MAYBE FINISHING THE STORY IS THE FRIENDS WE MAKE ALONG THE WAY

Medical Locker Room TD Garden Boston, MA March 15, 2024 23:07 The noise coming out of the tiny girl’s mouth. God, his ears have never taken such a beating. His pinna funnels more than enough of the sound waves, which is easy to do when those waves have no quit. Down the concha, through the external auditory canal. Yes, this is not biology class, it’s a love story. And yet, as those same sound waves press against the tympanic membrane with full blown intent to damage the anvil, stirrup and specifically, the auditory nerve, there is no doubt whatsoever Jonathan-Christopher will require a thorough checkup after tonight.

She howls on the examination table! It hasn’t ended since she opened her mouth a solid thirty minutes ago.

How can a small woman have such stamina? Pain so intolerable there’s no ice pack big enough or Aspirin strong enough that’s able to do the trick.

He shuffles around the room, a hot mess, searching for new solutions. He found a pillow. He located a doctor. The pillow was thrown directly at his face. The doctor was told to “fuck off and die”.

It’s his fault, you know. He bumped into her. He didn’t mean to, of course, but he shouldn’t have played peacekeeper between Ivan and Jared. Honestly, and this is him being brutally realistic…

Why was Ivan there to begin with? This was supposed to be his moment-

SLAM!

The locker room door shoots open, smashing against the side of the wall.

Speak of the devil, standing in the darkness, looming in the shadows. His eyes are fire red, like the color of his native flag. During the broadcast, The Russian Bear was letting it fly. A scolding; a berating. Chastising at its pinnacle.

“Jonathan-Christopher,” he states in a low, hardened tone. “You disgust me.”

Ivan walks away, unable to handle the screaming any further.

And he, the young man in the room, trying to find a way to heal from these mistakes.

He races up to her, he reaches for her hand.

Suddenly… miraculously, she stops.

A wide strand of drool spills from her mouth, a further example of the torment she’s going through, unable to control her bodily functions.

She slowly, rather methodically, looks up at her Amazing Life Partner. Her eyes open, they begin scanning his face. Her lips start to curl. Is she appreciative of all his hard work?

“My baby,” she mutters. “I. Need…”

He waits. He’s ready to fill those desires!

“AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”

Back to screaming, directly into his ear. He is shattered at the thought she’s still in a vast amount of pain.

“GET ME HELPPPPPPP NOW!! AhAhAhAAAAHHHHhaaahhhHHHHHH!!!”

He runs. Sprints out the open door! What will he find; what can he do? One thing is for sure, he won’t return empty handed!

But as the weeps of agony bounce throughout the hall, a new figure emerges in front of the entranceway. This man expresses a much different energy than the former, larger beast. His silhouette… his grin, wide and bright. His shiny, pure teeth glistening in the darkness as his puffy frame wanders into the locker room like an evil spirit, ready to inflict harm, or, in fact, bask in it.

Her screech, it goes on and on and on as he enters. This mischievous man with the wicked white toothed smile simply turns around and closes the door behind him. It clicks shut. She immediately closes her mouth.

Her face, calm and determined, with a sinister twist to match her accomplice.

“Hi honey,” the man says softly, holding in excitement. “Great stuff out there.”

He provides a round of applause!

“I better win a bloody Oscar,” she lets out a tired sigh, soon sliding off the examination table and placing both feet firmly underneath her body, with no grimace of pain whatsoever. Make no mistake, there is spite in her voice… but it is not directed at this particular individual. “God knows I didn’t win Manager of the Year.”

“Don’t worry,” he winks, lowering his hands and embracing his daughter in a warm, coddling hug. “After this performance, you’re going to win everything.” — — — — — MAYBE FINISHING THE STORY IS THE FRIENDS WE MAKE ALONG THE WAY (WarGames) A true love story An honest friendship HOPE is everlasting — — — — — TEAM [teem] -a number of persons forming one of the sides in a game or contest -a number of persons associated in some joint action HOPE [hōp] -a feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen -a feeling of trust Webster’s Dictionary. It’s helped before. A guiding light when Vickie says novel, unfamiliar words to her Amazing Life Partner. She won’t provide the definitions. Instead, she challenges him to take a dictionary and broaden his own knowledge.

The word TEAM, it is a word in Jonathan-Christopher’s vocabulary but it’s clearly misrepresented. Both Vickie and Ivan have provided feedback. Jonathan-Christopher is a selfish teammate.

Here’s hoping for significant changes.

