Post by Seth Iser on Jan 17, 2024 15:07:28 GMT -6
It feels like no matter what I’m doing at this point in my career, the question of “why” continues to be thrown in my face. They don’t understand how…layered and nuanced the true answer as to why anybody in a particular situation can come to the conclusion to make a particular decision. Sometimes I’ll give a stock answer because you don’t want to rock the boat; in my old age though, it’s more of a grind than actually wrestling answering a lot of the same questions ad-nauseum. Be careful what you wish for though, you might get a much more brutally honest answer from me when I’m tired of that repetitive nature; if you’re inquisitive and do your research though, I feel I’m far more approachable about those endeavors now. God only knows I’m easier to talk to compared to the wall of uncontrolled fury that I was over a decade ago.. But…I’ve often also said that I’ll tell the truth even if people don’t like hearing it or even when I don’t like the fact of what I’m saying that often comes from my mouth…but it’s one of the important tenets of being a professional in our job called Professional Wrestling.
So let’s start with a simple question: why swing the shovel at full force and potentially give Roger Wright a permanent case of CTE knowing Valora would duck the first blow? Well, Johnny Styles isn’t the only person who has a history of swinging a shovel even if it’s been a while for me for starters. Yeah, I know Valora’s instincts far too well considering our shared time at UnStable and the Mafia; Val’s feel for subtle shifts inside the ring is one of her standout qualities and always has been. The truth to that swing…it’s honestly a simple one: Roger Wright and I have done our fair share of hideous things to one another and unlike the opponent I face in Bobby Backdoor, Roger continues to commit transgressions detrimental to the brand and that’s been a pain for Jesse and sure as hell a pain for me over the years. And I think Johnny could write an entire library by himself narrating in his own manner about the enmity that’s existed between himself and Roger so no that wasn’t an accident. I don’t take any cruel or sadistic pleasure in it nor do I feel any remorse or guilt for that considering who Roger Wright is.
To be me, he’s not the hero, not even in the taunting way I said when our issue began. He’s merely a selfish man. The man at his core only gives a damn about himself. And that’s who the people chant for…I agree with one thing I said ten years ago: the wrestling fans are enabling fools. They deserved that wake up call and Roger deserves at minimum that enormous headache that’s going to follow him to New Orleans.
At least hearing the crack of your skull on that shovel was an unintended bonus I’m content with.
As for you Valora…well, you were the objective that night. I still know your insight pretty damn well. Unlike Bobby who I face in quite the important match we’ve done to each other or Roger who could make a politician blush with his selfishness I honestly don’t have any quarrel with you. You can scream about how I sold out if you like on taking the check, you did it with me once before after all, but a lot of other factors have changed. You think about the pandemic…how fragile our finances and our lives were shown to be in that moment. It was humbling…not entirely financially but just how easily those normal paychecks and life itself can be ripped away at a moment’s notice. That and Finelli’s passing were the warning shots of how fragile things can be; what happened to Kief was…a brutal wake up call to that. Career and then potentially life hanging in the balance when we already know we only have so much time in our industry anyway. So let me give you a piece of advice for the stage of life you’re approaching.
Too much anger and bitterness is a poison. It can be valuable when channeled in the right method and eating through your opponents like potent acid melts through chemicals without effort…but keeping too much anger, the kind you often carry for so many slights no matter how noble the causes you want to fight for or hell, the selfish ones to extend your own trophy case…you’ll be the one who melts. If you point those things at me to truly get even…you’ll learn a couple things pretty damn fast. One…senseless revenge is the cotton candy of motivation: you think it’s filling on the surface but there’s nothing more hollow and empty once you ingest it in full. And two, far more importantly: for all the talk about how old I am, I know your age, I know the x-rays and health scares you’ve had, I know your instincts while you don’t know how I’ve retrained mine. Worst of all for you: I damn sure know about your arm and the dream of that revenge will be eaten in no time at all as I collect another day’s pay for the job. So don’t think with your heart, use your head.
Don’t believe me: You don’t want to end up searching like a vessel like whatever Nocturnal has become or fighting to deal with the demons I have…those are two very likely sad existences for the path you’re on.
But now the truth of it all leads to you, Bobby and this is where it all comes together because you’re the center-piece as to why all of this came into motion. There’s a price to pay for any deal that’s made after all and it goes all ways. First the price: it’s not a bad one really, an alliance of three of the most devious individuals in the history of not just this company but in professional wrestling itself. It means if you jump on one, you’re jumping on the other two. We’re businessmen after all, we have to look at our investments in our bodies, our careers, and this company after all. As for the reward: I was given a bonus to be distributed over the future weeks and months for one night’s work to the tune of a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. The money owed to me from when PWE closed all those years ago. That was the centerpiece…of why I had such an ingrained hatred toward you. A hatred that…spiraled completely out of control and created the cycle of retaliation that led us to where we’re at today.
