Broken Wings

What’s it all for, Dad? 

All my life, I’ve worked to bring greatness to this legacy of ours.

But here I am, a couple days shy of thirty-two. I’m still single and childless, and I’m finally beginning to realize that greatness means nothing to a legacy if I’m failing in my part to extend it.

And I don’t think there’s any point hiding it anymore, Dad. I’m an abject failure at the love game.

Seemed pretty damn obvious to me when I was standing in the shower the other week, rinsing the rum raisin and shame out of my hair.

I can maintain an appearance and crank up the charm. But that’s just surface level shit. Nothing substantial. Being able to actually connect with someone on a meaningful level? That’s the thing that’s always escaped me, Dad.

And it’s the one thing I envy about you the most.

I envy your ability to recognize your own potential as a wrestler, and foresee everything you could have achieved for yourself if only you stepped out of the Northwest, only to say “no thanks” to that life. 

The climb didn’t interest you. Which is why you turned down a chance to immortalize yourself as a wrestling legend in exchange for sixteen fleeing years as a family man.

For mom. For me.

For a life of substance, that someone can only get by having a real connection with another human being.

Guess the only time I ever felt that way about anyone was all those years ago with --

…

You know what? No. We don’t need to get into that.

The point is, Dad, is that I feel this pursuit I’ve set myself on has inadvertently conditioned me to be comfortable with a life of solitude.

And… I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that. 

I don’t know what I have to do to break that mindset and find a way to connect with anyone.

Here I’ve spent a career climbing toward the apex of a great mountain. But only now that I’m within reach, I’m starting to wonder if this was the right mountain to climb.

Either way, it’s a long way down from the top.

So again, I ask…

What’s it all for?

We FADE IN on a breathtaking panorama of the Seattle skyline, as viewed from (the appropriately named) Kerry Park.

The Space Needle, lit up and glowing like an alien antenna, just skyward above the urban sprawl of lights and concrete below. From this view, we can see Halloween decorations adorning several apartment balconies.

The waning moments of the day’s remaining light casts the interspersed overcast covering the sky with an appropriately October orange glow. The vista is a welcome companion to the autumnal “amberification” of the Emerald City’s surrounding forestry. Miles in the distance, a purple Mount Rainier stands in silent vigil.

The scene is accompanied by the dulcet synth tones of “Broken Wings”, the Mr. Mister classic.

Leaning on the rail and admiring the view are two figures. The sandy brown mullet of one is a dead giveaway.

Were it not for the other wearing a mint-colored blazer, we’d recognize him as well by the labor-intensive dragon tattoo on his back.

Kerry Kuroyama: Well, Wingman… I think it’s fair to say that you and I have come a long way in this crazy world.

Kerry Kuroyama fully reveals himself only after he turns to his companion to speak. Based on the tinted shades, gold chain, and fake mustache, we can presume that things are about to get serious.

Kerry Kuroyama: These past few months have been filled with some incredibly wild and episodic adventures. The kind that conveniently played out in twenty minute increments, not including ad breaks. It got pretty hairy more times than I’d care to admit… but in the end, we cleaned up the streets, and put the fear of Hoyt into every last outlaw mudshow creep and goof lurking around out there in the backyards, scrap heaps, and VFW halls spread out across the city.

He takes another look out over the city.

Kerry Kuroyama: I… thank you, Scott. Because I could not have made it this far had you not been at my back. But at the same time, it leaves me a little worried. Like I may have been too dependent on you. They say I’m moving up in the world, but honestly, partner? It doesn’t feel like going “up”; if anything, I’m going deeper. Into a world so damn serious, that the typical clownshit is practically nonexistant.

He sighs and pulls off his sunglasses to look Scott in the eye, setting up for an overly dramatic delivery.

Kerry Kuroyama: It’s a world where I have no choice… but to prove that I can fly solo.

Kerry looks directly into the camera.

Kerry Kuroyama: …and cut.

Rolling his eyes, Zack Daymon thumbed the red button on the digicam and stopped the recording.

“That felt good,” said Kuroyama, tearing off the mustache. “Better than the original. What do you think?”

Daymon, already in the process of tearing down the camera set-up, grunted indifferently.

“Yeah man, the vibe was totally orangeish purple on that,” said Scott in a more agreeable fashion.

