Lost and Found

Beep!  Beep!  Beep!  BEEEEEEEEEEEEP!

“These heart monitors are annoying as fuck!” I begin to think to myself as I rip off all the heart monitors off my chest.  It’s been a long 5 days in Grady Memorial Hospital in Atlanta, GA—the site of HOW Chaos 046.  After taking a massive beating from the Wright Brothers, doctors have wanted to observe me for a massive neck injury.  While they have valid concerns about my well-being after years of rigorous neck injuries, I can’t stay still; it will lead towards stagnation in my career.

I must get to Louisville, Kentucky for the next PRIME show.  I need to participate in the Almassy Invitational Tournament and win.  I can’t afford any more slip ups after tanking massively the last 5 years of my career.

I let out a giant sigh, continuing to “Be Still.”  God, I hated that verse of scripture my Father used to quote to me.  I never liked hearing him preach sermons, let alone one that held someone back from achieving their biggest dreams.  I can feel my muscles twitching, anxious to get back on the great open roads of America.

Leaning back, I close my eyes, hoping to find some solace in this torture chamber with my thoughts swirling uncontrollably like a destructive thunderstorm.

KNOCK!  KNOCK!  KNOCK!

Before I could even think about shooing away the unwanted visitors—they barrage right in, parcel in tow.  I roll my eyes at them, pointing my nightstand.  They leave a think, urgent letter of delivery, piquing my interest.  Reaching for the meaty, cardboard envelope; I waste no time in ripping the damn thing open.  My eyes dart back and forth, scanning the document reading it in my head.

“Dear Fuckstick—

Listen, I’ve appreciated your loyalty over the past 10 years.  You’ve put a lot of heart and soul into my promotion.  I can’t thank you enough for the copious amounts of blood, sweat, and tears you’ve poured into High Octane Wrestling during your tenure.   I’d consider you a Hall of Fame worthy…

No, fuck it!  You’re an absolute waste of time and space.  Can’t believe you’d fall for that shit!  After what happened last week—you’re a high medical risk.  Not to mention you’ve burned through your last chance working for me.  Go run off to PRIME and cry like the rest of those pissants.  As of right now, I’m releasing you from your contract in HOW.  Everything you touch turns to shit.  Your services are no longer…”

I waste no time in crumpling up the termination notice from Lee with a few tears rolling down my eyes.  I couldn’t muster up any words or actions to display the level of disappointment I’m feeling.  My face begins swelling, burning with intensity.

The last straw had fallen—I’ve got absolutely nothing left.

Let’s face it—it’s no secret that Jonathan-Christopher Hall and Vickie Hall have gone radio silent on REAL LOVE.  I haven’t fully endeared myself to their causes in PRIME over the last couple years.  The last text they sent me was vague.  It still rung through my mind:

“Before you can love us; you’ve got to love yourself.”

The fuck kind of advice is that?  Vickie spent countless hours talking shit behind my back while I had to fulfill my obligations to HOW on a hiatus.  It’s not like they’ve even sent any cards, sentiments, or even positive vibes my way.

I’ve travelled this road before—once again I lost the love.  After fully embracing their message, following blindly like a lemming leaping off the side of the cliff.  I got nothing for my dedication.

I could feel my hand slowly inching towards my iPhone, ready to pound out a text to the Love Convoy group chat.  My muscle began to seize up while my fingers got closer each second, craving to send them an image of Lee’s scathing letter.  Before my fingers could even graze the glass screen, I mouthed out under my breath.

“No!  Not this time!”

==========

After finally escaping the mental anguish of the hospital, I’d finally made my way up to Louisville, Kentucky.  It sucked because I had to muster up all the remaining budget in my personal bank account and take short cuts.  God!  I absolutely hated the smell of homeless people wafting through my nostrils over the last 72 hours.

I arrive outside the KFC Yum! Center holding my tattered old duffel bag with all my belongings stashed in it.  I meandered towards the glass doors before almost getting sacked by Dametreyus, the head of PRIME security.  Immediately my hands fly up in the air and my bag falls towards the ground as I drop to my knees.

“Relax, it’s me!  Darin Zion!  You know the guy from…”

“God damn, son!  You look like someone hit you with a sack of shit.”  He barks out before pulling me up.  His eyes scrutinize the stubble around my chin, my unkept long hair, and the ungodly aroma oozing from my pores.  He shakes his head while welcoming me back to PRIME.  “What the hell happened to you, son?”

I keep pushing past him.  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Not taking my standoffish behavior, Dam yanks me back towards the door.

“Dam!  I don’t feel like discussing things…”

He cuts me off and shoves the palm of his hand right in my face.  “Dam didn’t ask for your opinion, Mr. ‘Real Love.’  Dam knows you look like you’ve tossed out like the trash.  I just got one piece of advice for you.”

I roll my eyes as he shares his vague platitudes towards me.  “Still waters run…”

“Waters run deep!  Yeah!  Yeah!  I need to go.”  I zip past him hoping to hit the showers soon.  I could feel the grime of the poors still caking on me, causing my stomach to turn.

As I’m making a mad dash towards the locker room; I run right into the backside of Angelica Brooks, preparing for her round of interviews.  As she collects her notes off the ground, I try to brush right past her.

“ZION!”  She cries out with a tinge of rage in her tone.  I freeze in position, slowly turning towards the crafty, witty combat sports journalist.  I let out a disheveled groan, bouncing around in place as she approaches me.”