A rivalry that’s turned into my greatest…remaining unsolved wound in a career that spans over two decades.
Oh yes, I recognize in full in both of our matches as well how that hatred I felt boiling in took away what’s become my best attribute as a professional wrestler: my criminal wrestling mind. I wasn’t trying to get my hand raised as the primary objective; I was trying to make you pay for that heinous slight. At times even I toyed with you a little until your gift of coming back from a beating frustrated me to no end. It wounded me especially at a time where I egotistically thought I could never be truly wounded like that. Even in the case of say Roger Wright, I still changed him in substantial ways…it’s you who changed and wounded me, not the other way around.
Before it was Mike Park now it’s you: you have become my ultimate blind spot.
And ever since I saw the opening for the challenge…our two matches have re-emerged in the confines of my brain like a Vietnam Veteran who had done his best to suppress a tortuous memory until the nightmare happen and you wake up in a cold sweat with a yelp feeling every bit the wound you endured as if it was fresh upon you the first time. It scared my daughter, and it terrified my fiancé when they saw me that night shaking as if I had relapsed on drugs when I’m still as clean as the day I quit those damned things nineteen years ago! The excruciating thing that I couldn’t find a proper answer to. No matter what I did…you had an answer for me and the hatred turned into that poisonous anger. And when the only thing that’s truly fueling that is that cotton candy motivation of revenge…I see with a clear head that’s a big reason why I’ve never been able to defeat you in the middle of that ring.
We all pay for our transgressions, you’ve had to physically pay some prices, and I’ve paid more than my handful physically and emotionally. No, this isn’t about revenge, not anymore. It’s a poison I’ve finally shed. It’s part wrestling pride but predominantly it’s about undoing the oldest great wound perpetrated against me in my professional wrestling career. A part of me feels…a little remorseful and fairly guilty that such a thing would play out in a memorial show but I’m going into the match with full intentions of getting my hand raised with every bit of knowledge I’ve ever learned in the art of wrestling. You have your specially designed stage that Kief would look down with a smile on his face and a mischievous chuckle from his heart on top of the ninjas who are one part lumberjacks and one part…doing your previous profession in some ways.
But…even though I quit drugs long ago, I finally feel like I’m fully clean. I didn’t lash out in fury when the reminder of the wounds happened, it just made me more motivated to clean up more wounds. It’s not going to be a pleasurable experience; never has been in terms of dealing with the caliber of athlete and fighter you are but it doesn’t matter now.
You’re my ultimate test in seeing just how far I’ve come and I aim to pass that test, atone for my sin of rage, and mend that wound once and for all.
The wintry bite in Morgantown is in full swing as the wind sways around blowing strands of stray snow in the heart of this sleepy little town. It’s one of the few places in my home state where urban meets rural in full form as there’s enough barren trees to remind you of the wilderness everywhere even as drivers slide around on the ice. And yet that’s not what I’m doing at the moment. There is a bigger objective to what I have to do as even before Backdoor there’s another…long issue that’s plagued me. The demons that have been my parents…the original black mark long before I ever laced up a pair of boots. If I can be clear headed here…perform a familial act of penance of sorts with this pilgrimage…I think I’m in good shape to keep a cool head with Bobby as well.
“Guess we’ll see if I’m ready for it…” I mutter while taking a deep breath
In this brutal winter air, I’ve been marching through the town, not dressed in an immaculate suit as I’m often seen but rather rough looking wool clothing. For as modern as a lot of things are, this is a far more medieval styled endeavor. I don’t even want to begin to tell you how uncomfortable the old clothing is. With the cherry on top, I’m even barefoot for this particular endeavor rather than covering my feet up with boots. I can feel the cold chills running through my body starting at my feet as I’m gritting my teeth marching on through. The only relief from these cold chills is whenever I awkwardly step on some sort of litter that can bring a momentary kind of discomfort rather than the bitter cold of the ancient Appalachian mountains. My train of thought on this mission is momentarily broken by…what else, a littered, crushed soda can and that jab of pain shoots through my left foot and I do my best not to show that it had a small effect.
“Urgh…damn soda can…” I mutter through gritted teeth.
I take a couple more steps forward and notice the various confused glances from what people have decided to traverse the cold have picked up. Many of them are dressed warmly in various heavy coats and give me the look as if I’ve lost my marbles completely. They should’ve met me fifteen years ago if they want true insanity. But I ignore the stares momentarily. The walking path would have nice stones on it if it wasn’t covered by the layer of snow making footing hard. And now I feel the slight sting on that left foot and I lift my dirty foot walking on all of this and…it’s cut. I then glance back behind me and notice the slight trickle of blood that has followed my path, nothing heavy but enough to notice something.
“Great…” I sigh, unable to contain my annoyance at this situation, “Not the best omen for a wrestling match or the end of this…penance but maybe not the worst either.”
