A Walk Among the Tombstones.
Aug 10, 2021 16:56:10 GMT -5
Claire Hawkins, CJ Phoenix, and 3 more like this
Post by Downfall on Aug 10, 2021 16:56:10 GMT -5
It's little more than a stone slab in the ground: Plain oblong, like half of a pill cut out shape jammed into the grass. It's at the very back of a long row, tucked in between a teenager killed by a drunk driver and a Vietnam vet who's headstone is weathered and greened with moss. Dad's stone is new, but... unfinished.
Plain, unremarkable, nothing so extravagant as a Bible verse, an engraving of a cross, or a different font. Just the Roman style etching of "Donald Jacob Fehl, Junior, born August 9th, 1948, died May 17, 2021".
What surprises me more aside from the fact that someone (One of his mistresses or old road wives, some other seed from his time spent pulling up stakes around the country) cared enough after everything to come collect his body, have a service and a wake for him, and to see him lowered into the ground.
This someone also adorns dad's plain marker with a small token, apologetic: a single, small pink carnation laid at the foot of the grave.
And I, the only purebred son and heir to his name, well, I wasn't there to see him lowered. I wasn't, even there to see him die, just learned about it through a mocking riddle left by an old nemesis trying to fuck with me. And since then, I'd been running fast and hot, trying to throw myself into work. Trying to practice teamwork and strengthen a bond with my partner.
It's, ya know, been a rough few weeks -
Months -
Whatever -
I haven't even had time to come see him off.
"Here's to you, Donald," I say, wistfully twisting off the cap.
So this way, I just sit in the silence of him one more time for a while, before Michelle, who had been on the path, steps forward. Ever mindful of our boundaries, she stands at the row behind the grave, both hands on her purse, until I wave for her to come on. I offer her a taste of rum, but she shakes her head. "How you doing?"
"With Donald, or - "
"Well, yeah... Danny, you and Donald never had what I'd call a 'warm relationship', but losing him... I don't know, I'm worried it could eat at you. Is that a fair assessment? Eat?"
Stoically, I turn away from her, turning a shoulder so we're resting against opposite sides of the tree and I'm not looking at her. I tip the bottle up to my lips, "Never better."
She raises her voice, "Hey, this is what I was talking about. Don't start shutting me out because you're stressed, you're pissed at Dandy Divito, you're tired and running yourself ragged, don't - "
"I'm not - " I raise my voice back, but then I stop myself, realizing she's right, I'm falling into old patterns and taking shit out on her, and it's not fair. And it's not -
"It's not about the pressure, or about the job, or about... Dandy, or any of that -"
"Until you let it be, right?"
A pregnant beat, then, looking down at my father's unadorned, unfinished stone, frowning, "My father... my dumb, never finished high school, started working regional shows when he was barely out of his teens back in the 60's, never wanted me in on this, father..."
"Refused to give me his blessing when I told him I'd lied about my age to get into Jarod Iron's school in Southside - that was before the year I met you. Told Jarod if he got me any bookings in the city, he'd blacklist all of his biggest talent and make sure Jarod never drew a dime at the gate. He tried to pay off the promoters in Japan not to take me on as a young Lion, 'cause he didn't want me joining on the circuit that took us to Korakuen... the same one that I found out that he was in deep with the Black Dragon cartel. When I came back to America, and we became a couples act touring League of Fury and IEA, he talked to the promoters like Rizzo and was telling them that I was too young, too green, too inexperienced, that I should be held back to opening matches."
She just listens. She knows.... some of this, but mostly, she's just listening to me as I paint a picture with my hands.
"The one - the ONE night Donald came to see me when I'm in my twenties, it was in the IEA. Do you remember, the night we lost our Tag titles the first time to Deth Squad?"
Michelle nods, reminiscing, but she can't help cracking a smile. "Deth Squad, tho... ugh, who was that wench they had as their backup, the big She-Hulk woman?"
"Khrystal Walker," I put in, and Michelle brightens, laughing, "Oh yeah! Khrystal Walker! Ugh, that woman smelled like a god damn yak... just pure country girl from Alaska. Freakishly strong, though... did not love getting chased by her." Her laugh is of thin good memories papering over lots of shit and ugliness. But she gets serious, motioning to me pray continue.
