Getting back to our narrative, the subject of Cody Carson was roused by a familiar knocking. Jalie always had a way of sounding impatient, though she made it a point to never be in a hurry. “You’ll miss too much,” she always said, “so remember to walk slow.”
Cody called to her that the door was open, then turned back to the television. He’d been dreading this inevitable visit. His nightmares were reflections of Jalie’s daydreams. Casually, she sat down on the couch beside him with a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of her soul.
“You’re a fucking prick.” She said matter-of-factly. Cody nodded in assent. “You’re a bitch, but I’ve never held that against you.” Jalie returned the nod. “You’ve got a point. Although I don’t recall going through and fucking each one of your friends, promising undying love and then dropping them on a whim. You, sir, are a filthy hypocrite.”
Cody rolled his eyes, letting them rest on the ceiling in a resigned manner. “Yeah, well, you keep hanging around so what the fuck does that say for you?”
“Enough! God damnit, Carson! Enough of your ridiculous self-pity, your pissing and moaning. You’ve had the whole world at your fucking feet and it was never enough for you. You’ve got family who love you, twice you’ve had women who would have died all for the love of you, you’re at the top of your career, and you have a POOL! A pool, man! In general life is great for you if you put in some effort. All you need to do is quit your bitching and stop thinking the grass is greener on the other side because it’s not. It’s California and there’s gonna be dirt no matter which side you choose. Get over it. I love you, you stupid bastard. I love your attitude, your arrogance, I love how you watch Sleepless In Seattle when you think no ones around… I love you as my brother, and that’s never going to change, because I know to appreciate a gift when it’s given to me. I suggest you do the same. Now get me a beer.”
The rant had ended so abruptly, and with such finality, that Cody didn’t even think to object. When he sat back down and handed it to her, he got the feeling that something had changed. Her ranting, of course, was in check and no different from any other time he fucked up. But she seemed introverted, empty in a way he had never seen her. “Did you and Seth fight…?” He questioned, touching on the subject lightly. Things had improved for the two, but it was a slow process. Jalie relieved him of this notion when she shook her head, however. Cody began to mention Carmen but thought better of it for it‘s seeming obviousness. Of course she would be upset about Carmen. Of course, Cody was unaware how trivial this appeared when viewed beside the other trauma of Jalie‘s life. Unlike most, she chose not to revolve herself around her hardships. Instead, she transferred it to alcohol consumption and a blissful ignorance that‘s kept safe what little of her sanity remained.
“I really want that fucking penguin.” Jalie noted in an offhand voice. Cody, used to these oddball revelations merely nodded. “And I would name him Roland. And he would be a Welsh prince. I’m talking to a guy who does black market penguin transfers. He figures he could get me one in a couple weeks time. I just thought I’d let you know I’m gonna require the use of your walk-in closet.”
At this, Cody felt apprehension send a shiver down his spine. Jalie’s hair-brained schemes never boded well for him or his personal possessions. “And, why would you require the use of my closet?”
“I know a guy who knows a guy who knows the same guy who knows my brother’s friend who can hook me up with an ice machine for pretty cheap. Then I’m insulating the walls, doing some painting and reconstruction to turn the closet into a replica of Roland’s natural habitat.” Jalie stated simply. To her, this seemed like the simplest thing in the world. To Cody, it was insanity. But what else had he expected? Nothing short of disaster, to be sure. In fact, her construction plans for his closet seemed rather mild in comparison to some of her other ideas. But the thought of a live penguin in his California apartment didn’t settle too well. A penguin. Who, in their right mind, buys a penguin on a whim?
“It’s not a whim,” Jalie began, correctly interpreting his thoughts. “it’s something I’ve wanted for nearly a year now. I want my goddamn penguin.”
Suddenly, in an event that hadn’t taken place in several years, the smallest tear trickled down Jalie’s cheek. Simultaneously, Cody fell forward off the couch and Jalie let out a scream, touching her hand to her face.
“I’m leaking!” She blurted, frantically wiping her face. Though no more tears escaped, she appeared to be checking for more leakage. “What the fuck is happening?” She demanded, giving Cody a pleading look.
Carson stumbled for the right words and finally shrugged. “Lielee, I think… You’re crying.”
Jalie looked flabbergasted. “What?! I don’t cry. It must be some sort of… Infection or something. Maybe the Styrofoam that got burnt under your mattress… That shit will fuck you up, you know that? Fuck you, and fuck your Styrofoam because I do not fucking cry. I’ll be over in a couple days to get the dimensions of that closet. And dude, for christs sake, split the pocket for some decent fucking beer.”
Jalie handed him back the un-opened bottle. To her, the only decent beer was Corona. Not because it was smoother than anything else, or cheaper or otherwise superior, but because she’d drank it and only it faithfully since she was fourteen. She honoured him with a small pat of the head, then made her way out the door and down to her aged and beaten El Camino.
..dos,
The scene faded in once more to the John F. Kennedy Memorial hospital. Carmen was visible tucked beneath a light layer of white blankets. Beside her sat the beloved doll that Cyprus had left there to watch over her sleeping companion. The television was on, in what Jalie considered a waste of electricity. But Seth insisted that she needed all contact from reality that they could give her. And after their presence, the TV was the best solution. It was displaying a replay of certain Olympic highlights from the women’s figure skating when the door creaked open and Jalie stepped in. She groaned and switched the TV off for the time being.