The path is growing more rural as is the decreasing quality of the road; even in the ice I can see some of the potholes next to me as I traverse the solemn, slick walking path. Even as I glance at the moments of peace, the irony of walking to a church, Bobby Backdoor’s older profession before even his time doing porn is not lost upon me. Thinking about these things isn’t a bad way to ignore the stinging pain in my foot or that my graying hair could turn white from all the blowover snow swirling around.
And I really don’t want to think about the other ramifications right now.
The walk up the hill is…uneventful. The trees are as I remembered them but a little older. The road grows more winding as is this path but muscle memory on where to go up this hill is making this significantly easier. The amount of times I lashed out in this place…much like I lashed out on too many people without proper provocation. Hell, with how my temper was how the hell did PWE hire me at perhaps my angriest? I never asked Bobby that question…
“I doubt I’ll ever know that answer…” I mutter under my breath.
It doesn’t take long before I see the destination in front of my own eyes: the old catholic church in Morgantown. A sneer crosses my face at some dormant memories trying to resurface but a gust of wind makes it easier to suppress all of that. I end up withdrawing my hands into the wool shirt a little to at least give them the slightest bit of shelter from the wintry conditions but the pilgrimage portion is near its end. I push open the rusted gate and the creek that comes through it echoes throughout. The familiar chill that comes from that rushes through us all. And the building itself on the outside even if it’s abandoned…still has its structural integrity; the only negative mark against it. The walk turns into a march despite my discomfort and the freezing cold to approach the old building.
And then I swing the door open and enter the building.
The front room hasn’t changed much. There are wooden benches arranged and I can see on the ends where they’re chipped off. There’s even a hole or two on the floor as I step forward, my feet actually happy to not feel the chill of pure ice on them anymore. Various religious iconography drapes the walls including a painting of Jesus over the sermon where the preacher, often my father, would do his usual spiel. I also remember the stench of booze that often preceded him…and hell even me at different points in my life. A tap of a copper bracelet on my left wrist…all the reminder I ever need to never partake in those things ever again now.
The battle to regain my sobriety all those years ago was still the luckiest one I ever won…in that respect, I’m fortunate to still be standing here.
A sigh escapes my lips as I walk down to the alter but no anger takes over me. I’m surprised by…how calm I feel despite all the baggage. Though I haven’t been here in years, I still remember far too much of this place by heart considering a significant portion of my childhood was here. Though as I step closer, the memories of all the times he would neglect, verbally berate, and physically abuse me do enter my brain. I do feel a flashpoint of anger, that heat, coming over my face but…after a deep breath…remembering that I never raised my daughter that way, it dissipates slowly as I cautiously step forward.
“So this is it…” I say lowly, “All these years I haven’t been back and here I am…doing the thing you probably should’ve done considering your own transgressions, father.”
The composure is there and rather than scream or yell, I close my eyes for a brief moment. There isn’t much more to say but I find myself surprised at what I feel. It isn’t…anger. It’s…pity.
“What a shock…” I continue, stumbling slightly on that word from my own shock before regaining my train of thought, “To think I harbored so much hatred for you for almost all my life. And yet…I just think of how it ended for you and all I have is pity. While I’m not sympathetic for what happened to you, I should thank you for two things. First…most importantly in all honesty: thank you for showing me how to never raise a child. For all my flaws, I’ll always support whatever Allison needs as a father.”
Silence after letting that out but no seething fury either. All I can manage is a shake of the head.
“And second…” my tone remains very calm, no trepidation here, “If I can handle you, I think I can maintain my emotions for whatever needs to come now. You’ve no longer got any control over my actions and for that I’m eternally grateful. For all the ways I felt poisoned, some of it your own fault…some of it continuing the cycle…I can finally say one thing for sure…”
There’s that slight pause as I step even closer yet so as if I’m face to face to where he’d have been preaching. The silence still fills the room whenever I’m not speaking.
“The cycle ends here…your last vestiges of control are finally gone.” I say in that old rasp, “Goodbye...father.”
It’s on that last message I turn on my heel and start to walk off and despite the throbbing in my left foot, I actually feel a light smile come over my face. Not one born from malicious intent but the fact that I might actually feel a little content…okay with where I’m at in my own life. And this is the kind of peace that’s well worth going through hell to finally get.
To my surprise as I exit, I see a black truck parked on the part of the road…or rather what was my black truck perched there waiting on me. I blink for a moment as if I’m hallucinating but I’m not. It’s there and the reason why it’s there soon becomes all too apparent when my daughter exits from the driver’s side of the vehicle. The girl has become a woman all too fast…and she looks more and more like her mother, my first wife. Hell, I’ve even taught her how to drive and passed her my old vehicle to make sure she always had something to drive. It isn’t entirely wrestling kids who were born while I was in the industry that makes me feel old, it’s this. She was expecting me it would seem.
