closure.
yucca valley, California
9:03 a.m.
It was a strange day in Yucca Valley. Clouds hid the sun from view and a smattering of rain pelted the dirt. It wasn’t particularly cold, but the sky was a dreary shade of grey that seemed in itself to drop the temperature several degrees. Jalie Thomas was standing outside in a white tank top and a pair of black shorts, her hair soaking wet and sticking to her back. She was glaring up at the sky as if it had done her a personal wrong. Next door, Jalie’s sister Carmen opened her door and slipped out. Her footsteps were silenced in the rain as she padded softly across the yard to where Jalie stood.
“Being angry won’t make the sun come back. What the hell are you doing out here anyway?” asked Carmen, her arms wrapped around herself to hold in what little heat she could.
“Thinking.” Jalie replied simply.
“Can you think in the house?”
“Hardly. Jay bought a drum set.” Jalie informed her.
“So what’s captured your thoughts to such an extent?” her sister asked.
Jalie smiled. In truth, her eccentric behavior wasn’t something unexpected by her family. She’d always been an odd one.
“You’re probably wondering why I’m not just in the garage, killing Jay.”
Carmen frowned. She didn’t take kindly to comments like this after the near-death experience Jay had when they were moving in.
“Oh, relax. I’m joking. I don’t know, Carmen. What have you ever felt guilt for?” Jalie asked, eyeing her sister curiously. Carmen seemed a little taken aback by the question.
“I… Well, a few things, I guess. I cut a guy off yesterday when I was going to pick up formula for Alex. I felt bad at first but then he flipped me off so, I figured we were even. Does that count?”
Jalie smiled, turning her attention back to the thundering sky.
“Do you remember when we went to catholic school, and sister Margaret told me ‘one good turn deserves another; and the same is true in reverse. But to live a life of vengeance is the surest path of any to the cursed grip of purgatory.’?”
“I remember that.” Carmen admitted. “But I also remember she was just threatening you because you stole her cigarettes and flushed them.”
“Maybe…” Jalie trailed off.
“Look, Lielee, your life’s moved on. You’re married. You’re going to therapy, you’re dealing with it..”
“The therapy’s not working, Carmen. Or have you not noticed that I’ve been through thirty six psychiatrists since they released me? I’m sick of this shit.”
The two of them stood in silence for a moment as the rain slowly ceased.
“Maybe… It’s best to just let it go. You’ve got so much else going on, Jalie. You know? I know it‘s awful but… In a way it was his own fault, not yours.”
She barely turned an eye in Carmen’s direction before the back of Jalie’s hand connected with her jaw. Carmen staggered back with a hand to her mouth; a cut began to bleed freely from her bottom lip. Jalie turned on her heel and strode back into the house.
&scene.two.
Our scene fades in once more to the Thomas’ home. Inside the sizeable kitchen Jalie was fumbling in a cabinet beside the fridge. After a few moments of increasingly frustrated searching she located what she was looking for - a half filled bottle of Jose Cuervo. Seth walked in and leaned against the counter across from her, watching. Jalie took a shot glass from amidst an assortment of My Little Pony cups and set it in the counter. She made to pour a shot but stopped, instead placing the glass back in the cupboard. She put the bottle to her lips and took a solid pull from it. Seth folded his arms over his chest, half impressed, half exasperated.
“So this is going to be your answer to everything?” he asked.
“Like father like daughter…” Jalie grinned.
She felt the heat spreading to her fingertips and felt revived. Drinking was a sure escape from the realities that nagged at her sub-conscious. She felt considerably calmer already.
“You’re incredibly difficult to live with.” Seth stated, with a trace of a smirk.
Jalie grinned and winked at him. “Course I am, love. But you know damn well a domestic little blonde could never fuck you like I can. Measure the benefits. You know why you’re still with me.”
She moved to the front door and threw it open. Stepping outside, she noticed that the past few days rainfall hadn’t had much of an effect on the landscape. Everything was dry again… The sun blazed from it’s mid-point in the blue desert sky. Cody Carson was leaving his house next door just as she stepped out. His eyes narrowed when he spotted her. Jalie smiled slightly and braced for the impact.
“Dude! Did you fucking hit my fiancée?” he demanded upon reaching her.
Jalie chuckled. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, monkey.”
“What the fuck? You actually expect me to just let this go?” Carson demanded.
“Yes. I do. She deserved it. I think she knows that.” Jalie said, sparing a glance to the front window of Carson’s home. She just caught a glimpse of Carmen peering past the curtains before they quickly slid back into place. Cody looked like he’d quite like to hit her. Jalie took another swig from the bottle she was still carrying around. Looking sideways at Cody she offered it to him. He ignored her.
