Post by Deleted on Aug 25, 2018 13:54:46 GMT -5
I've got a crush on you, sweetie pie
All the day and night-time hear me sigh
I never had the least notion that
I could fall with so much emotion
Could you coo, could you care
For a cunning cottage we could share
The world will pardon my mush
'Cause I have got a crush on you
All the day and night-time hear me sigh
I never had the least notion that
I could fall with so much emotion
Could you coo, could you care
For a cunning cottage we could share
The world will pardon my mush
'Cause I have got a crush on you
Frankie Blue Eyes croons my feelings from the Victrola as I stare out the window. She’s chopping wood outside, a waterproof tomato in flannel and work gloves, completely unaware of my stare, completely unaware of everything.
I can’t say I blame her for the absent treatment. It’s hard for people to remember you exist when they can’t even remember your name. I guess it doesn’t help that I shrivel up into milquetoast whenever she comes into the room, but it’s been two months since I came to work for the Trevelyans, and not a single one of them knows who Kemberly Anderson is or that that person is their cleaning lady.
They all just call me “Miss Parlour”.
The money is nice and they don’t seem to notice how often I forget what I’m supposed to be cleaning for all my unseen swooning, so I guess it all works out. But I’m tired of being so balled up, of being so invisible, especially to her, and if she hasn’t noticed the cleaning lady that can’t take her eyes off of her, then I guess she never will.
So I’m leaving.
Not for long, of course, my heart couldn’t take that. But I asked for a few days off so I could visit a sick grandmother in St. Paul, Minnesota. But that was a lie. I’m getting on this train to visit a different old person, a man so notorious that he doesn’t have a last name, just a first:
Ichabod.
There are rumors swirling across all parts of the country about his ruthlessness and unanswered questions about how he obtained the funds that he puts into the Unified Global Wrestling Coalition, but all that matters is that there is no bigger sockdollager in the country than the bee’s knees of sports, UGWC Chill. Everyone that owns a television tunes in whenever Chill is broadcast, and those that don’t listen on a radio.
Luckily for me, the Trevelyans own a television. And I made sure it was very clean before I left, so the picture couldn’t be better.
I know she’ll be watching. She loves watching guys and girls struggle on UGWC Chill. If she never noticed me when I was the same room as her, she’d notice me when I was on her television. She’d see me, she’d know that her “Miss Parlour” was someone special...
Someone worth knowing her name.
There’s just one problem. I don’t have the slightest clue how to wrestle. To be honest, I came up with this plan when I saw how glued to the television that girl was the last time Chill came on. I tried to write down what I saw but it’s all a bit confusing.
For instance, what does the penguin have to do with wrestling? That just really didn’t make sense...
But I don’t know what else to do. I want her to notice me. And if she sees me on Chill, then she will realize that I am someone that, all day every day, she wants to see.
———————-
“Nobody wants to see that”.
A bonafide Airedale, his beard was dark and the fedora on his head somehow had the appearance of misbehavior. This Charlie’s name was Donovan.
”You don’t understand! I NEED to be out there tonight!”
His tone was dismissive. Clearly he had no idea what it was like to love anyone except himself.
“Missy, this is a wrestling show. We take professional wrestlers, people who know how to wrestle, mind you, and have them fight. Do you even know how to wrestle?”
”I...uhh, took some notes from the last show...”
”Well at least the gatecrasher watches the show”
Both Donovan and I turned toward the voice that was emanating from behind me at the entrance to the office.
Ichabod.
The Big Cheese himself, his presence was every bit as intimidating as the rumors contended.
”Do you mind? I’m in the middle of a meeting.”
”Donovan, you may have given yourself the title of ‘Creative Director’, but “Chill” is MY show.”
Donovan’s tone went from that of a man with control and power when talking to me, to a child throwing a tantrum in the face of a parent.
”But this bird doesn’t even know how to wrestle!”
”Neither does the bear you have booked for tonight!”
”But ITS A BEAR!”
”True, but Mr. Barnum demanded his bear back so it actually looks like Sarah Lacklan needs a new opponent.”
Donovan frowned, frustrated by the bunk he was facing but knowing he had no choice. Then he looked at me.
”Fine. You’re in.
”BERRIES!”
Donovan winced at my enthusiasm.
”Tell me, fish, that you at least have something to wear out there.”
Crap. That was something I never thought about.
”...umm, I have...my maid uniform...”
Donovan put his face in his palm. Ichabod, seeming to enjoy his associate having kittens, smiled in his twisted way.
”That will be fine. You got a name?”
The question reminded me of why I was here, and out of nowhere, I was beaming and blurted out the answer so loud that it surprised the two of them.
”KEM! My name is Kem Anderson!”
”...I can’t work with ‘Anderson’. That’s a terrible name.”
”But...that’s my name...”
”Not tonight it isn’t. Tonight...tonight you’re Kem...”
Ichabod looked down at me while lost in thought. It was very intimidating.
”...Dynamo.”
”Dynamo?”
“Yes. Kem Dynamo. Tell the crew. That’s who’s gonna fight Sarah Selena Lacklan tonight. As for you, little bunny, go get that maid outfit on and get a wiggle on. If you don’t wanna embarrass yourself, you’ll need to be on all sixes.”
I nodded, jumped up and left the office. I couldn’t help but be excited, mainly because I had no idea what I was getting into. All I know was that she was gonna watch tonight and she was gonna see me.
And she was going to know my name.
—————-
I wish I never knew the name Sarah Selena Lacklan.
I want more than anything to try and stay positive, to come up with something, ANYTHING, about that miserable, insufferable cunt - THAT’S RIGHT I USED THE C-WORD! - that makes the sport of professional wrestling better for having had her in it.