But my thoughts are shaken slightly when Allison greets me with a bewildered sneer. She's dressed warmly as she should be with a heavy lavender coat and black jeans as well as a heavy pair of black boots over her feet and she's still shivering slightly as she taps her foot impatiently looking at me.
“What the hell are you doing?” she questions, a little bit of edge on her voice, “I know I got your instructions to meet here but…dad…you realize what our weather situation is right!?”
I almost want to laugh, she’s about to scold me as if I were a child.
“Had to take care of something…” I answer, “You want to know?”
“In the vehicle, it’s too cold to be doing something like this, dad.” she seethes a little, her voice shaking slightly, “Can we please get in the truck? I’m freezing.”
“Fair.” I offer with half a smile before dropping the news to her, “You’re driving, I’m barefoot.”
“I’m sorry but you’re WHAT!?” Allison shrieks, a glint of horror flashing through her eyes, “In THIS weather!? Unbelievable…”
She turns on her heel and walks toward the truck and I gingerly follow. It seems Allison has inherited some of my temper though it’s nowhere near as bad as I was at my worst. She’s just dropped her shoulders slightly, trying to reign herself in as she enters the driver’s side of the vehicle. The old silverado still has it’s sheen as she’s taken care of it just as I had all those years. I swing open the passenger door, put the seat back a little bit before taking said seat and I hear the engine start.
I haven’t felt that much relief when the heat has kicked on in a while.
The ride on this road starts with a bit of an awkward silence, it seems she’s struggling to figure out what to say at this moment, just glancing in my direction every once in a while as I’m heating up. The chills are still flowing through my body but I at least feel the slight relief of being warmed up every now and then. I lean back on the chair and catch my breath finally from that pilgrimage, wiping the one bead of sweat, and some of the blown snow off of my face. After I do that, I glance at my daughter’s expression and now I see a moment where she looks…more like me. She’s contemplative, thinking heavily over something that’s on her mind.
“Why that church?” Allison inquires, more out of actual curiosity than the agitation she was showing moments earlier.
I take a breath at the…weighted question she posed. She picks up on my lack of an immediate answer with raised eyebrows as she’s still paying attention to the road.
“Making peace with something…” I finally replied calmly, “Your grandfather, my father…”
“Oh…” Allison’s face visibly darkens at that answer.
That takes the wind out of her sails for a couple moments. The drive continues on as I glance at how few people are still out in this frigid air. I hear buzzing and I open the dashboard and it’s my cellphone. She really knows how to follow instructions…but I glance at the cellphone and I see I got a message from both Jesse and Johnny. I sigh for a moment, before putting it back in the dashboard, the business can wait a little longer. I’m just going to enjoy time with my daughter even if it’s…quiet.
“Do you ever worry…that I could ever be like that?” she then asks, sending a jolt to my system.
“No.” I answer as fast as I can but with a firm tone, “God no…”
It seems that answer isn’t convincing enough to her as her face remains darkened, a little tormented thinking of our family history. Over the last few years I’ve been answering her questions slowly about reliving that kind of pain. That one I’m more open to talking about…and it’s also something I’ll have to talk about more in the book when I get to that. The pain of losing her mother though…that one I don’t know if I’m entirely ready to reopen quite yet but it seems she needs a dose of the truth.
“I'm more worried about parenting you properly if I’m honest…then and now. Especially then when things weren’t as…comfortable financially.”
“Never thought I’d…hear that…” she processes the information
“Sorry for a few lean Christmases when you were younger by the way.”
“Accepted.” she says calmly before she can’t help but ask, “Did you ever get that money owed?”
“Not from Bobby but in a roundabout way, yes…” I answer.
“I see…” she pauses.
I glance in her direction again, she still seems troubled by something. I do worry I’m not the best person to connect with her when she gets like this, it’s a self-doubt that mirrors her mother. She got that from her and my temper…double whammy. But I have to put one thing to rest.
“You don’t know it yet, but you’re already better than my father or me. You never complained then, you seldom complain now. Despite all the uncertainty in the world you’re still trying to figure out what you end up wanting to be. If you want to go down the path of wrestling, you know I’ll back that even if I have my concerns. But as you’re going through classes in college now…it’s okay to take them and change your mind too. You ain’t supposed to have it all figured out yet, you know.”
“I…” she pauses for a moment, her expression softening slightly, “Thank you.”
“Proud of you too,” I add.
“Have you always been?”
“Always Allison. Always.”
I should say it more often, working on that. It seems she did need to hear it as the silence is less tense and much more comfortable. She's even nodding to herself, looking less troubled then moments ago. I know I have to answer the phone to what my Business partners would want but I’m going to opt for taking this comfortable silence. A real calm before the storm that’s going to be this match with Bobby Backdoor. You never know how much time you have left until it’s too late after all. Goes like that in a violent industry like pro wrestling but in life itself.
