Post by Lissie Hope ♥ on May 16, 2021 18:15:50 GMT -5
“I’ve given you everything.” Ash Blake was genuinely shocked by my outburst. I was feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable and ignorant, unable to discern the experiences Mae Ashby had endured. Their answers weren’t sufficient. They weren’t making it easy to trust them completely, as I had before. “Lissie. I want to show you something." |
ONE MONTH AGO
Nashville, Tennessee
“I gave my word not just to my family but to y’all – I am retiring after a last match at Evolution IV.”
Howard Black
Howard Black
I knew it was coming, but that announcement of finality still weighed heavy on my heart. We had grown closer over the last few months, and had discussions of how we couldn’t leave any stone unturned. He had been my rock, my inspiration, but our roads wouldn’t ever converge. They couldn’t - he needed to end his journey, and I needed to begin mine.
That’s what our match at TimeBomb was all about.
It wasn’t about his resistance towards joining my side in Philidor Holdings. I wanted him to, and in some ways, I needed him to. It wasn’t about a beatdown he had to endure at our hands for his rejection, and it wasn’t about me proving my loyalty to Philidor for pinning him to the mat in front of that crowd in the desert. I wasn’t some jilted ex-lover with some jaded desire of retribution. That’s how it might appear on the surface, for those who aren’t privy to the relationship Howard and I shared, and who don’t understand the role I play within the Philidor family. I needed to do this for me.
And I prayed that Howard understood that.
I loved Howard, though I never expressed it. I probably never will. But what I do owe Howard is an apology.
I sought him out after his retirement announcement. I lurked in the halls of the Bourbon Arena, hoping to catch a glimpse of him before he drove back to Lincoln. Philidor didn’t know this, and they probably wouldn’t have supported this. But it was something I needed to do for me. And this is what everything has ever been about - this is the closure I’ve always needed - these are the steps I’ve always needed to take in order to make my full recovery.
But he was gone.
I watched him drive away.
I never got the chance to say goodbye.
The next day.
“I can’t go to Florida.”My throat choked, and my heart began to beat on the sides of my ribcage. A ferocious vibrato, an intensity that paralyzed me and sent my brain into a tailspin. For one reason or another, I’d blocked out the Action Wrestling travel itinerary. I knew these two dates in Florida were on the agenda. I chose to squeeze the blinders.
“Everything’s going to be okay! We’ll be there by your side, every step of the way.”
Mae Ashby had promised me her support. And she had no reservations of speaking for her boyfriend, Johnny Bacchus, either. From what I understood, Johnny was forever a Lissie-Addy-Swallowing fan, so part of my hesitance to accept their relationship was some doubt to his true intention. Was this his cunning, conniving way to get closer to me? Or did he truly have Mae’s best interest at heart? This was something I struggled with.
One thing was for certain.
Mae Ashby had mine.
“I really appreciate you, Mae. But I’m going to sit this one out. I just can’t go back there. Not yet.”
The wounds were still fresh. I still wake at night to the sounds of the sirens taking me to Mercy Hospital in Miami. The panicked footsteps as they raced towards me, sinking their heavy hands into my chest, pinning needles into my veins. I can still see the reflection of a champion’s ghost in their glassy eyes. I wasn’t strong enough to go back. I hadn’t forgiven myself enough to go back. I wasn’t ready.
“I want you to go. Have fun with Johnny. I’ll be fine.”
“Where are you going to go?”
FaceTime with Nate Burleson May 12th, 2021 It’s been awhile since we’ve talked, Lissie. And things have certainly changed… You’re not disappointed in me, too, are you? I’m just confused, is all. I’m happy that you haven’t missed a beat in the ring. You’re still just as good, and in some ways even better, than we all remember. But certainly, you can understand why some people are devastated by your decisions lately. What ‘decisions’, Nate? My ‘decision’ to take ownership of my life and repair everything I’d broken? That’s one way to look at it. And what’s the other? Lissie… are you proud of the things you’ve done? |
I drove Mae to the Nashville International Airport as she departed towards Fort Pierce, Florida to spend the week with Johnny. She told me she’d stay with me, not wanting me to be alone, but I knew that she wanted desperately to make that trip. I couldn’t stand in her way. I couldn’t give her a reason to put her own life on hold for mine - that wouldn’t be fair. But I had to mitigate her concerns, placate her earnest devotion, allow her to be the fun, spunky 20-year-old in puppy love that she deserved to be.
I’ve been in love before, but never like that.
I always had way too much shit going on.
So when she departed, I was left alone in Nashville - a cold, lonely motel room; the stench of cigarette smoke embedded in the curtains; the stained walls, the noisy air-conditioner, the creaky full-sized bed where every spring pierced your back. But when I opened the door and stood against the frigid, metal banister, I could hear the sounds of a jukebox from the tavern across the street.