The Russian Bear sits on the opposite side of the table. Arms crossed, head lowered, eyes staring daggers through the number one contender’s forehead. If looks could kill, the ESPN 30For30 documentary would harbor a drastically different tone. Needless to say, there is still an opportunity to change this story, as the giant patiently waits for the boy to say his piece. There are no cameras here. With the documentary in its final stages, the industry leader in sports and entertainment are only concerned about the final steps towards Hall’s championship run, not particularly the teamwork aspect of what lies ahead.

However, there is an additional party bearing witness to this nerve racking interaction. On Ivan’s right resides his right hand man, Alexei Ruslan. Ruslan’s demeanor matches his comrade, although his physical stature is nowhere near as daunting. And yet, the legitimate Manager of the Year can be just as terrifying. It’s the wheels inside his head that makes Jonathan-Christopher feel so uncomfortable.

The talent: a physical specimen. His best friend: the brains. Jonathan-Christopher wishes he could hold one of these attributes.

Guess that’s why this conversation takes place. He can always start anew.

“I called you both here tonight…” JCH begins by clearing his throat while rubbing the sides of his temples. “Because I want to fix things.”

Unlike their other meetings, the location isn’t relevant. It is not the extravagant utopia of Kentucky Fried Chicken, nor the quaint and delicious Bolshoi Theater. No outstanding bouquets or divine dinners. It is man-to-man, humanity as it’s meant to be.

Heal the fracture, Jonathan-Christopher consistently reminds himself. Heal. It. Now.

“Vickie has told me I’ve let my own opportunities cloud what should be a collective mind,” his voice is meager and weak, as he tries to push through the notion of being there on his own. “I have learned a lot from both of you. I have taken and taken and not given back. Change is coming.”

Skepticism remains on the other end of the table, expressionless responses from both Ivan and Alexei. Can you blame them? Ivan taught JCH how to perform a promo. The former champion whipped Hall around the ring in prior training sessions. Hard, physical lessons. Real, on-the-spot training.

“Of course you would want to recapture the title you misfortunately lost,” Jonathan-Christopher explains. He’s still apologizing for when he said FLAMBERGE “manhandled” the Russian. For what it’s worth, Hall will never be on commentary again.

“I understand the error of my ways,” Jonathan-Christopher continues. It’s funny, he typically enters a discussion with zero confidence but as the young man speaks, he slowly can believe in himself. He has recent proof. A tournament crown to his name, the number one contendership pending. He is a staple on this WarGames team-

And there he goes again! Vickie would be quick to point out the “him, him, him” thoughts.

“Let’s call a blade a blade,” Jonathan-Christopher clarifies. It’s one of Vickie’s favorite sayings and it’s such a good one, too. Spades don’t hurt, blades do. “I embarrassed you when I promoted FLAMBERGE. Got in the way of the bravado you inflicted on Jared. I should have been thrilled with it. I need Jared weak…”

His voice trails, he catches himself.

“And there I go again, thinking about the title match. This is WarGames, we are a team and you are our leader. Our leader, appointed by my leader. I am here to serve.”

They spoke a month prior. Jonathan-Christopher said he will be Ivan’s shield. Now, he needs to be more. He digs into the PRETTY PINK© knapsack he brought from home…

“I was lucky enough to secure the tournament,” and there, for a split section, the good hearted, good natured boy is revealed. He lets out the smallest chuckle, as if lightening the mood. However, the stone faces across from him don’t budge and it snaps JCH into a no nonsense, factual delivery. “My commitment to you, sir, is to tell you I have no intentions to win WarGames.”

An interest, slight interest. The Russian Bear perks the edge of his massive right eyebrow.

“Wrestling is a merciless sport. Athletes gunning for victory. Not me, I’ve done it,” he can’t help but chuckle again, although this is much more of a nervous release. “I won the heart of the most wonderful woman and I have a title shot in my back pocket. I might even be the champion, god willing, heading into the second night.”

Jonathan-Christopher closes his eyes, attempting to picture it.

“I want to lose. I have to.”

Hall isn’t fibbing. The pit in his stomach churns when the thought of victory crosses his mind. This is about the team. It’s showing the world Vickie can draft, Ivan can lead, and the young man with no friends can actually make some.

“For you. For us. For Vickie!”

Alexei Ruslan sits back but Jonathan-Christopher slides a collection of papers forward, maintaining his attention.

“A legal contract,” he states. “It’s not PRIME official, there’s no way that narcissist Lindsay would allow for something like this but it will hold up in courts.”