But I passed this test...and feel more at peace about it. I know I’m going to pass this next one with Bobby. One last check to see how far I’ve come overcoming my demons. It’s going to hurt for both of us. I know that for a fact. And the match itself is going to be absolute hell.
I’m going to use this as a true reminder of what I’ve overcome and what I’ve become in the ring with this new found peace. My daughter deserves to have this peace too as does my fiancé back at home. And nobody…will ever take away this well earned peace away from me. I’ve worked too long and too hard to finally get to this point and I will not let the ghost of Bobby Backdoor or anybody else in our industry take it away from me.
So let’s start with a simple question: why swing the shovel at full force and potentially give Roger Wright a permanent case of CTE knowing Valora would duck the first blow? Well, Johnny Styles isn’t the only person who has a history of swinging a shovel even if it’s been a while for me for starters. Yeah, I know Valora’s instincts far too well considering our shared time at UnStable and the Mafia; Val’s feel for subtle shifts inside the ring is one of her standout qualities and always has been. The truth to that swing…it’s honestly a simple one: Roger Wright and I have done our fair share of hideous things to one another and unlike the opponent I face in Bobby Backdoor, Roger continues to commit transgressions detrimental to the brand and that’s been a pain for Jesse and sure as hell a pain for me over the years. And I think Johnny could write an entire library by himself narrating in his own manner about the enmity that’s existed between himself and Roger so no that wasn’t an accident. I don’t take any cruel or sadistic pleasure in it nor do I feel any remorse or guilt for that considering who Roger Wright is.
To be me, he’s not the hero, not even in the taunting way I said when our issue began. He’s merely a selfish man. The man at his core only gives a damn about himself. And that’s who the people chant for…I agree with one thing I said ten years ago: the wrestling fans are enabling fools. They deserved that wake up call and Roger deserves at minimum that enormous headache that’s going to follow him to New Orleans.
At least hearing the crack of your skull on that shovel was an unintended bonus I’m content with.
As for you Valora…well, you were the objective that night. I still know your insight pretty damn well. Unlike Bobby who I face in quite the important match we’ve done to each other or Roger who could make a politician blush with his selfishness I honestly don’t have any quarrel with you. You can scream about how I sold out if you like on taking the check, you did it with me once before after all, but a lot of other factors have changed. You think about the pandemic…how fragile our finances and our lives were shown to be in that moment. It was humbling…not entirely financially but just how easily those normal paychecks and life itself can be ripped away at a moment’s notice. That and Finelli’s passing were the warning shots of how fragile things can be; what happened to Kief was…a brutal wake up call to that. Career and then potentially life hanging in the balance when we already know we only have so much time in our industry anyway. So let me give you a piece of advice for the stage of life you’re approaching.
Too much anger and bitterness is a poison. It can be valuable when channeled in the right method and eating through your opponents like potent acid melts through chemicals without effort…but keeping too much anger, the kind you often carry for so many slights no matter how noble the causes you want to fight for or hell, the selfish ones to extend your own trophy case…you’ll be the one who melts. If you point those things at me to truly get even…you’ll learn a couple things pretty damn fast. One…senseless revenge is the cotton candy of motivation: you think it’s filling on the surface but there’s nothing more hollow and empty once you ingest it in full. And two, far more importantly: for all the talk about how old I am, I know your age, I know the x-rays and health scares you’ve had, I know your instincts while you don’t know how I’ve retrained mine. Worst of all for you: I damn sure know about your arm and the dream of that revenge will be eaten in no time at all as I collect another day’s pay for the job. So don’t think with your heart, use your head.
Don’t believe me: You don’t want to end up searching like a vessel like whatever Nocturnal has become or fighting to deal with the demons I have…those are two very likely sad existences for the path you’re on.
But now the truth of it all leads to you, Bobby and this is where it all comes together because you’re the center-piece as to why all of this came into motion. There’s a price to pay for any deal that’s made after all and it goes all ways. First the price: it’s not a bad one really, an alliance of three of the most devious individuals in the history of not just this company but in professional wrestling itself. It means if you jump on one, you’re jumping on the other two. We’re businessmen after all, we have to look at our investments in our bodies, our careers, and this company after all. As for the reward: I was given a bonus to be distributed over the future weeks and months for one night’s work to the tune of a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. The money owed to me from when PWE closed all those years ago. That was the centerpiece…of why I had such an ingrained hatred toward you. A hatred that…spiraled completely out of control and created the cycle of retaliation that led us to where we’re at today.
A rivalry that’s turned into my greatest…remaining unsolved wound in a career that spans over two decades.
Oh yes, I recognize in full in both of our matches as well how that hatred I felt boiling in took away what’s become my best attribute as a professional wrestler: my criminal wrestling mind. I wasn’t trying to get my hand raised as the primary objective; I was trying to make you pay for that heinous slight. At times even I toyed with you a little until your gift of coming back from a beating frustrated me to no end. It wounded me especially at a time where I egotistically thought I could never be truly wounded like that. Even in the case of say Roger Wright, I still changed him in substantial ways…it’s you who changed and wounded me, not the other way around.