“Care to give me a quick interview about what Almassy meant to you?  I think it’d make you look really good…”

“No thank you!”  I cut her off before trying to make my way towards a nice, warm shower.

“But Darin!  GOD only knows how much that could improve your image right now.  Lately, you’re the quiet one of the Convoy.  Everyone knows you’re focused on High Octane Wrestling and…”

I yell out cutting PRIME’s beautiful lead interviewer. “You haven’t done your fuckin’ research.    Vickie rubbed my nose in some shit.  And if you’d do a simple Google search…you’d find HOW and I just parted ways.  The last thing I want to do right now is fucking share any thoughts and feelings.  Don’t get me wrong, Angelica.  I know what Almassy means to PRIME.  I know the gravitas of this damn tournament.  But I’m up in my feels right now.  I don’t exactly feel like being vulnerable to everyone and their dog right now.”

She responded back to me “Uh!  I’m sorry…”

“Damn right, you’d better be sorry, Brooks.  Right now, I don’t have the time or the energy to engage in bullshitting the masses.  I’ve got to figure out a way to eat.  I’ve got to figure out how I’ve got to survive with one less income in my pocket.  My mind’s scattered all over the place right now.   So I’d like some time to think and process.”

Angelica moves out of the way as I make my way down towards the general locker room area.

==========

“10 years of time down the fuckin’ drain…”

I begin to mutter under my breath as I watch the soap swirl down the drain, lost deep in my thoughts.  While the hot, steamy showered relaxed my all-natural body, tears swelled up in my eyes as I began to pound the side of the tile covered shower stall.

“I fuckin’ wasted all that time.  Burnt a fucking 10-year friendship with another promoter for that Fisher Price Walter White lookalike.  I came up empty handed and lost all the clout I’d earned in the indies to become a glorified jobber.  Some watered-down gimmick of who I once was…”

I grabbed another glob of soap, massaging my scalp, trying to get my mind off things.  But my brain kept manufacturing more worries and concerns right now.

“I’ve got to beat Kenny Freeman—I’ve got no other choice.  Lord knows it’ll take a damn miracle for that to happen.  Kenny’s found his footing here in PRIME with his Masters of the Moscowverse shit.  Everyone in the crowd is popping for that shit big.  REAL LOVE can’t compete with that shit—not right now.  Especially in the state I’m in.

But I’ve got to eat.  I’ve got to earn money for a place to sleep.  I’ve got to pay for a rental car so I’m not stuck with the poors again.  Someone like me can’t take living in a homeless shelter.”

At this time, my stomach rumbles at the sweet scents of food from some of the other wrestlers space in the locker room.

I uttered these words audibly as they echoed through the locker room.  “God!  What I would give for a slice of 7-11 pizza right fuckin’ now!”

I detest gas station food, but it sounded fuckin’ amazing—especially after the Crown Point incident.  Noah Hanson wouldn’t stop laughing for days after I hate that rancid gas station sushi.  I couldn’t stop shitting myself for days.  Needless to say in the middle of a house show tour—I had to borrow some moldy old Sex and Money trunks from the delusional old man.  But I disgress!

I couldn’t get out of my feels right now.  I didn’t want to hit the ropes nor give promotional videos.  I wanted to sulk for a moment, enjoy first ounces of warm water cleansing my back for a little while longer.  I wanted to get a few hours of sleep in a hotel room.  But I couldn’t even do that.

Hell, I didn’t want to call anyone right now and give them the pleasure of watching Darin Zion suffer for an instant.  All I wanted to do was throw some shade at all the haters, all the doubters, all the naysayers that watched my downward spiral over the past few years.

All the bitterness continued to fester inside me, hardening my heart.  I quickly rush to turn the valve to shut off the water, drying myself off and heading back into the common area.  I make my way back towards my locker, getting into my gear, readying for this afternoon’s training session.  Suddenly, my phone rings.  I rub my forehead before reaching down and answering.

“You need me right now…” A familiar voice reverberates in my ear drums.

“Fuck off!  I don’t need anything from you.  It always comes with strings attached.  I’m not interested in your kind of help right now.   I’d rather starve to death.”

The man chuckles before he scratches his big, burly beard.  His loud, bass voice rings in my ears.  “You’re desperate for a win Mr. Last Place.  I bet you hate hearing you’re ranked 29th in PRIME.  It crawls underneath your skin.  It keeps you up at night.  I know how much of a perfectionist you are.”

Everything fades around me, I feel a tingling sense shiver down my spine as I continue to listen with intent.  “It probably sickens you to see Kenny Freeman is favored to win this match heavily.”

“You know me well.” I responded to the man.  “I hate where I’m at right now.  I’m desperate for anything at this point.  I’ve lost my job…”

“Spare me the sob story.  I only care about business.  I hate it when people like you waste my time.” He cuts me off midsentence as I shake my head.  “We got a deal?”

I sit for a minute, deep in thought.  “I’ll ponder on it for a week.  You obviously need me more than I need you, asshole.”

Click!

I sink down in my chair, just overwhelmed by the sheer amount of attention I’m getting right now.  “Why the fuck does it have to be now?  Why couldn’t it be any other time?”

I shake my head and rest it against the locker as I fade off to sleep.

{To Be Continued}