To clarify, this was not the Scott Hunter we all know and love. Due to a scheduling conflict, Kerry’s trusted Wingman couldn’t be on hand to reshoot the big final speech the close off the first season of Gettin’ Serious, thus requiring the services of his identical cousin, also named Scott, who conveniently only lived a matter of hours south in Portland.

Also convenient was the fact that he wasn’t affiliated in any way with actor unions, and worked for Starbucks gift cards.

“Thank you, Scott,” said Kerry to his Wingman’s dimwitted doppleganger. “And thanks again for helping out the production.”

“Yeah, dude, no problem-o!” said Portland Scott. “Like I said, I used to be a part of an improv troupe back in my drum circle days, so acting is like second nature. Only, uhh, when do we start, like, filming, and stuff?”

Kerry and Zack exchanged dumbfounded looks. Did the dipshit not realize they were rolling the entire time?

Then Kuroyama’s phone vibrated. The notification informed him of a gray Mazda arriving at their location. A second later, the vehicle’s headlights came around the corner. A magenta oval bearing the word “LYFT” was visible on the dashboard.

Perfect timing.

Putting his hand on Portland Scott’s shoulder, Kerry led him onward to the road at the park’s edge.

“We’ll get to that in a bit, Scott,” he began. “But right now, I’ve got a big rematch to set my attention to, so what I need for you to do is to take this ride down to the station. And when you get there, you’re going to buy a ticket for a ride back to Portland.”

“Whoa, dude…” exclaimed the other Scott in amazement. “I actually live in Portland, so that works out perfectly! But, uhh, is there a way I can take an Uber instead? My life partner has been trying to rack up rewards points on our shared account.”

“I don’t do Uber,” said Kerry in swift denial. “They hire creeps.”

Portland Scott nodded thoughtfully, all nine of his remaining braincells working themselves to the point of overload. When they made it to the curbside, Kuroyama obligingly opened the rear door to the Mazda.

“Just be on standby in case we need you to fill in for your cousin again,” said Kerry, politely yet forcibly cramming him into the back seat. “In the meantime, the only thing you need to worry about is drinking filtered piss and pawning clothes made out of old grocery bags, or whatever it is you do.”

“Chinese newspapers, actually,” Scott’s cousin Scott corrected. “But yeah, I think I could handle all that.”

“Glad to hear it, Scott,” said Kerry, slamming the door on him. “And safe travels.”

A quick wave to the driver later, the Mazda pulled away. While Scott’s cousin disappeared around the corner, Kerry’s own joined his side.

“We done here?” grumbled Daymon, handing over the case holding the camera equipment.

Kuroyama nodded as he took it from him.

“Yeah, we’re wrapped,” he said. “Back to the work that matters. Although I should also thank you, Zee. I know you think this stuff is a waste of time, but… I appreciate the help anyway.”

Zack huffed, unable to mask his exasperation.

“Right…” he said in a tone laced with sarcasm. “I’m sure you do.”

Kerry looked to read his cousin’s face. While he didn’t exactly expect him to enjoy doing volunteer camera work, Kerry couldn’t help but notice that he had been acting gruff and reticent all afternoon.

“Something bothering you?” probed Kerry.

If there was an issue, then there was no point in leaving it fester.

Daymon huffed again. After a moment thinking it over, he proceeded to reach into his pocket.

Out came a pair of wrinkled neon green strips of paper. Kerry recognized by the markings that they were luggage tags.

“These were on your bags.”

This wasn't exactly big news. Working two schedules, there was bound to be a fair bit of bouncing around from airport to airport.

But then he saw the three-letter airport code that said “YVR” in big, accusing black letters, and he realized the jig was up.

Kuroyama grunted, internally kicking himself for making such a sloppy and needless oversight. Zack, meanwhile, was looking at him pointedly.

“What the fuck were you doing in Vancouver?”

He went there three weeks ago, catching a flight from a show out east.

Kerry learned from the hospital staff at Vancouver General that the patient was mostly in and out over the course of the day. If he was asleep during the visit, then there was the possibility of waiting up to two hours until he woke up.

That wasn’t an issue to Kerry, who flew out here specifically just to see him.

Still, upon arrival and finding the room, he only needed to wait a few minutes before Beto Gutierrez’s eyes slowly fluttered open. As though he had sensed his coming.