Before it was Mike Park now it’s you: you have become my ultimate blind spot.
And ever since I saw the opening for the challenge…our two matches have re-emerged in the confines of my brain like a Vietnam Veteran who had done his best to suppress a tortuous memory until the nightmare happen and you wake up in a cold sweat with a yelp feeling every bit the wound you endured as if it was fresh upon you the first time. It scared my daughter, and it terrified my fiancé when they saw me that night shaking as if I had relapsed on drugs when I’m still as clean as the day I quit those damned things nineteen years ago! The excruciating thing that I couldn’t find a proper answer to. No matter what I did…you had an answer for me and the hatred turned into that poisonous anger. And when the only thing that’s truly fueling that is that cotton candy motivation of revenge…I see with a clear head that’s a big reason why I’ve never been able to defeat you in the middle of that ring.
We all pay for our transgressions, you’ve had to physically pay some prices, and I’ve paid more than my handful physically and emotionally. No, this isn’t about revenge, not anymore. It’s a poison I’ve finally shed. It’s part wrestling pride but predominantly it’s about undoing the oldest great wound perpetrated against me in my professional wrestling career. A part of me feels…a little remorseful and fairly guilty that such a thing would play out in a memorial show but I’m going into the match with full intentions of getting my hand raised with every bit of knowledge I’ve ever learned in the art of wrestling. You have your specially designed stage that Kief would look down with a smile on his face and a mischievous chuckle from his heart on top of the ninjas who are one part lumberjacks and one part…doing your previous profession in some ways.
But…even though I quit drugs long ago, I finally feel like I’m fully clean. I didn’t lash out in fury when the reminder of the wounds happened, it just made me more motivated to clean up more wounds. It’s not going to be a pleasurable experience; never has been in terms of dealing with the caliber of athlete and fighter you are but it doesn’t matter now.
You’re my ultimate test in seeing just how far I’ve come and I aim to pass that test, atone for my sin of rage, and mend that wound once and for all.
The wintry bite in Morgantown is in full swing as the wind sways around blowing strands of stray snow in the heart of this sleepy little town. It’s one of the few places in my home state where urban meets rural in full form as there’s enough barren trees to remind you of the wilderness everywhere even as drivers slide around on the ice. And yet that’s not what I’m doing at the moment. There is a bigger objective to what I have to do as even before Backdoor there’s another…long issue that’s plagued me. The demons that have been my parents…the original black mark long before I ever laced up a pair of boots. If I can be clear headed here…perform a familial act of penance of sorts with this pilgrimage…I think I’m in good shape to keep a cool head with Bobby as well.
“Guess we’ll see if I’m ready for it…” I mutter while taking a deep breath
In this brutal winter air, I’ve been marching through the town, not dressed in an immaculate suit as I’m often seen but rather rough looking wool clothing. For as modern as a lot of things are, this is a far more medieval styled endeavor. I don’t even want to begin to tell you how uncomfortable the old clothing is. With the cherry on top, I’m even barefoot for this particular endeavor rather than covering my feet up with boots. I can feel the cold chills running through my body starting at my feet as I’m gritting my teeth marching on through. The only relief from these cold chills is whenever I awkwardly step on some sort of litter that can bring a momentary kind of discomfort rather than the bitter cold of the ancient Appalachian mountains. My train of thought on this mission is momentarily broken by…what else, a littered, crushed soda can and that jab of pain shoots through my left foot and I do my best not to show that it had a small effect.
“Urgh…damn soda can…” I mutter through gritted teeth.
I take a couple more steps forward and notice the various confused glances from what people have decided to traverse the cold have picked up. Many of them are dressed warmly in various heavy coats and give me the look as if I’ve lost my marbles completely. They should’ve met me fifteen years ago if they want true insanity. But I ignore the stares momentarily. The walking path would have nice stones on it if it wasn’t covered by the layer of snow making footing hard. And now I feel the slight sting on that left foot and I lift my dirty foot walking on all of this and…it’s cut. I then glance back behind me and notice the slight trickle of blood that has followed my path, nothing heavy but enough to notice something.
“Great…” I sigh, unable to contain my annoyance at this situation, “Not the best omen for a wrestling match or the end of this…penance but maybe not the worst either.”
The path is growing more rural as is the decreasing quality of the road; even in the ice I can see some of the potholes next to me as I traverse the solemn, slick walking path. Even as I glance at the moments of peace, the irony of walking to a church, Bobby Backdoor’s older profession before even his time doing porn is not lost upon me. Thinking about these things isn’t a bad way to ignore the stinging pain in my foot or that my graying hair could turn white from all the blowover snow swirling around.
And I really don’t want to think about the other ramifications right now.