“Don’t get your panties in a twist, cupcake. I love you but that doesn’t mean I won’t bitchslap you, too.”
Jalie continued to stare upward, taking in the sun’s warmth and relishing the foggy cloud that the tequila was developing in her head. Carson bit his lip; he seemed to be fighting with himself as to whether or not to test Jalie’s claim. She still scared the living hell out of him. He changed tactics.
“Why are you drinking? I mean, heavily.. More than usual.”
“Well, the theory is, if I’m drunk I’ll be calm. Keep myself leveled. In control.”
“So you’re drinking.. To keep control?” Carson asked.
“Don’t be a smart-ass. It’s extremely unattractive.”
Jalie took another swallow of tequila and turned back to the house. Cody followed her as she made her way inside and to the back bedroom. She started to pull her top off and Cody turned around, staring at the wall across from him. A moment later Jalie pushed past him, fully dressed in a pair of skin-tight jeans and a form fitting but ragged low-cut Seth Thomas ‘Satisfaction in Action’ t-shirt. Jalie marched into the kitchen and set the bottle of liquor on the counter before rummaging in the fridge. She pulled out a can of Pepsi and dumped it into the sink, then proceeded to fill it with the amber alcohol. Turning around, she found Carson gaping at her.
“You need meetings, Jalie.”
“Meetings are for alcoholics, darling. This is recreation.”
She strode past him and took her keys from the hanger beside the front door. Cody followed her out and hopped in the passengers side of her El Camino just as she was starting the engine. It took a couple of tries but finally turned over. Jalie patted the dashboard lovingly as the car rumbled to life. She turned to look at Carson and laughed, shaking her head. She pulled out of the driveway and after a few moments of silence, she turned to look at him.
“You and I should probably talk, anyway.” She began, turning onto the high-way and past a small burger joint.
“Yeah. Like about why you smacked your sister.” Cody suggested. Jalie ignored his comment.
“You need to get your head out of your ass. Some of the claims you’re making… They’re ridiculous. You’re not the best the RWA has to offer. And quit blaming shit on your fucking neck injury because it’s getting old. I never thought I’d live to see you pussy out of jumping off something.”
Cody bit his lip, turning to look out the window as he muttered something along the lines of ‘wouldn’t understand…’ The two of them drove on in silence. Jalie slowed the car to a stop, parking it outside a line of houses in a small barrio. On the other side of the chain link fence fronting the house was a red-nosed pit bull, looking anything but intimidating as he made frantic attempts to lick Cody’s hand. Jalie pushed past the gate and Carson followed her across the dirt front lawn to the front porch. Jalie banged on the screen and after a moments yelling from the inside, a portly Mexican woman of about forty opened the door. On her hip was a young boy; looking dazed and sucking on his finger. The woman broke into a smile and let them inside. The house was small - or at least it seemed so with the amount of people in it. Four men surrounded the living room, watching lucha libre and arguing over a recent win by El Apache. Each of them waved to Jalie and then shooshed her out of the way of the television. She sat down in an olive green 70’s style chair beside a fold-out card table in the kitchen. The woman set the little boy down and straightened up, looking across the kitchen to the oldest man on the couch.
“Mira! Jorge you even say hello to your daughter?” She demanded.
“I say hello, woman!” He replied, waving her off casually.
Cody stood beside the table looking awkward. Jalie eyed him curiously.
“I’ve never seen so many Mexicans in one place before…” He whispered.
“Yeah? Try going to Home Depot.” Jalie muttered.
A moment later Jalie’s mother set a glass of horchata and a plate of cinnamon cookies in front of her, insisting she looked thin. Cody reached for a cookie but Jalie’s mother slapped his hand away. She looked inquiringly at Jalie, nodding at Carson.
“Oh,” Jalie began thickly, having already stuffed a cookie into her mouth, “Ish’is Cody, mama. Carmen’s man, you ‘memmer?”
Her mother nodded and flashed Cody a smile, which calmed him considerably. Jalie got up and walked over to where her father was sitting; quick as a flash, Cody dropped into her empty chair and helped himself to her food. Jalie signaled for her father to follow her - he pointed to the tv. Jalie frowned and took on an expression of ultimate puppy-dog eyes. Defeated, he stood and followed her out onto the front porch.
“This had better be important, meha.” he stated.
“I need to find someone, papa. I’ve tried to let this go but…”
“I understand. You need some closure.” Jorge said wisely. Jalie nodded. “Are you sure you want to go through with this, little? You understand what you’re asking?” he questioned, raising one bushy eyebrow at her.
“I know. I’m sure.” said Jalie.
Her voice was resolute and firm, a trait which her father was quite proud of. He let out a deep sigh which Jalie took as a concession.
