Breaking Even

All was not quiet in the Atrium Hospital in Charlotte, North Carolina. The rhythmic sound of a ventilator kept time with the steady beeping of an EKG machine, which was a sound nobody wanted to hear. It had been some time since Dave had fallen. At first, Eddie Cross felt overwhelmed with the assorted beeps and bloops, but now he had grown quite used to the alarms.

He had learned which sounds meant trouble and which were harmless. The vast majority were unnecessary and were as simple as the Carolina native accidentally moving his hand in his sleep and knocking an electrode loose.

Usually when this happened the room nurse, Helen Davis, was quick to show up, but did not appear to be in any particular hurry as she went to work re-setting the electrode wire back into the socket. Dave, being the cantankerous goat that he was, also drew his nurse’s ire on more than one occasion when he subconsciously removed his oxygen tube and his vitals dipped.

So when an alarm went off Eddie had never heard before, and it wasn’t the usual face that appeared to fix a drip line or electrode sensor, he naturally felt his stomach being torn open with dread.

Several nameless doctors burst into the room and shouted instructions at one another that the young man didn’t understand, but he understood the seriousness.

“Goddamnit! He’s spiking!” a deep voice boomed through the room and when the others answered, Eddie realized that there was a mixture of men and women in the group. He instinctively stood and wanted to help, but, like an angel, Nurse Helen was there to gently guide Ed out of the room with a caring grip.

“He’ll be OK,” she assured him with a soothing tone. “Dr. Briggs is one of the best in the state.”

“But what if he…” Eddie jolted his hand loose and turned toward the room again.

“You can’t do anything about that, Mr. Cross,” she laid a hand on his shoulder. “But you can let the doctors have space to work. It’s the best thing for him right now.”

They had barely made it into the hallway when Eddie’s willpower, fragile from raw emotion and exhaustion, broke.

“I hate this,” he cried out. “I fucking hate it! There has to be something I can do!”

She stepped in front of him and held both of his hands in hers. She looked up and met eyes that already had begun welling with tears. Nurse Helen was practiced in soothing those that ached for their loved ones, and somehow that made Eddie sad as he saw in her eyes she had done this more times than she could remember.

“Right,” he said between jagged breaths.”I have to let them work. But… I need to sit down. Is there somewhere quiet where I can be alone?”

“Of course, Mr. Cross,” she replied and gestured down the hallway toward a sign that indicated a private waiting room. “You can lay down there, I'll bring you a pillow and blanket, hun.”

“I need to be awake in case…” he started, but she interrupted with a gentle yet firm hand.

“No, you need to rest, Mr. Cross. There’s nothing you can do now and he’s in good hands.” Eddie sighed and nodded and started walking down the hallway turning once to look back. Her smile was betrayed by lines around her eyes like a walking path worn into the floor of the forest and shooed him down the hall with a quick flicking gesture of her hands.

Once she had returned he tucked himself under a sterile smelling blanket and generic hospital pillow, and perked up to say something before she left, but Helen was a step ahead of him.

“I’ll come get you immediately if needed, I promise.”

“Ok,” he surrendered as he took a deep, worried, breath.

The heavy door’s latch snapped like a firecracker against the still quiet of the room and Eddie found that it was as difficult to sleep as he thought it was going to be. However, exhaustion remained undefeated, and after tossing and turning he eventually passed out. 

— — —

A couple hard raps yanked Eddie from his nap. Despite it only being a few hours, he felt like he had slept for days. Nurse Helen opened the thick door and stepped into the small room. She knelt down while the groggy young man came to.

“Good news, Dr. Briggs was able to stabilize Mr. Gibson.”

Eddie beamed and watched her face return a warm glow, and the worried lines he had seen before faded as she gave him the outcome he had been hoping for. She looked slightly away though, and her glance betrayed the truth.

“But?” Eddie asked, gulping his heart back down into his chest.

“But… he is unconscious and unlikely to wake up again.”

The wind was knocked out of the young man worse than anything that had happened in or out of the ring.