Yes, she’s talented, that’s proven and indisputable, but does anyone care about her talent in the ring? No! She’s managed to erase any reason to care about her performance in the ring because literally every single human being on Planet fucking Earth watches her matches solely in hopes that she gets beaten by whomever her opponent is so badly that she is never seen from or heard from again.
The only exception to this rule is her wife, Kenzi, and even then, I’m pretty sure that at least half the time she’d be just fine with that outcome, too.
I know I sound antithetical to who I try to be, so in that regard guess what, Sarah, you win. I am NOT going to keep things positive. I am NOT going to treat you with respect. I am NOT going to treat this like a “wrestling” match. I am literally going to spend every second and every breath I have trying to make you permanently incapable of ever communicating with anyone ever again.
The wrestling world would be FAR better off for it.
Tell me I’m wrong, Sarah! Tell me about all the people that support you. The “Fang Gang”. Except I’ve NEVER heard from one of them, never seen one of them, it’s almost like they resemble your “Legion of Interns” and DONT FUCKING EXIST! Just another wall to hide behind because you don’t have the guts to actually stand up to all the STUUUUUUPID SHIT that spills from your lips and fingers! But let’s talk about your OTHER friends, your peers in the wrestling business who have your back. Oh wait, there’s your wife, who makes it clear with constancy how much effort it takes to like you despite the fact that she obviously loves you. And there’s Roxy Cotton, whom you antagonize almost as constantly as me, the girl you decided on a whim was your mortal enemy. And there’s Angie, who is just as much about being friends with everyone as me, but apparently it’s okay for her to do it because she’s so naive that she thinks you actually give a solitary shit about her.
...and...that’s it.
Out of the thousands of people who share your passion for wrestling, I can think of THREE HUMAN BEINGS that would even try to have your back in the entire profession. You don’t see the problem with that? You don’t see how miserable a person has to be to alienate THOUSANDS OF LIKE-MINDED PEOPLE?!?
No of course you don’t. Because all that hate, all that vitriol, all those lives you make worse because you exist in their periphery, none of them matter if you win on Monday night. If you win on Monday night, you will be justified in getting off on making people suffer because they made the mistake of logging onto social media at the same time as the red-eyed albino who has everything a human being needs to be happy, but prefers to spend her entire existence trying to obliterate happiness off the face of the Earth.
This is why it has to be me that wins.
I’m not perfect, not by a long shot. This promo proves it. But GOD DAMNIT I try. I try to be better, not bitter. I try to be positive, not negative. I try to be a reason people smile, rather than a reason people wonder why they bother with the sport of pro wrestling.
Isn’t that better? Isn’t that what should win over needless hateful misery in the end?
Like I said, Sarah, you’re a very talented wrestler. It would take everything I have to defeat you. But that’s what’s coming to Monday night. I am fighting for everyone in attendance who wants to see the white light prevail. I am fighting for everyone in the locker room that is tired of day after day of their lives being ripped to shit because you don’t have a tenth pair of FUCKING Prada shoes and it’s everyone else’s fault.
I am fighting for myself.
I deserve to live in a world where people like Sarah Selena Lacklan receive their comeuppance from people like Kem Dynamo. I deserve to live in a world where words of toxicity and venom are met with a kick to the face that can knock out teeth. I deserve to live in a world where the spineless cowards who try to tear others down end up being the ones who end up on the ground in defeat.
That’s why I fight this Monday Night. There will be no “Chill” about it. There will be blood. There will be pain. There will be punishment. And I deserve to live in a world where the price paid for hate is defeat and the reward for standing up to bullying is victory.
It’s time for the good guys to win the final battle.
It’s time to dance to a different beat.
———-
After it was over, I stayed in the locker room. I had never hurt that much. I was sore and bruised and everything just HURT.
But all I could think about was “I hope she sees it.” I thought it so hard that I started saying it out loud.
“I hope she sees it.”
“I hope she sees it.”
“I hope she sees it”.
“I did”.
I looked up and there she was, standing at the door to the locker room, dolled up in her darbest glad rags, way different than the flannel and work clothes I’m used to seeing her in, and air tight as always.
“You...you came?”
“Of course I did! I knew you were fibbing about having family in Minnesota because you told me before you came up from California, and I saw you out of the corner of my eye taking notes the last time we all watched Chill so I figured out that you were coming.”
I couldn’t help but have my eyes water. I was so sure that I was invisible to her, a canceled stamp she’d never think of mailing. I was so sure that she didn’t know anything about me, not even my name.
“Kem...”
I gasped a little.
“...I thought you were just coming to watch the show, and I was gonna see if you wanted to sit with me. I had no idea you were...”
She ankled up to me, her genuine concern apparent as each step closer brought my battle scars more easily into view.
“...why did you go out there and try to get yourself killed?”
“I wanted you to see it.”
I looked up into her eyes, which I had never had the courage to do before this moment.
“I wanted you to see ME.”
“Kem...I’ve always seen you. Ever since you walked in to our place, I’ve seen you.”
”Why didn’t you say anything?”
My head was swirling. Waves of excitement that the blue serge of my dreams actually really noticed me crashed against shores of wondering what kept her from freeing me from the emotional prison of glass I had put myself inside.
”I’m saying it now.”
And like that, everything was Jake. I felt no pain, no soreness, no anything. I didn’t feel the bench I was sitting on, or the locker room we were standing in, or the building full of people with no idea why that one match with that maid was so important.
There was only me, and there was only her.
And she saw me.
And she knew my name.
