EPISODE 62: Mama Bear

Sunday November 21, 2010
The RV- Master Bedroom
St. Louis, Missouri
9:35 AM Local Time

I smiled in contentment as I lazily stretched in my bed, looking up at the RV’s ceiling. I knew I should have been getting up to start my day, but the bed felt so warm and comfortable. I felt like a big cat- lazy, languid, and utterly unashamed to spend the day lying away in comfort.

I yawned and stretched again, my body contorting as long-dormant muscles began to come back alive. Still smiling, I rolled onto my side, and leaned forward, ready to kiss my husband good morning.

But at that moment, I discovered that I was alone in the bed.

Now that was curious- it was rare indeed when Terrence ever woke up before I did. I’d always been somewhat of an early riser- going on early morning runs had always been one of my favorite parts of my training regime. I loved watching the sun rise, I loved the air keeping me cool as I worked out, but most of all, I just loved the feeling of a clean slate, a fresh day, untainted by the rigors of reality.

Unfortunately, the reality was I had missed my chance this morning. What time was it, anyways?

I rolled back over to my side of the bed (the left, if anyone ever wondered), and reached out to the small end table standing beside my bed. I felt around for my Android, and flipped it on, looking at the time.

9:38 AM? When did I become so decadant?

To be fair, I had been up late last night. In fact, I’d been up late every night since Friday, when Terrence and I had our talk on the way back from the airport. I had been doing a lot of thinking since then. About a lot of things.

My parents were not good people. They were talented actors, no doubt, and they, like everyone else, had some redeeming qualities about them, but for the most part, my parent’s were self-centered narcissists, their moral-code generally summed up as “whatever you could get away with.”

It’s why my mother had slept with Broadway show producers in an attempt to get a role she might not have gotten on the merit of her auditions alone. It’s why my father sent much of the money he made to the Irish Republican Army, so that they could spread violence across Belfast in the name of a ‘united Ireland’. Its why they treated everyone they viewed as inferior to them (which was just about everybody), with condescension, if not outright disdain.

I will always love my mother, God rest her soul, but I knew from an early age that I didn’t want to grow up to be like her. Everything about my parents lives seemed so empty, and pointless. Of course, like all good Irish Catholics, they at least put on a show of going to church. They threw paper in the offering plate, they drank the communion wine and ate the bread, and they sat with glazed eyes as the priest read the Scriptures.

Even when I was a kid, I had always been fascinated by the stories in the Bible, from the epic adventures of the Old Testament to the parables of Jesus. Most of them were excting, and even better- they gave a purpose to life. So while my parents checked their watches and yawned, I was listening with rapt attention. Somewhere around my thirteenth birthday, I even considered becoming a nun (okay, the aspiration lasted two weeks, but it was there!).

I will never subscribe to the doctrine of papal infallibility, and I think there are many ways in which the Church needs to improve, but I’ve always found comfort in my religion. Even now with my busy schedule, I try and take my daughter to mass at least once a week.

When I decided to follow my boyfriend into professional wrestling, it was really the first time I had set out on my own. In fact, it was the first time I’d really experienced anything beyond the ivory tower life my parents had set up for me. Going from a world of acting classes and cocktail parties to one where throwing another human being through a burning table was encouraged was quite a shock for me.

My first match of my career, I had volunteered to replace Terrence, who had been injured in a stretcher match the week before. Each of my opponents in a six-person tag match weighed over three hundred pounds. I weighed one-sixteen. And my partners never showed up.

After that disaster, its a miracle that I didn’t run as far away from this business as I could. I stuck it out, but those first months were brutal. Very brutal. The company we had signed with didn’t care that we were rookies, and we didn’t know what we were doing. They offered us minimal training, and threw us to the wolves. I still have a scar on my left arm from when two men held me down, and tried to slash my face with a shard of glass. I was secretly taped undressing in my locker room, and then the footage aired on the video screen. I was left lying in a pool of my own blood more times than I could count.

