Real men don't talk about feelings.

[fugginVOSS]

The rain pelted against the Perspex like drum roll. The night was darker than it ought to be thanks to those stormy clouds that come with the rain and the telephone booth was only illuminated by the peripheral glow of the Greyhound bus’ headlights. Its engine hummed as Teddy hunched over himself, drenched from the jog from the diner to the booth. He cursed the fact they had no phone inside.
He rummaged in his pocket, fumbling for a coin in his pocket. Plucked it out and stuff it in the phone and punched in numbers. Pushing the handset to his right ear, he plugged his left ear with his index finger to block out the rain’s cacophony.

It rang.

RING! RING!

And rang.

RING! RING!

Until Teddy thought it was going to ring out until an answering machine kicked in. That’s new, he mused as the message relayed.

“You’ve reached Billy Alexander. I’m not here right now so you can go ahead and leave a message afta’ da beep or somethin’. If you’re one’a dem sons of bitches from da IRS you can go fuc- BEEP!”

Drawing a deep breath, Teddy didn’t know how to start.

“Pops. I left ya tickets at Philly but da ticket booth said ya never come and got ‘em. I thought you’d come. I really...”

He palmed the Perspex, letting it hold his weight as he tried to think of how to express himself. Alexander’s were not renowned for being able to the express their feelings. Real men didn’t do that. And Alexander’s were real men.

“...I just thought you could come see. See me for what I am, y’know? It ain’t much to just COME and watch.”

A sigh pushed through his lips. There was something more he wanted to get off his chest but he just couldn't gather it. Frustrated, he slapped his palm on the Perspex and moved on.

“Love ya, Pops.”

Cradling the phone back in its place, he popped the collar on his woollen jacket right as the bus blasted on its horn. The LED display across the front of the Greyhound read “Tampa, FL”. He sucked in a breath and held it, ready to embrace the onslaught of icy cold rain drops against his face.

He never ran to the bus. He’d read somewhere that running through the rain got you coated in more rain drops than just walking. So he pushed his hands deep in his pockets and turned his face away from the rain’s direction. It didn’t matter much.

It wasn’t like he was feeling anything.

Every time he thought of his father he felt numb anyway.

It didn’t matter. Tampa was calling and he had to think of himself for a change. Just for something different.

 

[fugginVOSS]

Real men still don't talk about feelings.

The rest of Oslo wore thick coats. Teddy wore an NFW Revolution star sweater and a pair of knee-length denim shorts. His high tops weren’t tied and the tongue stuck out like it were dissing the world. He sits on a park bench, watching the rest of Norway go by. He needed some time out. The world he lived in was moving so quickly he could barely come up for air.

Almost twelve months ago he’d made his debut in his hometown of Philadelphia against Bret Kelly and the rest has been history. A history he’d began to forge. A legacy. And now here he was as the 2012 New Frontier Wrestling Rookie of the Year, on the other side of the world, in Oslo, Norway, preparing for a tag team title match the world was holding their breath for.

And he just needed a minute. Just a moment to catch his breath.

He stuffed his hand in his pocket and pulled out his phone, almost out of habit. To see if there was a missed call from someone he’d been waiting on. But there wasn’t. There never was. And he could hold his breath ‘til he was blue in the face but he’d pass out before that call came.

But it didn’t stop him from checking.

No matter how much he told himself that it didn’t matter he’d always check for that one missed call. He didn’t even need to take it. Teddy didn’t care if he missed it.

He just longed for that call.

And until that call came he’d continue to concentrate on himself, what he’d accomplished in spite of himself... in spite of that caller. Because the future waits for no man. And Teddy Alexander planned to take it by the scruff of the neck and shake it until it hung lifelessly in his clutches.

With or without that call.