The walk up the hill is…uneventful. The trees are as I remembered them but a little older. The road grows more winding as is this path but muscle memory on where to go up this hill is making this significantly easier. The amount of times I lashed out in this place…much like I lashed out on too many people without proper provocation. Hell, with how my temper was how the hell did PWE hire me at perhaps my angriest? I never asked Bobby that question…
“I doubt I’ll ever know that answer…” I mutter under my breath.
It doesn’t take long before I see the destination in front of my own eyes: the old catholic church in Morgantown. A sneer crosses my face at some dormant memories trying to resurface but a gust of wind makes it easier to suppress all of that. I end up withdrawing my hands into the wool shirt a little to at least give them the slightest bit of shelter from the wintry conditions but the pilgrimage portion is near its end. I push open the rusted gate and the creek that comes through it echoes throughout. The familiar chill that comes from that rushes through us all. And the building itself on the outside even if it’s abandoned…still has its structural integrity; the only negative mark against it. The walk turns into a march despite my discomfort and the freezing cold to approach the old building.
And then I swing the door open and enter the building.
The front room hasn’t changed much. There are wooden benches arranged and I can see on the ends where they’re chipped off. There’s even a hole or two on the floor as I step forward, my feet actually happy to not feel the chill of pure ice on them anymore. Various religious iconography drapes the walls including a painting of Jesus over the sermon where the preacher, often my father, would do his usual spiel. I also remember the stench of booze that often preceded him…and hell even me at different points in my life. A tap of a copper bracelet on my left wrist…all the reminder I ever need to never partake in those things ever again now.
The battle to regain my sobriety all those years ago was still the luckiest one I ever won…in that respect, I’m fortunate to still be standing here.
A sigh escapes my lips as I walk down to the alter but no anger takes over me. I’m surprised by…how calm I feel despite all the baggage. Though I haven’t been here in years, I still remember far too much of this place by heart considering a significant portion of my childhood was here. Though as I step closer, the memories of all the times he would neglect, verbally berate, and physically abuse me do enter my brain. I do feel a flashpoint of anger, that heat, coming over my face but…after a deep breath…remembering that I never raised my daughter that way, it dissipates slowly as I cautiously step forward.
“So this is it…” I say lowly, “All these years I haven’t been back and here I am…doing the thing you probably should’ve done considering your own transgressions, father.”
The composure is there and rather than scream or yell, I close my eyes for a brief moment. There isn’t much more to say but I find myself surprised at what I feel. It isn’t…anger. It’s…pity.
“What a shock…” I continue, stumbling slightly on that word from my own shock before regaining my train of thought, “To think I harbored so much hatred for you for almost all my life. And yet…I just think of how it ended for you and all I have is pity. While I’m not sympathetic for what happened to you, I should thank you for two things. First…most importantly in all honesty: thank you for showing me how to never raise a child. For all my flaws, I’ll always support whatever Allison needs as a father.”
Silence after letting that out but no seething fury either. All I can manage is a shake of the head.
“And second…” my tone remains very calm, no trepidation here, “If I can handle you, I think I can maintain my emotions for whatever needs to come now. You’ve no longer got any control over my actions and for that I’m eternally grateful. For all the ways I felt poisoned, some of it your own fault…some of it continuing the cycle…I can finally say one thing for sure…”
There’s that slight pause as I step even closer yet so as if I’m face to face to where he’d have been preaching. The silence still fills the room whenever I’m not speaking.
“The cycle ends here…your last vestiges of control are finally gone.” I say in that old rasp, “Goodbye...father.”
It’s on that last message I turn on my heel and start to walk off and despite the throbbing in my left foot, I actually feel a light smile come over my face. Not one born from malicious intent but the fact that I might actually feel a little content…okay with where I’m at in my own life. And this is the kind of peace that’s well worth going through hell to finally get.
To my surprise as I exit, I see a black truck parked on the part of the road…or rather what was my black truck perched there waiting on me. I blink for a moment as if I’m hallucinating but I’m not. It’s there and the reason why it’s there soon becomes all too apparent when my daughter exits from the driver’s side of the vehicle. The girl has become a woman all too fast…and she looks more and more like her mother, my first wife. Hell, I’ve even taught her how to drive and passed her my old vehicle to make sure she always had something to drive. It isn’t entirely wrestling kids who were born while I was in the industry that makes me feel old, it’s this. She was expecting me it would seem.
But my thoughts are shaken slightly when Allison greets me with a bewildered sneer. She's dressed warmly as she should be with a heavy lavender coat and black jeans as well as a heavy pair of black boots over her feet and she's still shivering slightly as she taps her foot impatiently looking at me.
“What the hell are you doing?” she questions, a little bit of edge on her voice, “I know I got your instructions to meet here but…dad…you realize what our weather situation is right!?”
I almost want to laugh, she’s about to scold me as if I were a child.
“Had to take care of something…” I answer, “You want to know?”
