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humanintereststory · 6 years

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7: Make Good TV

After that torrent of raw emotion, John closed inward. He never wanted to say any of that and he couldn’t imagine that he would have said it to someone who at most was an acquaintance. Despite that, she still persisted and not in a way that would be considered a nuisance but instead a gentle prodding to the next necessary step. Fortunately for Mike, John had kept a slip of paper with his boss’ business number in his wallet. The remnants of his cell phone were now swept away by the cleaning crew and in the near future were scattered about in a nearby landfill. John had insisted to Michael Saint that he needed to speak with Mike as it was integral that she join him as his, and he knew that he was being self-depreciating but it was also possibly what management wanted to hear, his handler. From there, Mike had, within thirty minutes, a private meeting with the general manager and walked out with provisional terms for a contract of employment. Once John had started to leave again so he could slip away into the night - perhaps satisfied that he did his good deed for the day, Mike stopped him once again. Her employee, a young college student, had bailed as he had class in less than seven hours so it was just Mike McGuire now. His conscious thoughts told him to pull away and to go back into seclusion - it was always how it had been so why stop now? But something else, unbeknownst to him, prevailed and he turned to face her. “‘Ay, are you stayin’ anyplace tonight? Got a hotel room or somethin’?” The answer was no. John had abandoned his apartment lease over a month ago now and now technically had no place of residence or any real intention to stay in any more hotel rooms. “I’m just going to hit the road. I usually sleep on the way there. Not really sure yet.” “Well, if you wanted, you could crash at my place. Ain’t the Ritz, but I got a spare room and it beats sleepin’ in your car.” John’s eyes widened as if he had been found out. She pointed at the piled up blanket in the back seat of the car and from there asked if he was really living anywhere. He shook his head. At that point she insisted. One night turned in two nights. Two into a week. That week had become a crash course in the mundane realities of life. John had taken the basic functions for granted and was finding that he was slipping further and further in an attempt to replicate what he had before. John had decided to let go and let Mike light the way. Suddenly he had a bank account. He had a new cellphone with the proviso that this one shouldn’t be broken into a million pieces. He had plane tickets to future destinations because Mike had emphatically stated that his vehicle wouldn’t survive much more criss-crossing of this great nation. Some astute observers could draw the parallel of John waiting for that slot in his steel door to open three times a day but Mike always insisted that he was going to do it next time because she’s not his goddamn Mother. But it wasn’t just that because John concluded that Mike just wanted to talk to someone and she tried repeatedly to strike up conversations. The first couple of nights, John had been regaled of tales of her past. Sometimes it was about business but John didn’t want to talk about himself much so he just listened intently. It was like listening to a good book. Most of the time, though, John kept to himself by reading the book he had lifted at the motel. John, much to Mike’s excitement, had been successful in his last few contests. He had some momentum, she said, and people were starting to take notice. He had recoiled from that. People taking notice meant attracting unwanted attention. It was hard for him to explain. The ring was a sanctuary and despite the viewing audience, it was really just between him and the opposition. The cruelty and negativity were no longer part of the equation - it was now a battle of wits and strength. Two or more opposing forces moving against each other in a violent but beautiful struggle. It was Tuesday afternoon and last night, John had earned a defining victory over a former television champion. Mike, out of nowhere, said it’s time and beckoned him to join her in the backyard. It was time to get in ring shape, she proclaimed. They separated briefly to change into workout gear. John stepped through the open sliding glass door into a yard surrounded by a ten foot tall wooden fence. In the middle of the yard was a ring. It was in a state of disrepair. The ropes looked loose and frayed and some parts were wrapped in duct tape. The turnbuckles were mismatched in color and shape. The canvas was soiled and the branches of a maple tree hung over the ring casting its shadow and depositing leaves and twigs throughout. John couldn’t help to think about that place he’d visit when he started to see red. That ring was his garden. It was where he would grow. “I like it,” John said with complete sincerity. “Aw, it ain’t nothin’ special. Got the thing for a song on Craigslist. It’s fourth-hand. Maybe fifth. Fuck, thing might even be eighth-hand, but it’s a damn ring and that’s what’s important.” “Craig seems to have a lot of things you’ve acquired.” “It’s a website. Kinda like a giant garage sale, aw, never mind, that ain’t important right now,” she slid into the ring and hopped up to sit on a turnbuckle, “I’m supposed t’ debut on May 11th. Still can’t thank you enough for gettin’ my foot in the door.” John walked tentatively around the ring, his fingers tracing along the stained apron, “Gives you plenty of time to prepare, I suppose. As for the introduction, I believe this last week has more than made up for one phone call.” “You can stay as long as you want, y’know. I’ve kinda liked having someone to talk to b’sides Mr. Met,”chuckling, she leaned forward a bit, somewhat like