Her eyes searched Eddie’s and she tread lightly. “Mr. Gibson requested a D.N.R. designation.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that we can treat him and make him comfortable, but when he goes, we are not to resuscitate.” Helen’s voice tried to hug the youth like a mother comforting a child with a skinned knee.

Eddie felt his balance disrupted by short breaths and pangs of anxiety. He swayed backward and grasped at the handrail that ran along the hospital wall.

“I’m sorry, I really am,” the lines were back again. “All you can do now is wait. He is transitioning into the final phase of his journey, but he’s a fighter.”

“That stubborn son of a…” Eddie whispered hoarsely after allowing the news to sink in. He nodded to Nurse Helen and tried to force a weak smile. “Well thanks for being honest with me, and for everything. I think I need to take a walk before I’m ready to go back in the room.”

She acknowledged his trauma with a gentle hand on his own and a caring smile. “Of course, please take your time. Maybe get something to eat. It could be a long night.”

“Ma’am, they’re all long nights with our lifestyle.” 

— — —

As Eddie sat down next to his mentor, the weight of the situation was absolutely deafening and all the noises he had grown so used to hearing faded from his senses. His mentor, his father,  laid before him drawn and emaciated. His hands were so spindly that the young man was surprised they could support an I.V.

He opened his mouth, but what was he supposed to say? Sorry? I wish it wasn’t you? Could Dave even hear him? Someone, maybe it was Nurse Helen, or someone he saw on TV, or maybe it was just a cliché; but something told him that maybe Dave could hear the ones he loved. So Eddie resorted to what he knew Dave would want to talk about if he were awake right now: Wrestling.

“Hey Dave, I guess you heard by now that I’m going to be facing Max at Colossus.”

The machines in the background whirred and popped, but Eddie barely registered them against the pall hanging in the room.

“I don’t know what the hell I’ve gotten myself into but I do know that Max needs me,” he said, confident in his choice. “Not that long ago, you took me in when I was lost. I just feel like I need to pay it forward, even if everyone says I’m crazy and I don’t know anything about this guy.”

Ed chuckled a bit to himself before continuing.

“I guess they know the Internet exists? It seems kinda dumb to think I’m gonna go into this blind. Of course I know all about Max and the risk I’m taking. The Kael lineage didn’t exactly keep a low profile.”

He took a moment to steal a glance out the window. It was a gray overcast day, but hopeful sunstreaks pierced through the cover. Eddie stood up and walked to the window. Below, Charlotte bustled in the temperate winter air.

“Who knows what’s going to happen if I win? Maybe he’ll become some crazy version of himself that I regret releasing? Maybe he’ll know freedom for the first time and choose to do right in the world?”

“All I can say for sure is that he should be the one making the choice. He should be the one making mistakes, learning and growing. If that means I have to put my own neck on the line, then that’s what I’ll do…”

Eddie looked down wistfully and took a deep breath, turning thoughts over in his head.

“I have to tell you, though, it’s gotten a bit out of control, even for all the shit that happens in this business. I feel like between Violent Purple, U.N. Couth, and Max I’m caught in the weirdest game of ‘Fuck, Marry, Kill’ ever.”

He stared out of the window for a moment before turning his attention back to his mentor, walked back to him, and sat down once again. The grim reality of the inevitable passed his guard and broke through his defenses, Eddie felt tears welling in his eyes and a sharp dagger stabbing from within his stomach.

“I just want to help him, Dave. Like you helped...”

He reached over and gently lifted Gibson’s right hand into his own, being careful to avoid the I.V. and oxygen monitor. As he looked at the frail remainder of the man who was nothing short of a superhero in his eyes, Eddie hung his head and after a short time, whimpers and shuddered breaths sounded as the dam broke loose.

“I really thought I would know what to say and do if this happened, but now that it’s here, the only thing I can ask for is that I hope you aren’t in pain anymore,” he stumbled through the sentence with his voice warbling like the call of a blackbird in the reeds. “None of this feels fair. But you taught me that life isn’t fair and that we just have to put one foot in front of the other and deal with it. I just wish dealing with it didn’t suck so much.”

He snuffled.

“Truth is, I don’t know what I’m going to do without you. I’m scared. I’m scared of the morning when I make the coffee and it’s only for me.”