Why not?
People didn’t trust that I could take accountability for myself. That I could be left to my own de(vices) but still have the courage and the strength to live up to my sobriety. I had promised things to myself, things I’d never promised to anyone else over the course of my life. I had fallen into the gutter and was finally making my way back. But I needed to prove to myself that I could do it, too. I wasn’t always going to have someone holding my hand.
I walked up to the doorway and pulled out my driver’s license. I could smell the cigarette smoke, the sounds of cueballs crashing, the warmth of the stage lights, and the sounds of the jukebox playing old outlaw music.
Resident bar-dwellers turned their heads in my direction as I stepped in.
I was fresh meat.
Used to spend my nights out in a barroom
Liquor was the only love I’d known...
Immediately, I became unglued. My knees weakened, my heart raced. I could feel the burn in my cheeks, almost instantaneously. I saw a man flick his neighboring stool out to offer me a seat, an inviting glass with a sepia-tinted liquid swirling in his fingers. The bartender glowed under the lights, a seductive kaleidoscope of liquor bottles luring me in.
I couldn’t be there.
I got in my car, and I drove.
But you rescued me from reachin’ for the bottom
And brought me back, from bein’ too far gone
I couldn’t be there.
I got in my car, and I drove.
Howard Black placed his trust in you, and you fed him to the Philidor wolves. That’s the abridged version, Nate. So what are we missing? That’s what we saw, Lissie. You got close to him, you invited him, and he said no. Correct. And like a pack of animals, they pounced. They beat the holy hell out of Howie and softened him up… for you! You were to put him out to pasture. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not that night. But at TimeBomb, that was your mission, right? I understand that you didn’t have it in you to join in that gang-attack. It probably brought back some painful memories that are still burned in the back of your mind-- Don’t bring him into this. --and you couldn’t do it. It would be a dishonor to the memory of your brother if you were to participate in that kind of slaughter. I’m glad that you didn’t, Lissie. Stop. But that wasn’t enough. You are the company you keep, Lissie. Whatever this Philidor entity is, whatever control they have over Action Wrestling, and whoever gets crushed in the process - even if you don’t engage, you are still a part of it. Why are you assuming I don’t want to be? I still see you in there. Under this hardened shell, this facade your putting up, this false sense of protection you’re hiding behind. I still see Lissie Hope. She was buried in the fucking ground, Nate. But-- And Philidor Holdings unearthed her. |
An eleven hour drive under the crescent moon and the twinkle of the stars. Watching the sun rise over the horizon, lighting up the spacious corn fields and crystal lakes of middle America. Horses grazing in the distance, their manes twisting with the wind. Driving past the slaughterhouses and the gun stores and the megachurches and the outlet malls, feeling like my destination was just over that oncoming bridge, just around the bend of that farm road.
But it never came.
I knew where I was going.
But that was never my destination.
I slowly crept down his street, the picket fences of his neighbors surrounding these beautiful homes; kids swinging on rusty swingsets or playing basketball in the driveway; brick walls that kept their family secrets hidden.
Every family, even the perfect couple with the perfect children; each has their own secrets. They give off a favorable impression but if you stand close enough, if you look hard enough, you can see the brush strokes and the imperfections in the picture-perfect painting.
I arrived at his home.
I knew he was in there.
But he wasn’t alone.
The curtains spread open and I saw the silhouette of a little boy, standing in front of his regal mother. I turned the key in the ignition and pressed the gas pedal, because I couldn’t dare to look back and see him there, too.
I’ve looked for love in all the same old places
Found the bottom of the bottle’s always dry
Chicago holds a special place in my heart. It was the first major city I’d ever explored as a young adult, on my own - making the trip in my late teens, trying to discover a new place to call home. The weather terrified me; having grown up under the central Texas heat, the brutal winters of the Windy City weren’t exactly what I’d been prepared for. But a city with this rich history, with these stunning landmarks; this kind of diversity and openness and excellence; it spoke to the desires of a heart that had not yet blackened. It was a time during my upbringing where I still felt hopeful. Later in my career, I won the first of two GCWA World Championships in this town.
But I knew I couldn’t be this far from my family.
I didn’t know that on the southside of Chicago grew a young man who would later own my soul, who I would cross paths with one day in Action Wrestling. Once an idealistic boy with a chip on his shoulder and a thirst for greatness, he grew into a man with a heart of gold and a penchant for leadership and a growing legacy to uphold.
We were so similar.
We were equally competitive.
We were the dreamers.
Spencer Adams came into my life during the most tragic moment I’ve ever endured. He squeezed my hand when I cried, held my hair back when I made myself sick, and invited me into his bed when I was lonely. He was everything I needed in that moment, but I’m not naive. I knew it was never real. I was a character in his story; fixing me would be his grand achievement. One he could add to his trophy case. I was never a figure of permanence in his life, and that’s okay; he wasn’t one in mine, either.