"Right so, after - Khrystal Walker chases you off, their seven footer drops Jason and suddenly, it's just me in the ring, and I get fucking annihilated by that shitty finisher they used to have. Remember, where it's a powerbomb through a table? How that was legal in every single match, I'll never know. So, when I wake up, I'm alone in the pieces of the table, you're gone, Jason, being an utter shithead, leaves the arena. So, at some point in time, I pick myself up out of table pieces, I limp my way to the back. I'm just gutted, man, because I lost the match for us."
"Wait, was this the week where you and Jason were partying with Bruce Willis, and filming promos with celebrities outside of the IEA would get us in trouble with the network? - "
" - Michelle, would you god damn focu- that part isn't relevant."
"I thought this was about the night we lost the Tag belts."
"This is about my father, and the night we lost the Tag belts." I sigh, and I take a drink. Michelle, knowing she's just trying to soften my mood, puts her arm on me.
"So I go back to the showers, and I'm just tensed against the wall in the shower, letting ice-cold water run over my scalp, letting blood wash down the drain, and thinking, I fucked up. I fucked up. I failed. I get out of the shower, toweling off, and starting to change into street clothes, and - fucking Donald is there. Showing his age, creeping towards his semi-retirement, but... he had been in the stands, and he watched me."
A pause, then, "And he assessed me brusquely in the locker room. Looking me this way and that. Saying my 'high dive was too uncoordinated on the comedown, I was lacking situation awareness when I landed' but I just think dudes didn't jump off the top rope in his day. But then, he said - "
I tilt my head back, eyes slitted, the words coming perfectly from memory, "You're gonna lose some heartbreakers, kid. You're gonna walk this path, there's gonna have to be times you have to learn how to lose. But you're more like me than I wanted... that losing is gonna be unacceptable to you. So you have to learn that when you lose it's just leading ta something bigger. When ya lose your belts to two lugs aren't fit to tie your boots, it's just a lesson. Because getting your ass kicked only makes standing up all the sweeter."
And then, I open my eyes, and look at Michelle. "Then I tried to hug him, and he shoved me off. Ha. Said he didn't come in the locker room to do that sissy shit, and that I needed to be a real man."
Michelle rolled her eyes. She had known Donald, though not deeply, and he had... liked her, against all the odds. Fuck knows he'd given me enough shit when me'n her had separated ways.
Something niggles at me, and I narrow my eyebrows, squinting down at the gravestone, "Do you know, as he got more feeble, as he - Well, as he started knowing he was sick... thanks, of course, to Jason. He would talk to me like I've never heard him talk before. One of the last times I saw him, before he died, he said "You're my baby boy, Daniel. I just want to see you, and hug you, one more time". He said it with such... anxiety in his voice, and such real, honest emotion that I was. Fucking shook, if you want me to be honest. Like... is this... is Donald manipulating me, does he want something from me? Is he scared of dying, and wanting to make amends for being a shithead absentee father? Is his brain turning into pudding?"
"But I want - God, Michelle... do you know, how much I'd wished when I was a kid, that I'd had a dad who expressed that he wanted to hug his son? Do you know how many days when I was little I wished to God I had a dad like other boys that would give them a hug when they struck out in baseball and they'll get it next time, or a dad that legit just hugged me and told me he was proud..."
"In many ways, the night we lost the IEA Tag Titles is... the closest I'd ever got."
She knows it hurts, and she would give anything to take the hurt away. That comes across in her voice. I wish I hadn't opened it up and let her in on it, but we are both trying to be honest, here. She puts the crown of her head into the nape of my neck.
"You have always deserved a dad who treated you well. At the bare minimum, a dad who told you that you did good. I'm sorry you didn't have that."
"I just wonder.... if I did... might I have been a better man?" A pause. "Might I have been a better person?"
We sit in silence. Finally, Michelle does let me pass the rum over, and takes a nip. We just enjoy each other's silence for a while, until my phone starts ringing.
"Dion? What's up?" I listen. "Yeah... I'm pissed off about it too. No, I really wanted the match with Kidsgrove to be one on one - I know, we're gonna get it next time." Michelle mouths, do you want me to talk to him? I shake my head.
"No, I have a plan for Clash... we damn sure aren't letting this go." I stand over the headstone, thinking of some words spoken to me in a locker room a long, long time ago. "Listen, man, I'm gonna go retrieve some stuff from my house in the Keys, and then I'll meet you at the airport."
I turn to Michelle, "Dion's got some business for us to work on."