Eddie doted on Dave and fixed the skewed hospital gown about his neck.

“I’m scared of watching match tape alone. Of coming home from my run to an empty house. Not hearing the TV playing a movie in the den after dinner. Of missing your stories about Clay Vendetta and Azala Zameer.”

He pushed out a grating whisper as the words choked him in a hold he did not know the counter to.

“But… mostly, I’m scared I won’t hear your voice ever again and I won’t be able to tell you I love you… and I don’t know how I’m supposed to live with that.”

Eddie fractured under the burden. His throat felt raw and the emotion stabbed at him from deep in his chest. Several minutes passed before he was able to speak again.

The young Samoan wiped away tears and took a deep breath before he leaned in and kissed Dave on the forehead. Short breaths squeezed the words into a broken pitch. He managed a final message.

“You’re my hero, Dave, and I just hope I made you proud.”

He tried to say more, but he just couldn’t.

Sometimes there’s just too much hurt.

So Eddie sat back down in the corner of the room, buried his head into his arms, and sobbed.

Nobody who walked by the room judged him.  

— — —

Eddie woke up on the couch in Dave’s room. It had been converted into a makeshift bed and he had fresh pillows and a clean blanket. Nurse Helen had worked her magic one last time before her shift was over. Unfortunately, the replacement lacked her bedside manner.

“Hello Mr. Cross, can I interest you in a cup of coffee after I check Mr. Gibson’s vitals?” she cheerfully chirped.

“Huh?” the groggy youth replied. “Oh, right, yeah, and can I get some creamer?”

“Of course!” she trilled.

“Hey,” a grizzled gravel quarry of a voice chipped in. “Do I get some too?”

Nurse Not-Helen turned with a cheery grin and just about answered before Eddie leapt to his feet and exclaimed “DAVE!” before hugging his mentor.

“Careful kid,” the veteran rasped. “They’re going to think I’m some sort of decent guy.”

Eddie wiped his eyes and spoke with excitement in his voice. “I thought I’d never get to talk to you again.”

“Give us a minute?” Dave waved a trembling hand, and the nurse nodded.

“I’ll get those coffees,” she chattered like an excited chickadee as she took her leave.

Eddie pulled up a chair, the feet scraping the ground with a high pitched groan. He sat next to Dave and for the first time in what felt like weeks, he had hope.

“Dave, I…”

“I know, you missed me,” he cracked a wry smile. “Well I guess I ain't that easy to kill off. God knows your old man sure tried. Help me sit up a little bit so I can look you in the eye, Ed.”

The young Samoan grabbed a remote control with the wire wrapped around the bed frame. He hit a button and inclined the powered bed. Dave was so gaunt, there was nothing left of him but the will to wake up.

“I need to talk to you for a minute, and for once can you just listen without your new fangled slang and caps and no caps and whatever?”

Eddie bit his upper lip and nodded.

“I heard you talkin’ to me in the darkness. That stuff you said to me about wanting to be like me? Well, I don’t want that. I want you to be better than me.” His voice scoured his throat. “I was a miserable wreck of a man who didn’t believe in anything or anyone for most of my life. I ain’t done but two things and that’s have good times and get into trouble.”

Eddie started to open his mouth, but even in this state, Dave’s Penance Stare was enough to silence him. A fresh set of tears started to roll down Eddie’s cheeks until they rested in the corners of his mouth.

“I uh… well I don’t believe in all the mumbo jumbo about the reaper, but sometimes in my dreams a dark man has been visiting me. I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but I've about had enough.”

This time it was Gibson’s turn to let a lonely tear roll down his cheek.

“So I’m fixin’ to fight that sumbitch next time I see him and one of us ain't comin’ back.” Dave watched Eddie's head drop, and he placed a skeletal hand on the youths head and drew his frail fingers through the Samoan's hair. The strands tickled his nerves and he smiled.

“Don’t cry for me, now. I done everything I was supposed to do in this life and I’m OK. I promise.”

Eddie tried, but he just couldn’t listen to Dave this time. So the old grappler lovingly stroked his hand across the young Samoan’s head to comfort him.