a perched phoenix, “Y’know, Church, I’ve been thinking. That was smart, what you said to get Saint’s attention, but I don’t think you could use a handler. Without gettin’ into it, I think you’ve had enough of that. My opinion, what you could probably use better,” she gave that same impish grin he’d seen on her face plenty by now, “is a partner.” John pulled at the bottom rope and it had too much give, “Mike,” he cleared his throat nervously, “I’ve been alone for a long time now but we just met. I mean not just met but in the grand scheme of time and all…” She giggled and then caught her hands on the ropes so she didn’t fall off backwards, “Church, hon, you don’t gotta worry about that. You’re a swell guy but you ain’t my type. Got the wrong, assets, if you get my drift. Naw, dude, I’m talking about being my tag partner.” John wasn’t really catching any drifts at this point, “I’m not sure what is my type, am I my type?” he looked up to her, “I’ve never had a tag partner,” there was a long pause as John paced back and forth in front of the ring, he mumbled to himself, seemingly assessing a complicated algorithm but then suddenly he stated, “Okay. We’re a team now.” “Fuckin’ A!” she gave a bit of a whoop and jumped from the turnbuckle to the mat. The ring shook in a slightly concerning manner, “Trust me. This is gonna be awesome,” she then scratched the back of her head, wearing the sheepish look of someone who may have done something she shouldn’t have, “cuz when I said ‘my debut’ I maaaaay have kinda meant our debut.” John looked at her blankly, which was the default expression seemingly and Mike braced herself for an objection, “Okay. Fine with me.” She let out a relieved ‘phew!’ and shrugged her shoulders a bit, “Sorry for jumping the gun. I kinda got excited and I probably shoulda asked you first.” “It’s okay,” and in what some would consider emotionless, “I’m excited, too. I can barely contain myself.” “You being sarcastic, man? I mean, seriously, you ain’t mad at me, are you?” “I’m not. I’m just not in the way of … I don’t know, I just,” he stumbled over his words, “I’m just not good with showing what I mean. Last person who talked me on the regular just told me the same thing every night.” “Oh, ok. Fair enough. Mind if I ask about that?” John rolled into the ring and sat in the middle with his legs crossed. He stared up through the branches of the maple tree into the sky. “John, you and me have a lot in common, you know that right? Let me tell you why. You should have seen it. You would have been proud. They didn’t recognize her face after what I did. They said I done it twenty seven times, Johnny, but all I know is that hammer was so caked in the essence of her that it excited me. I got all in them guts that night and she was still warm, you believe that shit? It excites me just talking about it. Makes me feel good inside. I’m touching myself right now, how do you like that, boy? How’s it make you feel? I feel like this vent is a one-way but I know you likes it, Johnny. You and me is kindred spirits. She did me wrong, too, and I made her pay just like you made her pay. Oh, Johnny, I’m so close, why don’t you talk to me, help me finish and whisper sweet nothings into my ear.” John sighed, “I never helped him for fifteen years and then one day he was gone. Every night, he’d say that. And then it was his time. I kind of missed him because no one talked to me much anyway. So I hope you understand that I’m listening and I hear what you say but there just isn’t much to say right now. I like being in this ring right now. I love this sport. And so I think he was wrong in the terms of commonality. You and me share the same passion so I hope that is enough for now. I hope what I shared provides some context to that I mean what I mean and I’m all for this arrangement.” Her expression was odd, somewhere between sympathy (meant for him) and disgust (directed at the other guy), as if she could understand the need for staving off isolation but was no less grossed out by what that other, now dead fucker had subjected her new friend to on the nightly. Mike sighed a bit and shifted her face to something more neutral and finally she nodded in acknowledgment. At least he’d shared something. Progress. Baby steps. And if he said he meant what he said, she’d believe him,   “Alright. I read you. Anywho, I got a mini gym setup in the garage too. Nothing fancy. Some bags, weights, stuff like that. Mi casa es su casa, mi, fuckin’ train wreck of a training setup es su fuckin’ train wreck of a training setup. Which reminds me, you still got a single coming up. That Malice fucker, if I remember right. You got any idea what you’re gonna say?” “I don’t know. I’m not sure what to say right now. I really don’t want to talk to that guy anymore,”John meant Ace Heart - the lead interview man, “he doesn’t act like the way he does to anyone but me. He keeps asking questions he could answer himself.” “Hm. I don’t like the mustached fucker much either, but just to play devil’s advocate for a sec, maybe he’s frustrated that he’s not gettin’ nothin’ out of you. He’s nice to everybody else cuz they give him what he wants easy, but you’re not like everybody else. Which ain’t a bad thing but is driving him fuckin’ nuts,” she tapped her chin, and fiddled with the brim of her cap, “Got an idea. You don’t wanna deal with him, and I don’t want you dealing with fucking internet trolls. So, why don’t you talk to me instead? I got a phone with decent video. We could do a couple practice runs an’ then give ‘em the real goods. How’s that sound?” “Okay.” Mike directed him to stand in the middle of the ring. She stood on the apron with phone in hand and framed the video so one could see him from the waist up. She pinched in and out on the touch screen before she was satisfied with the shot. “Okay, tell me what you think about your opponent for Friday Night Rampage, Malice?” John looked