“In the vehicle, it’s too cold to be doing something like this, dad.” she seethes a little, her voice shaking slightly, “Can we please get in the truck? I’m freezing.”
“Fair.” I offer with half a smile before dropping the news to her, “You’re driving, I’m barefoot.”
“I’m sorry but you’re WHAT!?” Allison shrieks, a glint of horror flashing through her eyes, “In THIS weather!? Unbelievable…”
She turns on her heel and walks toward the truck and I gingerly follow. It seems Allison has inherited some of my temper though it’s nowhere near as bad as I was at my worst. She’s just dropped her shoulders slightly, trying to reign herself in as she enters the driver’s side of the vehicle. The old silverado still has it’s sheen as she’s taken care of it just as I had all those years. I swing open the passenger door, put the seat back a little bit before taking said seat and I hear the engine start.
I haven’t felt that much relief when the heat has kicked on in a while.
The ride on this road starts with a bit of an awkward silence, it seems she’s struggling to figure out what to say at this moment, just glancing in my direction every once in a while as I’m heating up. The chills are still flowing through my body but I at least feel the slight relief of being warmed up every now and then. I lean back on the chair and catch my breath finally from that pilgrimage, wiping the one bead of sweat, and some of the blown snow off of my face. After I do that, I glance at my daughter’s expression and now I see a moment where she looks…more like me. She’s contemplative, thinking heavily over something that’s on her mind.
“Why that church?” Allison inquires, more out of actual curiosity than the agitation she was showing moments earlier.
I take a breath at the…weighted question she posed. She picks up on my lack of an immediate answer with raised eyebrows as she’s still paying attention to the road.
“Making peace with something…” I finally replied calmly, “Your grandfather, my father…”
“Oh…” Allison’s face visibly darkens at that answer.
That takes the wind out of her sails for a couple moments. The drive continues on as I glance at how few people are still out in this frigid air. I hear buzzing and I open the dashboard and it’s my cellphone. She really knows how to follow instructions…but I glance at the cellphone and I see I got a message from both Jesse and Johnny. I sigh for a moment, before putting it back in the dashboard, the business can wait a little longer. I’m just going to enjoy time with my daughter even if it’s…quiet.
“Do you ever worry…that I could ever be like that?” she then asks, sending a jolt to my system.
“No.” I answer as fast as I can but with a firm tone, “God no…”
It seems that answer isn’t convincing enough to her as her face remains darkened, a little tormented thinking of our family history. Over the last few years I’ve been answering her questions slowly about reliving that kind of pain. That one I’m more open to talking about…and it’s also something I’ll have to talk about more in the book when I get to that. The pain of losing her mother though…that one I don’t know if I’m entirely ready to reopen quite yet but it seems she needs a dose of the truth.
“I'm more worried about parenting you properly if I’m honest…then and now. Especially then when things weren’t as…comfortable financially.”
“Never thought I’d…hear that…” she processes the information
“Sorry for a few lean Christmases when you were younger by the way.”
“Accepted.” she says calmly before she can’t help but ask, “Did you ever get that money owed?”
“Not from Bobby but in a roundabout way, yes…” I answer.
“I see…” she pauses.
I glance in her direction again, she still seems troubled by something. I do worry I’m not the best person to connect with her when she gets like this, it’s a self-doubt that mirrors her mother. She got that from her and my temper…double whammy. But I have to put one thing to rest.
“You don’t know it yet, but you’re already better than my father or me. You never complained then, you seldom complain now. Despite all the uncertainty in the world you’re still trying to figure out what you end up wanting to be. If you want to go down the path of wrestling, you know I’ll back that even if I have my concerns. But as you’re going through classes in college now…it’s okay to take them and change your mind too. You ain’t supposed to have it all figured out yet, you know.”
“I…” she pauses for a moment, her expression softening slightly, “Thank you.”
“Proud of you too,” I add.
“Have you always been?”
“Always Allison. Always.”
I should say it more often, working on that. It seems she did need to hear it as the silence is less tense and much more comfortable. She's even nodding to herself, looking less troubled then moments ago. I know I have to answer the phone to what my Business partners would want but I’m going to opt for taking this comfortable silence. A real calm before the storm that’s going to be this match with Bobby Backdoor. You never know how much time you have left until it’s too late after all. Goes like that in a violent industry like pro wrestling but in life itself.
But I passed this test...and feel more at peace about it. I know I’m going to pass this next one with Bobby. One last check to see how far I’ve come overcoming my demons. It’s going to hurt for both of us. I know that for a fact. And the match itself is going to be absolute hell.
I’m going to use this as a true reminder of what I’ve overcome and what I’ve become in the ring with this new found peace. My daughter deserves to have this peace too as does my fiancé back at home. And nobody…will ever take away this well earned peace away from me. I’ve worked too long and too hard to finally get to this point and I will not let the ghost of Bobby Backdoor or anybody else in our industry take it away from me.