“Hey, did you get night one or night two at Colossus?”

“Night two,” came the tattered reply.

“No shit? Look at you, Ed. Two in a row!”

Eddie raised his head and through all his emotion, wore a faint smile.

“Win or lose, I've always been proud of you. But you go get that W.”

The youth rubbed at raw eyes and nodded.

“I’ll do my best.”

“I know,” the old grappler sniffed and cleared his throat. “Say um… I wanna tell you one more thing then maybe we can watch one of my movies?”

“Ok.”

Dave took as deep a breath as he could, preparing himself. He had practiced his speech dozens of times in the mirror when he first got the diagnosis.

“Ed, I want you to know I lived my whole life with regret over not winning a championship. I thought for a long time that was the only way I was ever gonna feel like I mattered. Like I made it. Instead I got old and I got depressed.”

Dave cleared the frogs wrestling in his throat and continued.

“Then you and your brother showed up. I knew right away Junior was never gonna stick, but you… You were something different. Special.” He paused and grunted as he reached down to take Eddie's hand in his own. “You were better than any championship run.”

The old grappler paused and took a wheezing breath. The dampness in his eyes reflected a dim lamp in the room as he talked.

“I wanted to make sure to tell you that, and tell you I love you, son.”

Eddie’s normally bright green eyes were muted and bloodshot red as he clasped Dave’s hand. He had waited almost his entire life to hear someone say that to him, and it felt just as good as he thought it would.

The youth replied “I love you too, and I always will.”

Eddie allowed the moment to settle appropriately before he winked to lighten the mood. “But don’t you go getting all soft on me now.”

Gibson managed a gruff chuckle. “Shee-it. I reckon I still got enough for one more match if you wanna try some on.”

Ed cracked a smile tinged with sadness.

“How about we watch that movie instead?” Eddie conceded as he got up and grabbed a stack of white and blue plastic cases that said “Property of Blockbuster Video” on them. Dave thumbed through a couple options including Demolition Man and Big Trouble in Little China. He eventually pointed at Tombstone and Eddie turned on the ancient CRT/VHS combo that was in the room.

Gibson smacked his lips. “Where’s that coffee anyhow?”

Almost on cue, nurse Not-Helen came back and gave them both a cup. Dave’s had been watered down and filled with some sort of substance that made it thicker and easier for him to drink without spilling, but he was still happy to share a cup of coffee with his boy.

They watched Dave’s movie, and as Doc Holliday asked Ike Clanton if he wanted to have a spelling contest, Eddie looked over and noticed his mentor had fallen asleep.

Dave never woke up again. He died two days later with his son holding his hand. 

— — —

A brisk winter breeze whipped through the hills that surrounded the Gibson farmstead. Eddie knelt on the shore of the small pond they had skipped stones in so long ago and opened a small container.

He carefully removed the binding on the plastic bag within and peeled it open.

There were no words. Even if he had them, they would have been unable to escape.

Instead Eddie listened to the land, the faint rustle of the dead leaves, a lone fat fox squirrel running along the forest floor, the gentle lapping of the pond on the shore, and he took a deep breath before slowly scooping out a handful of ash and returning the man from North Carolina back to the land he loved.

After Eddie was finished, he slowly walked to the old walnut tree that Papaw and Mamaw had lovingly etched all those years ago and pulled out a pocket knife with the initials “DG” inlaid with mother of pearl on the handle. He took his time, intricately scarring the bark, making sure not to dig too deep and hurt the tree.

He stepped back and swallowed away pangs of sadness. Scrawled in fresh green just above the ancient carvings the tree read:

“Old School” 

Dave Gibson 

Eddie closed the knife with a metallic click and made his way to Dave’s pickup. He hopped inside and slammed the door shut with a rusty yelp . After plenty of protestation, the old beast sputtered to life. He drove away down the old dirt road among a calamity of belt squeals and leaking exhaust gaskets. As the sounds of the inline six cylinder motor faded into the distance, a catfish swirled on the surface of the water, a doe and her yearling fawn stepped into the clearing, and an old bell that hung on the ramshackle cabin Papaw had built rang in the wind.