Alexei studies it carefully.

“Words are meaningless without action…” Jonathan-Christopher works through his pitch. “That’s what marriage is, isn’t it? Binding? Legal representation to know that if trust is broken, you will not be harmed any further.”

Jonathan-Christopher points Ruslan to the fine print as the manager plucks a pair of glasses from his pocket and dives further into its presentation.

“Vickie’s father, you may or may not know him, he’s a rich and successful man. This contract ties me, Jonathan-Christopher Hall, to you, sir. Under no circumstances am I to undermine you inside of the wrestling ring and specifically during WarGames. If you or Vickie deem my actions to not be in your best interests…”

Jonathan-Christopher guides Alexei to the correct locations by flipping to the second last page.

“These are the financial payouts my step father would make on my behalf. I understand you’ve recently paid off some medical bills for family. It’s not life altering money but if I screw up, it can help.”

Ruslan’s eyes scan and rescan. Stanislav also leans over. Their body language does not suggest they are blown away at the figures written down, although they won’t scoff, either.

“Sir, everyone and their uncle is trying to be the last person standing,” Jonathan-Christopher completes his sales pitch. “I have no interest. My goal is to ensure the love of my life leaves a winner and she has seven opportunities to do so. Furthermore, I remain your shield. I provide our team hope.”

A serious, prolonged exhale. If you asked Jonathan-Christopher ten minutes ago, he would have told you he didn’t have this in him. Amazing what you can do when you pray for a miracle.

“So…” he begins, as if carefully walking on eggshells. “What do you say? I want to make this right. Please sir, give me another chance.”

The Russian Bear looks up.

“You can call me Ivan.” — — — — — Can you hear me, Team? It’s me, Jonathan-Christopher.

I have been selfish, indulged in my own opportunities. Failing to see what beauty lies beyond my sense of self. Gosh, Vickie has told me so many times but I only understand after it’s too late.

Thank god this opportunity hasn’t passed us by.

Loud and clear: I have no intention to win WarGames. While everybody else is gunning for it, I’m one less wrestler to worry about.

Vickie is a fan of all sports. She showed me the March Madness tournament and the chaos it delivers. How a small, unknown school like Oakland can defeat a powerhouse such as Kentucky. It’s teamwork, not talent. Playing for each and every person, instead of playing for themselves. She says you can’t have three shooters. You need a passer, you need a blocker.

A decoy?

Here I am.

Either I walk in as champion, or fresh off defeat. Given my recent run of successes, I’ll have a target on my back regardless.

Kerry. I can understand your apprehensiveness. A guy like you shouldn’t look good in PRETTY PINK©. You’re more of the regular pink variety. Nevertheless, your skillset goes unmatched. A natural born wrestler, I saw it first hand. It took underhanded tactics to bounce you out of the tournament. At WarGames my goal is to solidify this as a fond time. YOUR patience pays off.

Arthur. Scary and terrifying. Vickie says you’ve wandered through the weaker wrestling promotions. Digging into the major league trenches is no easy task, the rookie JCH would know. But you believe in yourself. Ivan and Kenny do, too. You can add another to the list. I have faith in you, Arthur. You’ll create a litany of pain. Have faith in me. I have no hidden agenda, I am here to be your simple servant.

Kenny. It takes fortitude to attach yourself to the most daunting figure in professional wrestling. Ivan is a ruthless, demanding leader but he provides a safe haven for those who are able to be led. Kenny, fear not. I am going to be loyal to you. I will give you my strengths, as I want to make your wildest dreams come true. Nobody is choosing Freeman. Nobody chose me for the tournament, as well. Let’s break the internet, Kenny. Go big or go home.

Rob. Cecilworth was easy, wasn’t he? Seeing you soundly defeat him explained how important the mental game is. I don’t need the talent to be “the best”, I simply require the correct approaches. Timing doesn’t hurt, either. You won’t need to worry about my timing, Rob. I will be there, even if you don’t want me around. A late addition to the group, but an awfully good one at that. It’s me, Jonathan-Christopher, who will provide an act of humility for you. After all, humility is to love. To unapologetically accept someone for who they are and what they have to bring, despite being a shithead. Other teams may fight or feel upset if the applecart is tipped. A new member? This could be a problem. Could. You are a fine wrestler, a most welcomed inclusion and a current champion. I will greet you with open arms. For I am your front line.

