in to catharsis.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” He mumbles. “Tell me what a Lumberjack Match is.”

“Luc, it’s okay. I know how she can be, it’s tough somet-”

“LET IT GO, MIC! I wanna change the goddamn subject, so just tell me what a Lumberjack Match is!”

Michel sighs. “Okay. Basically, it’s a normal match, except there’s a shit-ton of random dudes on the outside of the ring ready to throw you guys back in if you fight to the outside.”

“That’s it? All I have to do is keep it inside the ring?”

“Luc, don’t kid yourself, this is a Steve Lemieux match. You know there’s gonna be Bullshit, you just have to overcome it.”

“Not wrong. So it’s just like, fans on the outside?”

“No man, actual wrestlers.”

“Alright. Give me your phone, I might as well say something about it all.”

Michel hands his phone over, and Luc balances it on the dashboard against the window before pressing record.

“I’m on my way to the airport, ready to fly over to Indianapolis for Ascension, and if anybody in PRIME is familiar with me, then they know that I’m not exactly familiar with them. But earlier today, I accepted a Lumberjack Match against Steve Lemieux, and my older brother Michel just told me the rules.

“I don’t know why they call it a Lumberjack Match, but the gist of it is that there’s a ton of motherfuckers that I gotta worry about while ALSO worrying about the motherfucker across the ring from me. I gotta admit, I was pretty excited when I found out that I’d be in this match, because after all, I’m from Quebec, pretty much all my ancestors are lumberjacks.

“I’ve told you all exactly why I hate Steve Lemieux, and frankly, I don’t know that there’s much else to say, so let me tell you a bit about my home province. The story of Quebec is pretty much us coming up with shit, turning said shit into a cultural emblem, and getting mocked for it until one day, those cultural emblems suddenly become cool, and everybody pretends like they’ve been down with it all along. Maple syrup is claimed by Canada, but 96% of Canadian maple comes from Quebec, and we used to be looked down on for it! We were the first to actually be called Canadiens, and everybody else made fun of the name until they decided that they liked it too. Poutine was seen as garbage food by the rest of Canada until the Americans decided they liked it, and then Canada claimed it.

“I could go on and on, but I’ll keep this brief. I think of myself as a strong representation of Quebec, and I know my history, so I know exactly what’s gonna happen at Ascension. People in PRIME love their bullshit, their cheating, their shenanigans, and all those lumberjacks at ringside will be no different. But they will watch me, a paragon of fairness, of REAL fighting. They will get a front row seat to the demolition of Steve Lemieux. They will see firsthand that jokes get you nowhere, and that violence is the one true answer.

“They will be converted. They will pretend that they knew I was the future all along. But one day, when PRIME is made in my image, when this place is ruled by the best at FIGHTING, not the best at CHEATING, just remember - I was the first to do it. I am the one true original.”

He clicks the upload button. Ascension can’t come soon enough.