About the only two things that got me through those months were Terrence, and my faith in God. But Terrence was having just as difficult a time with things as I was. So I clung to my religion, praying to God every night that he would keep me alive through the next show. It was my security blanket

But at some point, once I stopped wondering if this was finally going to be the night my neck got broken, the blanket I clung to transformed. It wasn’t so much my faith in God that I now clung to, but my own sense of righteousness. I began to justify every shortcoming I had, no matter how devastating it was to me, with ‘at least I’m morally better.’ I’ve cared more about what people think of me, than what I actually am.

Like most security blankets, its a hard thing to let go of. My old friend Rick Logan was the first to truly try to get me to let go, but every time he managed to pry my hands lose, I would clutch the blankets harder. Victor Mandrake had tried, and I had gone completely the other way, turning against my husband, my friends, and nearly killing a training partner. After realizing what I had done, I grabbed that blanket again, and I clung to it tighter than ever.

Well, I was twenty-nine years old. That’s too old to be clinging to a blankie. I need to let go. Not become an amoral ‘ends justify the means’ type Mandrake had tried to make me, but someone who cared more about doing what was right, than what looked right.

I had told Terrence this during our talks, and he had agreed with me. But we both knew that this could be a painful transformation, one that wasn’t going to happen overnight. But I knew Terrence would always be there for me, no matter how many times I stumbled.

Well, I wasn’t going to do much of anything lying here in this bed, not with everyone else up. Stretching again, I rose from my bed, and quickly changed out of my nightgown to a black t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

To my surprise, the RV cabin was empty when entered, save for my daughter, who sat watching Nickelodeon on the television, a child-size nerf football in her hands. A small pile of dishes sitting on one of the counters told me that everyone else had already eaten.

“Where’s everyone?” I asked Theresa.

“They went to the store,” she replied, her eyes never leaving the television.

I nodded absent-mindedly, and wandered to the galley, pulling a bowl down from the cupboard, and grabbing a box of Frosted Flakes. Luckily, the coffee was still hot, as well, and I poured myself a cup.

“That’s enough television for now, hon,” I said as I stirred two scoops of sugar into my coffee cup.

“But...” Theresa started to protest, but stopped when I turned, and looked directly at her. Without another word, she grabbed the remote, and shut the television off. Considering that she’d probably end up watching about ten straight hours of football today with Terrence and Pollaski, missing a couple morning cartoons wasn’t going to kill her.

“Why don’t you go outside and play?” I asked, smiling at her. Theresa cast one more forelorn look at the television, then nodded, and ran to the chair her jacket was lying on.

“Stay where I can see you!’ I called after her as she left the RV. We generally stayed in fairly well-maintained RV lots, so it was unlikely that Theresa would ever get herself into any trouble. Even so, I couldn’t help but worry just a little everytime my daughter went outside.

I continued to eat my cereal, reading a copy of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch that Terrence had left on the table. Of course, I made routine checks out the nearest window on Theresa, who was standing beside the RV, tossing the football in the air as high as she could, then running under it and catching it as if she were Marvin Harrison.

I giggled just a little as the ball went through her hands. Frustrated, she kicked at the ball, which went flying away, and Theresa, realizing that wasn’t the best move in the world, yelped and ran after the ball in pursuit.

I smiled, and took a couple more bites of my cereal, reading an interesting article about the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday. When I looked back up, Theresa still hadn’t returned in front of the window. I scowled. She KNEW that I hated it when she ran off-

The sudden angry bellowing of a man interrupted my thoughts, and I stood up so quickly my chair tipped over. I didn’t even bother looking for my coat- I was quickly running to the front of the RV, and down the steps.

It was almost surreal when I came outside to watch a man, middle-aged, balding, and wearing a St. Louis Rams t-shirt, screaming at my daughter, who looked absolutely terrified. Even more alarming, Theresa’s football was in his hands, which he waved menacingly at her.

“-supposed to sleep with you making a racket like this, you little brat!”

