Tatramajjhattata, or: Sweet On Big Mean Paxton Ray

Preparation for a night out, Sage Pontiff style: -Shower -Bergamot and Patchouli oils behind ears, on wrists, dot for every chakra from crown to root -Google shirt and shoes policy despite every restaurant you’ve ever been to demanding both chest and foot prisons -Pre-game cone joint of sacrament, mids only -Try to remind yourself that your new friend and whoever he’s bringing are not lysergic mystics, psilocybin shamans, rainbow family, hippies, burnouts, Aghoris, or members of the church of the cosmic mentality.  -Try to remind yourself to act accordingly.  Preparation for a night out, Cliff Pike style: -Shower -Comb mustache -Black tee. “A collared shirt?” The teasing is good natured–said collared shirt is a faded pink and purple paisley number that's about 3 sizes too big and unbuttoned to the stomach–but Sage leans back into the embrace of his partner, sighing.  “Is it reading desperate?” “A little.  I just can’t figure out who you’re trying to impress.” “I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up, Cliff.  And Paxton doesn’t exactly fit my vision of who I thought I’d become close with, not by a long shot, but…I can’t explain it.  We gravitated.” They’re a study of contrasts in the mirror, Sage a tie-dyed peacock and his man damn near brutalist architecture, all concrete and utility masking true art.  Mostly, with his massive arm around Sage’s chest, the skinnier man realizes he might need to go to the gym for once in his life.  Chuckling, he lays a small kiss on Cliff’s elevator cable forearm and smiles at what he sees in the mirror.  Through his experiments in trying to live a more esteemable life, Sage has found these are the things he recalls with the most clarity.  Small moments of domesticity, quiet and pure and unbothered by the slings of the world’s problems or the arrows of his own particular addictions.  “I don’t know, Pike.  I just want the people in my life to get along, and I’ve never really attempted that before–hell, I never had people in my life that I wanted to get along with anyone else.  Just…keep an open mind.  Cause he isn’t what you’d expect when I say ‘my friend’.”  “Yeah, you’ve said he’s a lil rough around the edges.  But don’t worry handsome, so am I.” “Pretty sure he’s rough all over.” They separate and complete their final preparatory steps (Tevas for Sage, high-top institutional Reeboks for Cliff).  Pontiff lets his mind wander to a place, far off from here, when he and Paxton will be teaming for the first time in the ring.  And he’s hoping the sparks of a true running buddy, and actual partner in crime, can be nurtured into a full flame.  But just as quickly, he shakes his head.  Only the fool lives in a time that hasn't occurred yet.  —

A few days prior:

“You’re the last motherfucker I wanna come to for advice,” Paxton grumbles, his head in his hands.

“What?” Chet Fleetwood holds his hands up. “I’m a lawyer. I always give advice.”

“Not ‘bout this stuff. Sage invited me to a double date with him an’ his dude before the show. Which means I hafta bring somebody to the show in Boston.”

“Well, I guess I can pack my fine dining mushrooms in my suitcase.”

“Not ya, ya idiot. I’m tryin’ to figure out if I should bring Petra or Julie.” Paxton walks to the window of MESSIAH Wrestling Academy’s kitchen and stares at Petra Brandt, who leans against her car. “Sage wants t’have some synergy before our match and I don’t know which girl would be more…synergy-ous.”

“Paxton the Podunk Poet.” Chet smirks. “Why does this dinner matter? Hell, why does this tag match matter? You’ve already beaten Youngblood in a match, and the Doubleday kid is fresher than a daisy.”

Paxton opens his mouth, then turns around and waves a large paw dismissively. “Never mind, it’s stupid.”

“Aw, come on. Everything you say is stupid.”

“Fuck off. Anyway, I ain’t complainin’, ‘cause I know what I did. But after what I did t’Jon, I lost the right t’have friends. Everybody hated me. Or worse, they used me like ya and this fuckin’ organization do.”

Paxton turns from the window. “An’ I don’t really care about it sometimes, but the thing is…I want Nora back. More’n anythin’ in the whole world. An’ it’s hard to feel like I deserve it if nobody treats me like a human.” Paxton shrugs. “Julie and Petra see me as somethin’ other than a monster outside a’work, but at PRIME nobody wants anythin’ t’do with me. Most a’my Wargames team thinks I’m an asshole. But Sage…somethin’ about him. He gets me. We ain’t the same, but we connect. An’ I like the feelin’ of havin’ that. So yeah, I wanna impress this weird hippie dippy and his tank of a boyfriend, an’ I need to figure out which girl would be best to do that.”

Chet stands up and walks over to Paxton, putting a hand on his shoulder. The Murder Gator scowls, and his scowl deepens as Chet speaks. “I’ve been divorced four times.”