Ivan. I thought I knew what friendship was when I teamed with the other guy. We struggled, I was pinned frequently. We weaved in and out of the public eye, often a forgotten piece of the PRIME presentation. But with you by my side, I have new heights to reach and my confidence grows. I can speak on a microphone. I can explain myself through more than just a singular sentence. Look at me go, Ivan. This is because of you! I am still tentative, I do not have all the answers. I have fucked up immensely and I no doubt deserve your chastity. To be shut out, denied and redirected. I am trying, Ivan. I am trying and I am sorry. Begging for you to give me one more chance. Unlock your heart and I will mend unforeseen fences. I can put you first. This is your WarGames, this is your time! A million men for victory but only I will watch out for you. Please, my dearest teammate, I can earn your trust.

Ma-

I’m sorry, Team. I hear Vickie calling. I have to go. I will finish the story a little later- — — — — — He thought he was doing so well. He sat in the boiler room of TD Gardens for three hours after the events of ReVival, racking his brain for any ideas. He needed to be the problem solver she had always dreamt of.

Most importantly, he has to instill hope amidst the chaos.

“-AND WHAT THE PISS DID YOU TELL ARTHUR!?” His head can’t handle it. Literally. He isn’t able to comprehend the entirety of her speech, so he fades in and out of her slander. For the past thirty minutes, she’s torn a strip off him, as she lays sprawled across their sofa. Her left arm dangles to the floor, her right leg propped upon a stack of pillows, ankle wrapped in tension bandages with seven different ice packs surrounding it. The doctor said he was surprised there wasn’t any swelling, well, that’s what the doctor said. In reality the general practitioner couldn’t get close enough to have a serious look.

“This is bullshit, Jonathan-Christopher! God only knows how nerve racking it was for me to allow you, ON YOUR OWN, to pitch our newest proposal to Ivon Stansavlov!”

Yes, she was in on the proposal. She would have to be if her own father’s money is tied to an agreement. But it’s not exactly what Jonathan-Christopher is doing that’s pissing her off. It’s how he’s gone about it. The words he’s chosen. The confidence he’s tried to exude.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

And Vickie can’t do a freakin’ thing about it because she can’t physically be there.

“You told Kenny FREEMAN he has fortitude!? HE’S A FUCKING PAWN, JONATHAN-CHRISTOPHER. We aren’t here to instill confidence in the peanut gallery!!”

Anger has consumed her but Jonathan-Christopher knows the pressure she’s under. Screwed out of her award, Jared Sykes in the distance, it’s all so utterly daunting.

Traumatic.

“I’m trying to-”

He can’t get the words out. She’s so wholeheartedly hurt by their disposition that she snatches a pillow from under her sprained ankle and hurls it in Jonathan-Christopher’s direction.

“Well, TRY harder!”

She melts into the sofa, arms pressed against her forehead. She has exhausted her energy. As a result, she sobs quietly.

“We can’t lose WarGames,” she claims, fighting through the tears. “We can’t lose any of this. I need to win, I deserve to win!”

The man who’s been tasked to follow and yet somehow take charge, it feels like JCH could pop his head with a pin and explode into a million pieces.

“You should be able to fix this. We’ve been together long enough. You need to be the man who pulls the team through the finish line.”

Isn’t that supposed to be Ivan’s job?-

“Have hope, my baby,” he interrupts his own thoughts by speaking. Hall gingerly approaches the sofa, bracing for another pillow coming his way. “I will make this right. There is no other alternative.”

She closes her eyes to get some rest with no desire to acknowledge his statement. — — — — — A dark alley isn’t terrifying until you settle into the pits of its evil. Currently Jonathan-Christopher finds himself neck-deep into this very environment. He was given the time and place, but wanting to make a solid impression he arrived forty minutes early. They have conversed for hours now. Shared a heart to heart, learned a little more about one another. Jonathan-Christopher allowed himself to be vulnerable. He spilled it. He spilled it all. Against her wishes, too.

He had to.

“I’d do anything for her. Do anything to keep her,” the boy declares with exact certainty.

JCH looks at the figure standing before him. A chill runs down his spine.

“And if you believe doing this will fix us…” Hall’s jaw tightens as resolve fills his heart. “Then I’ll do it. Justice will be served.”

Jonathan-Christopher holds his right palm out.

“I’ll kill Cecilworth Farthington.”

A gloved hand wraps around JCH’s, tightening down before shaking.

And He replies.

“I h̸̔̒o̴͐͂p̴̽̓e̵̛͋ you do.”