directly into the camera lenses, “He seems nice.” She turned off the camera, her attempted veneer of professionalism falling by the wayside for the moment, “He’s not fuckin’ nice at all! He’s an asshole! And kind of a weirdo. I mean, I ain't no kinkshamer but I was waitin' for him and his chick to start suckin' on each other's toes or someshit. Eugh. ” “How do you know that? We never met them.” “Do you pay attention to other people’s video spots? He’s always going on about violence and suffering and shit. Not nice.” “I mean, yeah, but, okay, well, he’s not nice. I concede to that point.” She sighed once more, “Okay. Let’s try this again,” she pressed the button on the camera and started recording, repeating her previous question. “Malice …” She leaned forward a bit, a small look of anticipation on her face. “Did you know that an average person’s yearly fast food intake will contain 12 public hairs? I found that interesting.” “No, no!” she cut the camera off again, “Okay. I want you to please give me something fucking… real. Like, REAL real. Not random facts. Not goddamn touting of how nice your opponent is. Something real. You gave me something real in the parking lot. It was raw and uncomfortable but it was fucking REAL and that’s what I want. That’s what people’re wanting out of you. Fuck, it might even be cathartic. Can you do that, Church? Can you give me that?” John simply nodded. “Alright. Third time’s the fuckin’ charm. One, Two… MAKE GOOD TV,”   she flicked the camera on again. She followed him with the shot as he paced in what she was getting used to as thinking time for the big man. Nearly half a minute past and Mike was about to switch off the camera and call it a day when John finally spoke up. “I’ve been here for just over a month now. I’ve won some and I lost some if you happen to be keeping track. I’m not going away. I thought about it. It would be easy to succumb to what some expect of me. I’ve been thinking a lot about that, too.” John stopped the pacing and then raised a balled fist in front of him. He then raised up his index finger, “Thomas, I heard you loud and clear and maybe if I were inclined to care, I would be devastated that your client got one over me. In hindsight, your sermon on who I am and just what effect your inflammatory statements would have on me were just a little flat. Maybe it had the opposite intended outcome because you don’t know one thing about me other then what you read. But what do I know? I’m not a mind reader.” Two. “Warrior. I have no doubt on what you may not fear. You blustered and puffed out your chest and you emphatically stated what you are. I am a professional wrestler and you are a fighter. You remember who you are and you remember back to that night on what being a fighter did for you.” Three. “Former champion. You made ultimatums. You questioned my dedication to this sport. You underestimated me. And so you have been weighed on the scales and have been found wanting.” Four, however at this point, he closed his hand. Mike zoomed in the camera closer on John’s face. “That, I guess, brings us to the present. The intention to cause pain and suffering; to do evil; ill will. That is pretty accurate. You and me stand at the opposite ends of the spectrum. However, you do not stand before me for judgment. I will not don the white hat that evening. I do however want you to understand that I do not share your willingness to do harm unto others. This is a sport and with your intentions you are a man out of time. You are a ruthless mercenary and you’ll do anything to survive the day.” He snapped his fingers. “Wake up from that day dream. The darkness that permeates every fiber of your being does not make me falter. I got biblical a little earlier and so maybe I hope you can understand this,” he cleared his throat, “Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance. I think someone like you believes in that whether you want to admit it or not. The wounds you accumulate and bestow are what you perhaps consider a character building experience. I’ve been stuck on it, too. The thing is, and believe me, I’m not entirely sold on the idea of a higher power but your idea of suffering is pointless. There is no reason to suffer if not for faith. Maybe not faith in a traditional sense but you know the idea of believing that there is a core set of values that tell you to love one another. That suffering eventually means something. I know what you bring and it amounts to nothing. So bring that value to a ring very much like this one.” He pointed down towards the canvas. “And get that if you go outside of the constraints of the rules, you will eventually lose and your suffering will be for nought. Glory is your God and you have repeatedly disappointed Him. Don’t take my unwillingness to live up to the moniker of this company as not being cut out for it. And on the flip side, don’t take as it a declaration of superiority. It’s just who I am. What I am capable of doing with my hands may be more than enough to sate just what defines you.” John looked past the camera and at Mike. She got the unvoiced cue and turned off the feed. “Something like that?” “Oh my fucking god, YES! Awesome! I’m gonna send that in as is, it’s absolutely perfect,” she grinned from ear to ear, obviously impressed, “Can you do that all the time?” “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t like the idea of just being awful to each other. I just wanted to let them know how I felt. Is that what they want?” “Well… it doesn’t matter what they want, exactly. I’m not asking you to be awful. Just honest.”  John stared at her blankly and then just slightly his mouth curved into a semblance of a smirk. “I can do that, partner.”

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omgnsfwisnsfw-blog · 5 years

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7: Make Good TV

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