“Four?!”

“One was a two-day marriage in Vegas. Her name was Bubblegum. She had green hair. Anyway, I know this disqualifies me from matters of the heart. But if I would give advice, it would be to think about what makes the dynamic between Sage and his partner work and pick the woman who is closest to that dynamic.”

“Well, his boyfriend is really muscular.”

“So Petra.”

“But he’s less…out there than Sage. They have the same beliefs, but they’re different.”

Chet nods. “So it sounds like you’re saying opposites attract.”

“Yeah, I–” they both jump as the front door slams and Petra storms in, punching her hands. She makes a beeline for the speed bag and begins to punch it, screaming.

Paxton watches her for a moment, then grabs his phone. “I’m gonna call Julie. Don’t wanna see what happens with that one if the waiter gets her order wrong.”

__ Where to make this happen?  Zhu Vegan Kitchen is out, as is Ruth’s Chris.  Beehive hits all the sweet spots: decent cocktails, vegan options, alright beer menu, ample french fries, always a hot band playing.  Mostly though, it feels low stakes: Sage would never admit it, but he’s legitimately afraid of this not going well.  Because that puts things into a space of ultimatum.  Seated with Cliff, he’s sipping on water while his bulky man nurses some manner of tall, foamy and golden.  While the more serious half of them is content to eyeball the surroundings and read over the menu, Sage’s eyes can’t stop scanning.  He wouldn’t be shocked if they got stood up, but he would be hurt.

Luckily for Sage’s feelings, the door to the restaurant opens and in walks Paxton Ray, wearing sleeves and a scowl to show exactly how he feels about it. Like Sage he opted for a collared shirt, black on gray slacks with a belt one notch too tight. He fills the doorway, scanning for a moment before his eyes land on his tag partner – no, his friend. The scowl recedes slightly, and he steps inside, allowing his date to follow.

Julie Dunn, wearing a flowing green shirt over white pants, looks even less comfortable than her partner. She reaches for Paxton’s arm as a shield but finds air – Paxton has already taken several long strides towards the table. Julie skitters after him and sits down quickly.

“I’m Pax,” the Bayou Butcher mutters to Cliff, holding his hand out. “She’s Julie.”

“Hi,” Julie offers. “Cliff Pike.  Nice to meet ya.”  The burly man stands, grasping Paxton’s hand in a porterhouse of a mitt.  Sage takes Julie’s, placing a soft kiss on her knuckles.  “Sage Pontiff, Bodhisattva of Transformative Experience.” To this introduction Julie looks to Cliff, who shrugs.  She then looks to Paxton, who shrugs much the same, both men silently agreeing: “yeah, he’s like this.” “So, Pax.  Sage tells me you’re actually a pretty nice guy, despite what I’ve seen you do in the ring.”

“I guess it depends on who ya ask,” Paxton mutters, looking at the menu. “I ain’t really fond a’many people, but Sage is cool enough when he ain’t tryin’ to rip my head off in an Intense Title match.” Paxton smiles, loosening up a little. “I got a pic saved of ya tryin’ to kick a chair all the way through my fuckin’ skull.” Reaching for his phone, he pulls it towards Julie. “Look at this shit!”

Julie looks out of the corner of her eyes, trying not to look disgusted at all of the red of the screen. “Wow,” she says.

Paxton holds the phone up for Cliff to see. “How could I not be friends with a guy like that?” he asks.

“Well, last person tried to do that to me ended up with a’ orbital bone mashed all up into oatmeal, so I can't speak on it.”  Despite the words, Cliff is chuckling, one of his hands rubbing Sage on the back of the neck.  “But being real, you guys are a different breed inside a different breed.  Something I’ve had to kinda…make peace with.  I’m sure you can agree.”  His gaze lands on Julie.

“I’ve…tried, yes. What an eclectic menu,” she says, adding artificial excitement to her voice. “I wonder how the grilled octopus is.”

“I can tell ya, it’s fuckin’ disgustin’,” Paxton says, recoiling. “‘Bout the only thing I want on this whole damn menu is the wings and the short ribs. Need some protein if we’re gonna take down Captain America and the Bald Bitch.”

“Bald bitch?” Julie repeats, frowning. “One time Youngblood kicked me in a battle royale, felt like he was trying to beat my soul out of the back of my ribcage!  I would have gotten him back, you know how it is.  Pure chaos.  Something beautiful in it.  You think it’s gonna be nothing but speed and pain and confusion, but the truth is time speeds up and slows down, gets fat in some places and razor thin in others.  One second it’s all sides, the next it’s slow motion, like a ballet of blood and sweat.  Heart in your ears.”  Sage and Paxton are nodding in agreement.  Realizing he’s being at least a little rude, he shakes his head slightly.  “At any rate, I think I ended up kneeing Coral Avalon in the face?  Hard to tell!”  As much as one could be said to perceive it, the energy between those two is vibrant while their dates remain somewhere between bemused and concerned.  Meeting eyes with Julie, Cliff lets a smile crawl across his Rushmore jaw, shrugging his shoulders in a good-natured way.  “See what I mean?  Can't help with these guys.  They just speak a language I gave up on tryin’ to understand.”