His dark, sunken eyes scanned the room, coming to rest on the human shape standing over his bed. The moment the figure came into focus and he recognized who it was, he groaned.

“Mierda…” he cursed.

Kerry sighed, and pulled up a chair to the bedside.

“How’s it going, Beto?”

Gutierrez snorted, as though the tributaries of jagged stitches holding his face together wasn’t obvious enough.

The stay in the hospital had been long. The coma that occupied his first few weeks had left his body emaciated and atrophied. He was a husk of a human being, living off a steady morphine drip.

“Got some real cajones to come here askin’ me that, after you put me here,” he rasped. “If you came to tell me you’re sorry, then you can fuck off, cause I ain’t interested in hearing --”

“I’m not here to apologize,” said Kerry sternly, cutting him off. “Because there’s nothing to apologize for. You were the one coming at me with a knife, remember? What did you expect was going to happen?”

Beto said nothing. His half-opened eyes studied Kerry a moment longer, then a crooked smile forced its way across his sundered face, and he turned his head the other way.

Something about the gesture bothered Kerry. It made him feel seen.

Like he knew the beating was more than just self-defense.

“I can’t help the fact that we went down different paths, Beto,” he continued. “And I can’t undo the shit that’s happened to you. We’re all responsible for ourselves in some way.”

Gutierrez refused to look away from the window. His hand fumbled for the button to his PCA pump.

Kerry pulled it out of his reach before he could give it a squeeze and check out of the conversation early.

“But I might be able to offer something in the way of help.”

“Fucking selfish,” said Zack in disgust.

Kerry narrowed his eyes on his cousin, feeling somewhat stung by the remark.

“I go there offering this guy my help,” he responded. “A chance to get his feet back under him and turn his life around. Give it some actual meaning. And you’re calling me selfish?”

Daymon scoffed.

“It’s selfish if you’re only doing it out of guilt for putting him there,” his cousin retorted. "Otherwise, just admit that you’re just using this whole thing as a way to get back in touch with Marina --”

“She has nothing to do with this…”

Seeing he had touched a nerve, Daymon wisely backed off, though his eyes remained skeptical.

“Beto attacked you on the street, Kay,” he said. “And your response to offer him ‘help’ in the way of rejoining the school? We don’t even have a school yet.”

“I know we’ve had trouble finding a new place,” said Kerry. “The real estate market here is… a lot more daunting than it was thirty years ago. Nothing we can’t work our way around. Hopefully…”

Zack shook his head, his frustration continuing to mount.

“I need you to understand why this pisses me off, Kerry,” he said. “You went behind my back.”

On his cousin’s face, Kuroyama could see the anguish behind the anger. The hurt that comes with the betrayal of trust.

“I’m sorry, Zee,” he said apologetically. “But at the same time, if I’d said anything to you, you would’ve only tried to stop me.”

“I meant it when I told you to leave this alone,” Zack went on. “This was my chance to prove to you that I can be relied on to help shoulder the weight. You’ve got this rematch with Hall coming up, and a title match past that, yet you keep putting more on your plate with the school and the stupid show with Hunter. What I’m saying, man, is that you’re stretched thin, and whether you choose to believe it or not, you need the help, because you can’t 'fly solo' on everything in life.”

Kerry pondered on the words for a moment, before nodding in agreement.

“You’re right,” he said at last. “I do need your help.”

In his pocket, he felt his phone vibrate. From around the corner, another set of headlights appeared.

“But our school needs to succeed where the old one failed,” he continued. “Which means nobody from our crew gets left behind. And I’m not leaving Beto up there to rot. So if you want to shoulder the weight, then don't try to push me out of it. Just tell me I have your support in this.”

Daymon said nothing. His stern gaze remained fixated on his cousin.

Then the Lyft pulled up to the curb.

“My ride’s here,” Zack quietly announced.

With a nod, Kerry opened the door and watched him get in.

“I’ll catch up with you in the morning,” he said.

“Maybe,” replied Zack with a shrug. “Depends on what time I leave my girl’s place.”

Zack flashed him a cocky, shit-eating grin before slamming the door shut, and the vehicle pulled away.

Alone on the sidewalk, Kerry could feel the taste of rum raisin assault his mouth.

Kerry is in Kerry Park.