“Alright. I’ll call your uncle in San Bernardino and have him get the word out. Just don’t expect any overnight results, yeah? ‘is gonna be a while. Now come on… We got La Parka in the main event.” said Jorge, opening the screen door and ushering her inside.
&discuss.
So much can be said for respect. For acknowledgement and genuine thought. And yet it’s a rarity that can become truly depressing for some. The fact is, that in today’s culture we must learn to lower our expectations. No matter how much respect we have, this in no way assures that the feeling will be reciprocated. Twisting words and assumptions will no doubt be one of the attributing factors to the downfall of modern civilizations. I genuinely believe this. The same is true, in the business of professional wrestling. Case in point, Seth Dryden.
For all your pompous views and confidence you are not wise, see? There comes a time in everyone’s life where you must learn to make some concessions in favor of the truth. For instance, I never belittled your career, or made claims against it. I’m not one to lie in order to boost my own image or to impress fools. Arrogant? Yes. You are arrogant. Because it is a fact of life that no matter your history, no matter your abilities or your reputation, it can still be lost. Confidence is understandable. Arrogance is another thing entirely.
One thing I can’t quite understand.. Is why you insist on bringing up my brother in law. He and I are close, yes. But he can handle his own shit. I don’t know how many times I have to reiterate this point. If you’re so determined to talk shit about him, why not save it for a time when it’s actually relevant? Am I supposed to take offense to quips about him? Does it make a difference? God damnit man.
Your world, your words, your views… Everything is based upon that innate love you have for yourself. The arrogance. I don’t underestimate you. I never intended to, and you should know that, since you seem to be so intuitive in other senses. I’m not new to this shit. You act as if I made allegations against your record, or your ability. You could not be further from the truth. You are what this business likes to call ‘main event material’. And that’s fine. It works for you. I’ve never put myself on that pedestal - never strived to reach that level. Because you and I are in this for entirely different reasons. You’ve built your own kind of reputation. You’ve won gold, main evented and fed that spectacular ego of yours. Me? I’m here to satisfy that need to just toss a bitch and fuckin’ rage for a while. I’m the one that management books where they want bloodshed. When no one else steps up, I’m there. I’ll flat-out admit it.. I suck at wrestling. I’m terrible. But I can jump off shit. And I can sure as hell swing a crowbar. Maybe it balances me out.. Maybe it doesn’t. I’m not so blind as to say I’m the best in the company. Nor should anyone, considering how quickly our ranks can fluctuate. Especially for the Universal champion… There is always someone lurking just beneath them, poised to strike and forge a new reign of their own. It’s a dangerous life. You know that all too well.
There is always the chance that my voice matters very little. When I speak, it filters away; lost in the sea of upstarts and egos that floods us. I believe that. A matter of choice, maybe. Some of us aren’t pulled to the limelight like others. But that’s a good thing, because we aren’t all built for it, understand? I was never in this for the fame, or signing autographs. Fans piss me off. Most people bow to them because they buy the tickets… But let’s be honest, they’d buy the tickets anyway because they have nothing better to fucking do. Popularity isn’t something I strive for. Somehow, people are just drawn to me. You know what that’s like. You’ve developed quite the entourage yourself. But fan appreciation, obsession, or infatuation isn’t going to sway me one way or another. What the fuck do I care if people listen to me? If people hung on my every word or thought they’d be trapped in a permanent mind-fuck.
Part of your issue, Dryden, is not that you underestimate any opponent. You’re right on that. But you have a tendency to compare everyone to yourself. In matters of wrestling skill, passion, accomplishments and records. Granted, my record isn’t perfect. You live and you learn. But that’s not to say it’s a bad one. I’ve only had seven losses in my entire career - not perfect, no, but it’s good enough for me. But I never claimed a perfect record. I never said I was the best. In all your comparisons you lose track of that x factor. Not everyone is judged on the same basis as you are. We can be dangerous in our own right - even if we don’t spend our time making claims and predictions.
I am all about chance. The risk factor. Unpredictability, the unknown. I walk out there without any expectations, just knowing that I’m going to put my heart and soul into fucking up the first person I see. That is my business. All your awards, accomplishments… They don’t mean shit to me. I know who you are. I respect what you’ve done. But each match is a new start. Going up against you may seem a formidable obstacle to some. But like it or not, you are just another opponent. It’s rather like you said… You’re going to get the same Jalie, title match or not. No matter who you are. You might think I haven’t got a chance in hell, but you’re contradicting yourself Mr. Do Not Underestimate. Get a fucking clue… Get over yourself.
Champion or not, Dryden, I am going to make you bleed. I might win, I might not. But either way… I’m gonna get what I came for.
.