Julie offers a friendly smile. “It may as well be Italian! Speaking of – whipped ricotta with peppers and tomatoes? Molto bene!” She holds her hand up in the classic “spicy meat-a-ball” pose. Paxton, however, is more concerned with the dish than Julie’s gestures.

“Hol’ up. Veggies and cheese? For nineteen goddamn dollars? Damn, Pontiff, does the blowjob come before or after dessert?”

“Paxton!” Julie says, covering her face.

Sage, noticing an opportune moment to do so, decides to throw a bit of a lifeline.  “I’m gonna pop outside.”  He reaches behind his ear to the dimensional rift where he always seems to have one, pulling out a raw cone filled and twisted.  “I’m hearing the call to prayer, and this sacrament won’t elevate my consciousness without me doing something about it.  Paxton, walk with me, let’s talk strategy.”

“What about orderin’?” Paxton asks, but Julie holds up a hand.

“Don’t worry, we’ll order you plenty of meat to make you big and strong for your match!”

Paxton stares at her for a second before scratching his beard. “Uh…all right.” Then he stands up and follows Sage outside, putting his hands in his pockets and inspecting the gravel. “This, uh…this is suckin’, ain’t it?”  Sage’s eyes scan: left, right, behind.  Finally, he nods and fires up his joint.  He takes a long moment, thinking about the question.

“I dunno man, I’m having fun.  Cliff’s having fun.  Julie’s a sweetheart.  What’s your worry?”

“I prob’ly fucked up before we boarded the damn plane,” Paxton mutters. “We talked ‘bout it a few weeks ago, but I kinda got…I don’t fuckin’ know what it is with these two girls. One is a fighter, strong and independent, mean but genuine. The other one’s inside. I didn’t know who t’bring, ‘cause I knew this was a big deal. Thought that Julie was the one ‘cause we’re opposites kinda like ya and Cliff. But maybe we’re too opposite.”

“You’re in your own head too much.”  He puffs up another hit and offers it to Paxton, who declines.  Shrugging, Sage crouches down, scratching his chin.  “It’s never easy.  I know people think I’m just…dumb, high, whatever.  But at least you know that I’m more than that.  So does Cliff.  But there for a long time, I wasn’t really sure that I’d like…find anyone.”

“I fuckin’ feel that, brother. But I know what you an’ I like, what we are like. An’ I know that sweet girl in there ain’t vibin’ with any a’it. Right now I’m sure she’s askin’ your man why the hell she came.” Inside: “So, what lead to you bein’ with him?”  Cliff isn’t being accusatory, but Julie’s posture recoils slightly all the same.  They’re a bit of a mismatch anyway, but his gruff voice and extremely direct way of speaking can feel like jabs from a boxer.  Seeing the effect he’s had, he holds up his hands.  “No, not like that, uh…guess what I’m saying is, you two are kinda a mismatch like me and my man.  I’m always interested in hearing how different people end up together.” “Well, we aren’t really…together, actually.” Julie lifts the menu a little higher to cover the flush in her cheeks. “We were for a bit last year, but now it’s just…friends, I guess.”

Cliff takes a sip of his beer, his brow furrowing.  “So let me make sure I got this.  You hopped a plane and came all the way to this godforsaken racist shithole, got made up, and went out on a double date with a guy you’re ‘just friends I guess’ with?”  Registering her meek nod, he leans back.  “So how long have you been pining for him?  Cause I got a lot of friends, but I don’t know if I’d make this jaunt for them.  How long you been sweet on big mean Paxton Ray?” If the empty wine glass in front of Julie were big enough, she would jump into it and cover her head. “Since I met him, honestly. I used to work in a children’s hospital, and Paxton’s daughter had cancer two years ago. Thankfully she’s in remission now. But he was always just…so good with her. So loving. And seeing a father treat his daughter like that made me so happy. I never really had…” She flicks her eyes up towards Cliff and frowns. “Anyway, this was obviously before he paralyzed Jonathan Rhine and became a man the world hated.”