Standing alone. Flying solo. No Scott. No Wingman antics.

Just Kerry.

The sun has fully set by now, leaving the sky dark and the outline of the city aglow in electric light.

“What’s it all for, Hall?”

He leans against the rail, sans the tacky 70’s cop accessories and blazer, now rocking a black black hoodie with his arms folded over his chest.

“We find a purpose for ourselves in this sport, and willingly bind ourselves to it. We suffer through pain, punishment, and ruin, in the hopes of giving it meaning. We cling to it until our last breath, like doomed captains on sinking vessels.

“We do this for no reason other than it is damn near impossible to give up on anything we’ve fought over for so long. Because when you’re within reach of the top of the mountain, there’s no point turning back.

“Purpose is everything in wrestling. It’s practically our currency.

“Which is why it comes as no surprise, Hall, to see you sitting finally filing for bankruptcy.”

He pushes himself off the railing.

“Around this time last year, you and your ‘amazing’ life partner were on your way to finishing your story, battling your way through the Almasy Tournament, straight to the Universal Title.

“It will go down as one of the most amazing and unexpected feats not just in PRIME, but all of wrestling history. There’s no disputing that.

“But no story is ever truly ‘finished’ in this sport. Not until the day you decide to hang it up and walk away for good.

“So long as we have purpose, and the body is willing, then the show must go on.

“For so many years, Hall, your sole purpose was Vickie, and her every trifling ambition. You made yourself her stallion. Then her dog. Then her tool. You put your body through unimaginable suffering, and pushed your abilities beyond that of wrestlers who trained their entire lives to be the best.

“It all led you to putting the pinnacle of professional sports around your waist, and somehow, it was all done in the name of… love.”

Kerry’s eyes drift off camera. Something briefly flashes across his face. In that brief moment, he almost looks wounded…

They find the camera again, with heightened intensity.

“But what’s it all for, Hall? Where has the story taken you?

“She betrayed your trust. She defiled your honor. And, worst of all, she robbed you of your purpose.”

He shakes his head, pitiably.

“But you don’t deserve sympathy, Hall. And you’d be a fool to expect any from me.

“We met for the first time just shy of a year ago, back in Nashville.

“Minutes before the bell, Vickie came out on camera and point blank called me a narcissist.”

He shrugs.

“Blatant hypocrisy aside, it’s not like anyone ever disagreed with that statement.

“So maybe she wasn’t all that far from the truth. And maybe I’ve reached a point where I’m tired of feeling ashamed of it.”

He slowly approaches the camera.

“Because for purely selfish reasons, I want more than just a token win here. I want to kick your ass, Jonathan-Christopher. I want your physical pain to exceed your emotional pain.

“Because I want the world to see how high the Emerald Apex has risen after a year in PRIME. Because I want them to see me slay the lion that used me as a stepping stone on his way to the pinnacle of all professional sports.

“Because you betrayed my trust in that ring a year ago, when we all know you could’ve won clean.

“Because being hit in the back of the head with a fifty-pound camera really fucking hurt. And because later openly admitting to my face that you would readily do it again for that rotten excuse of a human being only further pissed me off.

“Because you are so goddamn weak-willed that you have unwittingly maneuvered yourself into a position without any discernible purpose to be in that ring.”

When he stops, his head practically fills the screen.

No more Seattle. No more Rainier. No more sky.

Just Kerry.

“Pray that you find a new one by ReVival, Hall.

“Or I will tear you the fuck apart.”

Out.

What’s it all for, Dad?

Connections, I mean.

You left me. Rocko left me. 

She left me.

Everyone I either loved or respected has abandoned me.

I can’t connect, because for all of mortality’s nascent hazards, human beings are the one thing that can hurt you like no other.

Connections have brought me nothing but pain. Done nothing but hold me back. 

If the world won’t bring me love, then I have no other option than to love myself.

For this, I’ve been painted as a villain.

It’s understandable why anyone would see me as broken for being this way. I just wish I knew why it hurt so damn much.

This is why, Dad, it sometimes feels like the climb for immortality is all I have left.

I’d give it all away just to be a father. Just to be like you. But the dread still lingers that it’s too late to change.

Either way, it’s too late to turn back from this path.

This is my legacy.

This is OUR legacy.

THIS is what it’s all for.

And I won’t let anyone stop me.