“If that’s what they keep playing, it’s no wonder you wanna stay asleep.” She said. Jalie sighed and dropped into her favourite chair beside the bed. She let her eyes roam over the flowers, now drying and faded. When Carmen had first been hospitalized people had come from all over the state to give her their wishes and cheap bouquets. But since then, neither Jalie nor her parents have had so much as a phone call. It seemed, no matter what the tragedy, that people were only sympathetic and caring when it was fresh news. Louisiana, for example, still lay ravaged and broken - but no longer televised. Thus the public’s support drops because it’s no longer trendy. Granted, Jalie had never sent any donations even when it was fresh in the news… But for one, she gave regularly to a number of animal based charities and the local humane society. This is mainly because her compassion extends only to animals and close family. And if it came down to it, she’d be more likely to foster six dogs than loan her brother a twenty. Animals can’t speak for themselves, so most people considered them inferior. What they fail to realize is that humans are merely another species of animal; with our own methods of communication, our own habitats and instincts. Or maybe it simply came down to the fact that Jalie is, and always will be, a sarcastic and cynical bitch. Finally in all her musing Jalie allowed her gaze to rest on Carmen, something like to accusation in her eyes.
“I’m tired, Carmen Mariana Dumas. I’m tired of taking care of you… I’m tired of taking care of Carson… I’m tired of taking care of Seth, and Nick, and Jay and Mom and Papi… I’m tired. Why do you get to sleep, when I’m the one who’s tired? I don’t think I’ve ever been jealous of you until the day after you went into the coma. Strange, to envy a woman who was raped… But I do. After all, what’s rape in comparison to this? A lifetime of struggle and hardships, of raising your hopes even though every fibre of your being is screaming in doubt? I don’t think there is one. My life was never meant to be peaceful. That road was always for you to travel. A paved suburban road, while I climb the jagged rocks of a fucking cliff. There are so many things I could do… To you, to myself, but it wouldn’t make any difference. I could end your life and people would pity you and our parents. I could end mine and people would pity you, Jay and our parents. No, I’ve never been suicidal… Just the theory behind it is ridiculous. People do it to end their suffering. What they don’t realize is that we’re supposed to learn these lessons or we’ll just have to start over. That’s why I’m still here. People need me. I’ve always told myself I didn’t need them in return. But sometimes I wonder. Maybe I do. Maybe I need somebody to sit by my bedside… Somebody to tell me it’ll all be alright… That I’m not crazy after all. But that simple comfort was never for me… Even my own husband thinks I’m some sort of amazon, that I don’t feel pain and that nothing he says could actually hurt me. But it does. This rivalry with Cody, his distance, it kills me. But I’m too strong to let it get to me, right? I am in a sense… Goddess knows I’m no delicate flower. But maybe I want a bouquet of fucking flowers… Did anyone ever stop to think, that maybe, just maybe, little Lielee was kind of fucked up? Nah… But she is. And she’s tired.”
Jalie stood, contemplating the glass vase and it’s dead daisies for a moment. In one swift motion she swept the vase off the end table and watched the glass shatter on the floor. She spared her sister one last glance, and dusted her lips across Carmen’s cheek.
So, this is my reward for being on the inactive list. Two bookings in one night. Way to go Williams. Prick.
First up we’ve got the holy mother of mediocrity with the Gauntlet match for the Chaosweight title. A title that, I might remind our viewers, I have never wanted in the first place. I was tossed into a match for it against Rumbler in an act of random booking that our management seems so gifted at. In a rather shocking upset, I defeated Rumbler for the piece of shit title that should have been eliminated ages ago… And thus I have kept it. I don’t even remember if I’ve defended the fucking thing already. Why am I cursed with hauling around the company’s scrap metal? I am the one and only AWA Jobber champion, and that’s all I look for. Even the tag titles are somewhat dispensable, but I’ll get to those later.
Only two people, as of yet, have shown their faces in regards to this Sunday and only one of them is even worth noting… But in all fairness, Trinity was the only one to speak my name so I’m somewhat obligated to speak my mind on this little woman as well. She is, most certainly, a confident little thing. What with her little ordeal of killing some nameless redneck and the worthless blither that followed… She likes to think I won’t even show up. Reasonable, that. I almost didn’t. And wouldn’t have, were it not for the fact that I’m half of the tag team champions. It isn’t in my nature to walk out on my partner, especially considering the fact that I’m using his closet as a penguin habitat.
You, my dear, have potential. It’s there. Obscured, but visible beneath your fragile frame and sadly generic lifestyle. Quit acting like every other ignorant “daddy didn’t love me” come and go nameless girl and maybe… Maybe, you’ll earn some respect in this business. At least you might have had you denied your heritage. Pity.
To be honest, the gauntlet match doesn’t hold my attention, but I am involved… Obligation requires I make an appearance. Therefore that appearance shall be to drop the title. Middle of the ring… I don‘t give a shit anymore.
So, to the tag match, is against Presler and Ryan Singer. What the fuck? It doesn’t say much for our tag division if the only people in it are in Rick and Mike Young’s pathetic little circle. These guys are everywhere. They’re so overpopulated it should be legal to start hunting these little fuckers. How many times must they lose until they come to terms with the fact that they will never be anything more than match fodder for an empty card.
Hell, Chris Presler I’ve already beaten. Twice. What is there left to prove? Not a fucking thing. And as for Singer, well, besides him being a former friend of Rick’s, the guy has about as much talent for his chosen profession as a quadriplegic stripper. Nobody wants to see it, man. Give it up while you still have some shred of fucking dignity.
That's all I have to say. Being lazy, I'm genuinely alright with not having much of a challenge in store for me. Shit, I'm positively relaxed.