Julie continues to examine the menu, a small smile forming on her lips. “You’d think that those revelations would push me away, and they did initially. But…here I am.” Cliff scratches his chin, already at a stubbly despite shaving no more than a few hours ago.  “We were doing a protest for abortion rights outside a state house–couldn’t even tell you which state.  Sage really started being a person who really did a lot of material good in the world, y’know?  But this time there was a counterprotest.  They all sorta blend together: Proud Boys, Oathkeepers, TWP, all of ‘em.  And I don’t shy away from a scrap with a fascist.”  His voice gets soft.  “But Sage didn’t scrap with them.  Sage went to war.  And when it was all said an’ done, his pretty face is all lumpy, he’s got blood on him from hairline to dick…and his smile was like a kid on Christmas morning.” “...so why are you here, then?”

Cliff can’t suppress his grin. “Can’t help who we love.  End of the day you’re at a choice: leave or stay.” Outside: “...I rear back, and this fascist reactionary fuck gets that look–you know the one?  Gawping, eyes wide, mouth open, rooted to the ground.  I kicked his chin so hard he backflipped!”  The sharing of laughter is a sacred thing, and one of those things that fosters closeness.  It seems this team has taken a detour from the more serious existential questions to let Pontiff regale his buddy with a tale of a fight.

Paxton claps his hands and laughs. “Man, I fuckin’ love when ya make a body do some acrobatics that it don’t wanna do!” He looks down and, after a few seconds of contemplation, holds his hand out for Sage’s joint. He takes a quick hit and coughs, then recovers and smiles. “Reminds me of my first time out in the Mud Pits – you’d love that place. I was fightin’ an undefeated guy, big ol’ sumbitch with ‘bout 30 pounds on me. I hit him with a right hand that damn near made him do a triple axel. Ten points from the judges on that one.” Paxton laughs. “This is more fun t’talk ‘bout than the other shit, that’s for sure.” “What I’m getting at is this concept, man.  Balance.  I was spiritually out of whack, like a coin you spin, right?  Wobbling.  Yin and yang, Tatramajjhattatā, fuckin’...peanut butter and jelly, right?  The life I’m trying to make with Cliff, the home I’m trying to make with him, being held accountable to someone else, it…Paxton, being honest, I feel more spiritually complete than I have maybe ever.  I need that, because it means I have so much more energy and focus for…what am I trying to say?” “...For beatin’ the dog shit outta Youngblood and whats-his-fuck?”  This elicits a chuckle from Sage, who holds out his hand for low bones. Low bones achieved.  “You know what?  That, exactly.  Having that life and not going out to the shittiest bar in town to have meaningless street fights with randos really means that I can funnel all of this wonderful power and energy and sheer transformative might towards something.  Maybe even something that matters.”  He looks at Paxton, grinning.  “And if it can’t be something that matters, at least I’ll kick some ass along the way.”

Paxton nods slowly. “That sounds really nice. I been lookin’ for a fight for as long as I can remember. But when I see ya, who I pretty much dismissed as a walkin’ head shop, actually findin’ somethin’ worth fightin’ for? It makes me feel like I can have it too.” After a moment the Bayou Butcher rolls his shoulders in a loose shrug. “Prob’ly gotta stop talkin’ bout blow jobs in nice restaurants though.” “Fuck the restaurant–you aren’t talking to someone who cares much for the laws of the land or polite society, Pax.” He looks through the window at their table, smiling at Cliff and Julie having a conversation rather than sitting in awkward silence.  “She’s really nice, man.”  He finally snuffs the joint and claps his buddy on the shoulder.   “Don’t go doing something stupid like thinking you don't deserve nice.  Spiritual poison.”

Inside:

“…it got bad for a while. He stopped, and I haven't been back much after moving out, but…oh god, why am I telling you this?” Julie buries herself in her now somewhat-full wine glass. “Anyway, maybe that’s why I can’t quit Paxton. Just another woman with daddy iss-.” With the imminent arrival of their respective men, Julie straightens her posture and puts on a big smile for the returning Paxton Ray, who gives her a nod and a smile himself.  Cliff kisses Sage’s hand and grasps his glass, hoisting it up.  “Nice of you two to join us.  C’mon, grab your cups.  Listen, the two of you’s live lives that aren’t easy to fit into.  But you made that space, and that’s what matters.  I can’t say I’m an expert at what you do, so I ain’t really qualified as such, but I know for a fact that I’m lookin’ at the start of something that might make the rest of that company start running scared.  So here’s to the warriors at the table–crack some fuckin’ skulls, eh?”

Julie raises her glass. “May you beat the, uh…bald bitch and the other guy!” Paxton chuckles, then stops as he sees her staring at him with a small smile. “And may you both find what you truly want.” Sage’s eyes go from Cliff’s to Paxton’s.  Paxton’s go from Julie’s to Sage’s.  Their glasses touch.

Already found it.