Closing the call, I start to go. Michelle is already trudging up the path, back to the car, but I look back and down to my father's small, unadorned headstone, with only the bare essentials of his name and date to mark where he had been. Somehow it doesn't seem... right for someone who's complicated history has always loomed so large to feel so diminished.
I leave him the bottle of rum, set up straight, right against the stone.
It's what Donald would've wanted as a gift, probably.
Plain, unremarkable, nothing so extravagant as a Bible verse, an engraving of a cross, or a different font. Just the Roman style etching of "Donald Jacob Fehl, Junior, born August 9th, 1948, died May 17, 2021".
What surprises me more aside from the fact that someone (One of his mistresses or old road wives, some other seed from his time spent pulling up stakes around the country) cared enough after everything to come collect his body, have a service and a wake for him, and to see him lowered into the ground.
This someone also adorns dad's plain marker with a small token, apologetic: a single, small pink carnation laid at the foot of the grave.
And I, the only purebred son and heir to his name, well, I wasn't there to see him lowered. I wasn't, even there to see him die, just learned about it through a mocking riddle left by an old nemesis trying to fuck with me. And since then, I'd been running fast and hot, trying to throw myself into work. Trying to practice teamwork and strengthen a bond with my partner.
It's, ya know, been a rough few weeks -
Months -
Whatever -
I haven't even had time to come see him off.
"Here's to you, Donald," I say, wistfully twisting off the cap.
So this way, I just sit in the silence of him one more time for a while, before Michelle, who had been on the path, steps forward. Ever mindful of our boundaries, she stands at the row behind the grave, both hands on her purse, until I wave for her to come on. I offer her a taste of rum, but she shakes her head. "How you doing?"
"With Donald, or - "
"Well, yeah... Danny, you and Donald never had what I'd call a 'warm relationship', but losing him... I don't know, I'm worried it could eat at you. Is that a fair assessment? Eat?"
Stoically, I turn away from her, turning a shoulder so we're resting against opposite sides of the tree and I'm not looking at her. I tip the bottle up to my lips, "Never better."
She raises her voice, "Hey, this is what I was talking about. Don't start shutting me out because you're stressed, you're pissed at Dandy Divito, you're tired and running yourself ragged, don't - "
"I'm not - " I raise my voice back, but then I stop myself, realizing she's right, I'm falling into old patterns and taking shit out on her, and it's not fair. And it's not -
"It's not about the pressure, or about the job, or about... Dandy, or any of that -"
"Until you let it be, right?"
A pregnant beat, then, looking down at my father's unadorned, unfinished stone, frowning, "My father... my dumb, never finished high school, started working regional shows when he was barely out of his teens back in the 60's, never wanted me in on this, father..."
"Refused to give me his blessing when I told him I'd lied about my age to get into Jarod Iron's school in Southside - that was before the year I met you. Told Jarod if he got me any bookings in the city, he'd blacklist all of his biggest talent and make sure Jarod never drew a dime at the gate. He tried to pay off the promoters in Japan not to take me on as a young Lion, 'cause he didn't want me joining on the circuit that took us to Korakuen... the same one that I found out that he was in deep with the Black Dragon cartel. When I came back to America, and we became a couples act touring League of Fury and IEA, he talked to the promoters like Rizzo and was telling them that I was too young, too green, too inexperienced, that I should be held back to opening matches."
She just listens. She knows.... some of this, but mostly, she's just listening to me as I paint a picture with my hands.
"The one - the ONE night Donald came to see me when I'm in my twenties, it was in the IEA. Do you remember, the night we lost our Tag titles the first time to Deth Squad?"
Michelle nods, reminiscing, but she can't help cracking a smile. "Deth Squad, tho... ugh, who was that wench they had as their backup, the big She-Hulk woman?"
"Khrystal Walker," I put in, and Michelle brightens, laughing, "Oh yeah! Khrystal Walker! Ugh, that woman smelled like a god damn yak... just pure country girl from Alaska. Freakishly strong, though... did not love getting chased by her." Her laugh is of thin good memories papering over lots of shit and ugliness. But she gets serious, motioning to me pray continue.
"Right so, after - Khrystal Walker chases you off, their seven footer drops Jason and suddenly, it's just me in the ring, and I get fucking annihilated by that shitty finisher they used to have. Remember, where it's a powerbomb through a table? How that was legal in every single match, I'll never know. So, when I wake up, I'm alone in the pieces of the table, you're gone, Jason, being an utter shithead, leaves the arena. So, at some point in time, I pick myself up out of table pieces, I limp my way to the back. I'm just gutted, man, because I lost the match for us."