I thought I wanted him to be.
I mean, that’s why stalking the streets of southside Chicago now.
But Spencer Adams isn’t a vehicle in my sobriety. He’s a soft-landing, a crash-pad for when I’m in freefall. He’s exactly the kind of safe haven, the old habit that would offer me temporary relief. Six months ago, I wouldn’t have understood the difference between Spencer Adams and Howard Black. The difference between Spencer Adams and Philidor Holdings.
I understand it now.
Philidor Holdings versus The World. That’s how you’ve framed this tour of taking turns teaming with Carter, Ash, and the HR Department against-- --every single team in Action Wrestling. And you’ve been winning. Week by week, you’ve shown that your trio is a force. You’ve shown stability and growth and a trust in one another that’s downright scary. We’ve run through the tag team division in record time and don’t need the trinkets to show for it. It’s been impressive. That’s inarguable. So why are you and everyone else trying to convince me otherwise? Because of this; what’s next? I’m fighting Spencer this week. And then it’s onto Havoc. That’s all you have to say? Isn't that all you want to hear? |
“Carter, can I come by?”
“Of course! You don’t have to ask.”
I was already seated in a rental outside of his Las Vegas gym. I knew he wouldn’t say no to me, but still, this road trip through middle America had led me back to the city where everything began. Las Vegas had always been my nucleus; I could orbit around, see every corner of the globe, and still find myself drawn back to the place where I’ve seen my grandest achievements, and my crippling failures; flying high in euphoria and crashing back down into devastation. The joys of life and the tragedy of death.
“You don’t have to afraid of going back.”
Carter Shaw didn’t need to be my clarity. There was nothing in it for him, no objective given by Philidor Holdings. He decided he would be my way back because that’s the kind of man he is. We share a burden of grief and regret and it’s why I feel so free to pour myself out to him, because he understands me. There’s a mentality here, a perspective I hadn’t found since I lost Robbie; Spencer didn’t own it, though he tried. Howard and I were both too self-involved to ever be a source of recovery for each other. Addy’s shared trauma came from a different lens. Mae looked up to me, so I had to keep my distance and continue playing the role she needed from me. But Carter?
And Philidor Holdings, as a unit?
They aren’t entirely benevolent. I’m not that naive. I’m sure there are goals I can help them achieve, and maybe their motivations aren’t as crystal clear as they’ve presented. But I’m okay with that.
Because they are the ones who keep me grounded.
They keep me focused.
They got me to confront the demons lying in wait for me in Florida.
And they - no one else - saved my life.
LAST WEEK “Lissie. I want to show you something." We drove for hours, from Oklahoma City down to the suburbs of Houston. I’d been on this route many times before; I knew exactly where we were heading. Ash Blake sat in the driver’s seat, and neither of us said much of anything as we passed the oil rigs in east Texas and the windy beaches of Galveston. I saw the sign on the interstate read “Conroe: 12 miles” and I knew she was taking me back home. But why? “Everyone is trying to get in your head, and tell you that we’re bad people. But we’re not, Lissie. We stand behind you. We always have.” We made the turn off the highway into the meandering, twisting roads. We passed the city center of Conroe - the high school and the post office, the antique store and the grocery market - until we turned onto the old familiar road. We passed the goat farms, the patches of bluebonnets. The hummingbirds sun overhead from the tall trees. The warmth of the sun burned my arms. No matter how much time you spent away, that sense of familiarity always felt like home. “Why are you bringing me back to the old house?” We pulled onto the final street. I felt the anxiety rising in my throat. The last time I’d been here, I’d found out that a residential developer had purchased the property to rebuild into a vacation home. As we crept closer to the driveway, the outer structure had just been finished. “This is beautiful.” It was nearly unrecognizable, but just from a cosmetic nature. It still felt like the home my grandfather built eighty years ago; just adapted to the current times. The rebirth. “For you, Lissie.” Ash Blake handed me the keys. It still didn’t register until I looked closer at the sign, and the small watermark underneath the “Sold” read: Philidor Holdings Residential Investments. “I can’t believe y’all did this for me.” We walked in - the arches felt familiar. The wood flooring brought back memories. The bricks lining the fireplace felt like the living space had never been demolished to begin with. ‘Ma would be so happy here. I just knew it. “What is that?” A painting hung over the mantle. I looked at the design and felt completely unnerved, and I couldn’t look away. The crimson hues prompted a visceral reaction in my gut. “It’s a housewarming gift.” “From who?” Ash’s voice softened, breaking lightly as she touched my shoulder. “From Peter Garvey. He sends his condolences.” |