"Wait, was this the week where you and Jason were partying with Bruce Willis, and filming promos with celebrities outside of the IEA would get us in trouble with the network? - "
" - Michelle, would you god damn focu- that part isn't relevant."
"I thought this was about the night we lost the Tag belts."
"This is about my father, and the night we lost the Tag belts." I sigh, and I take a drink. Michelle, knowing she's just trying to soften my mood, puts her arm on me.
"So I go back to the showers, and I'm just tensed against the wall in the shower, letting ice-cold water run over my scalp, letting blood wash down the drain, and thinking, I fucked up. I fucked up. I failed. I get out of the shower, toweling off, and starting to change into street clothes, and - fucking Donald is there. Showing his age, creeping towards his semi-retirement, but... he had been in the stands, and he watched me."
A pause, then, "And he assessed me brusquely in the locker room. Looking me this way and that. Saying my 'high dive was too uncoordinated on the comedown, I was lacking situation awareness when I landed' but I just think dudes didn't jump off the top rope in his day. But then, he said - "
I tilt my head back, eyes slitted, the words coming perfectly from memory, "You're gonna lose some heartbreakers, kid. You're gonna walk this path, there's gonna have to be times you have to learn how to lose. But you're more like me than I wanted... that losing is gonna be unacceptable to you. So you have to learn that when you lose it's just leading ta something bigger. When ya lose your belts to two lugs aren't fit to tie your boots, it's just a lesson. Because getting your ass kicked only makes standing up all the sweeter."
And then, I open my eyes, and look at Michelle. "Then I tried to hug him, and he shoved me off. Ha. Said he didn't come in the locker room to do that sissy shit, and that I needed to be a real man."
Michelle rolled her eyes. She had known Donald, though not deeply, and he had... liked her, against all the odds. Fuck knows he'd given me enough shit when me'n her had separated ways.
Something niggles at me, and I narrow my eyebrows, squinting down at the gravestone, "Do you know, as he got more feeble, as he - Well, as he started knowing he was sick... thanks, of course, to Jason. He would talk to me like I've never heard him talk before. One of the last times I saw him, before he died, he said "You're my baby boy, Daniel. I just want to see you, and hug you, one more time". He said it with such... anxiety in his voice, and such real, honest emotion that I was. Fucking shook, if you want me to be honest. Like... is this... is Donald manipulating me, does he want something from me? Is he scared of dying, and wanting to make amends for being a shithead absentee father? Is his brain turning into pudding?"
"But I want - God, Michelle... do you know, how much I'd wished when I was a kid, that I'd had a dad who expressed that he wanted to hug his son? Do you know how many days when I was little I wished to God I had a dad like other boys that would give them a hug when they struck out in baseball and they'll get it next time, or a dad that legit just hugged me and told me he was proud..."
"In many ways, the night we lost the IEA Tag Titles is... the closest I'd ever got."
She knows it hurts, and she would give anything to take the hurt away. That comes across in her voice. I wish I hadn't opened it up and let her in on it, but we are both trying to be honest, here. She puts the crown of her head into the nape of my neck.
"You have always deserved a dad who treated you well. At the bare minimum, a dad who told you that you did good. I'm sorry you didn't have that."
"I just wonder.... if I did... might I have been a better man?" A pause. "Might I have been a better person?"
We sit in silence. Finally, Michelle does let me pass the rum over, and takes a nip. We just enjoy each other's silence for a while, until my phone starts ringing.
"Dion? What's up?" I listen. "Yeah... I'm pissed off about it too. No, I really wanted the match with Kidsgrove to be one on one - I know, we're gonna get it next time." Michelle mouths, do you want me to talk to him? I shake my head.
"No, I have a plan for Clash... we damn sure aren't letting this go." I stand over the headstone, thinking of some words spoken to me in a locker room a long, long time ago. "Listen, man, I'm gonna go retrieve some stuff from my house in the Keys, and then I'll meet you at the airport."
I turn to Michelle, "Dion's got some business for us to work on."
Closing the call, I start to go. Michelle is already trudging up the path, back to the car, but I look back and down to my father's small, unadorned headstone, with only the bare essentials of his name and date to mark where he had been. Somehow it doesn't seem... right for someone who's complicated history has always loomed so large to feel so diminished.
I leave him the bottle of rum, set up straight, right against the stone.
It's what Donald would've wanted as a gift, probably.