Suddenly, to my horror the man, beside himself as he continued to rage, chucked the football at Theresa. She got her hands up, to deflect, but the ball still bounced off her head, and Theresa fell rump-first on the ground, immediately bursting into tears.

“HEY!” I screamed, as I broke into a run.

The man looked at me, and snarled, “Control your fucking kid!” Then he retreated into his own Winnebago, slamming the door shut.

I was furious at what I had just seen, but my priority told me I had to see to my daughter first. She continued to wail, and I picked her up, making comforting shushing noises as I carried her back to our own RV.

There was a small red mark on her forehead, where the ball had hit her, but other than that, Theresa seemed to be okay. Still though, it took several minutes (and two double-stuffed oreos and a glass of milk) to get her to stop crying. Finally, she had calmed down.

“My ball...” she sniffled.

“I’ll get it...” I said quickly. “Stay inside, okay?”

Theresa nodded, and I quickly left the RV. It didn’t take long to retrieve the Nerf- it was right next to where I had grabbed Theresa, but I stood for several minutes, staring at the Winnebago.

My first reaction was to phone the police as soon as I got back inside. Throwing a football at anybody would be construed as assault, but a grown man at a four year old girl? I’d make sure the courts through every single letter of the book at that buffoon.

I turned to walk back to the RV, but something caught my eye. It was one of those chainsaw woodcarved bears that had become a staple at pretty much every RV park in America. As I looked at the statue, I saw another smaller bear standing next to it. A mother bear and her cub.

Suddenly, I knew what I had to do, and a part of me was ashamed that it took me this long to figure it out.

I tossed the football towards our own RV, it thudding on the ground a couple feet short of the door. Then I turned around, marched right back to the Winnebago, and banged on the door.

The middle-aged man opened the door, and immediately, I wrinkled my nose. I couldn’t tell which was worse- the stench of alcohol on his breath, or the unwashed body odor emanating from the rest of his body.

“What do you want?” the man asked rudely, finishing with a belch.

I put on the most disingenuous smile I could muster. “Hello. My name is Wendy, and I’m the mother of the little girl you just hit with a football.”

The man blinked, and shrugged. “So?”

“So, you have three seconds to figure out how you’re going to defend yourself.”

Let it never be said I’m not a fair person. I actually counted to four before my right hand smashed into his jaw. He rocked backwards, and I grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him out of the door. Finally, something registered in his booze addled brain that he was under attack, and he swung wildly at me. I ducked the blow, and grabbed his arm. Pivoting on my heel, I spun the lout around, releasing, the momentum carrying him head first into the side of his RV.

As he stumbled back again, rubbing his head and groaning, I grabbed him, and elbowed him in the back of the head. I then fired several knees to his belly, and he doubled over, retching. One more knee, and he fell to the ground, and I looked away in disgust as he crawled a couple feet, then promptly vomited into the grass.

I recovered from my disgust well before he did, and a couple stomps later, the pig was lying face down on the ground, on top of his regurgitation, groaning in pain. I knelt on top of him, digging my knee into the small of his back, as I held his right arm in a chickenwing, illiciting more grunts of pain. Grimacing, I tightened the hold until the point that his shoulder was about to be separated. Now he was yelping. With my free hand, I grabbed him by what little hair he had, and forced him to look at my RV.

“Now you know what my motorhome looks like. You know what I look like, and you know what my daughter looks like. And I swear to God, that if you ever see any of those three again, and don’t run away as far and fast as you can, I will make sure you’re never able to so much as pick up a ball, or a can of beer for that matter, ever again. Do I make myself clear?”

The man was trying to nod, but considering I still had him firmly by the hair, he had a hard time moving his head. “I said- Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?”

“Yes...” he wheezed. I roughly released him, and got to my feet. Five minutes ago, he had been such a big man, yelling at a four-year old girl like that. Now, he was nothing more than a pathetic, fat, vomit encrusted bully, mewling on the ground for mercy. I walked away, and headed back to my RV, not even bothering to look backwards.

Part of me said I shouldn’t have felt pride for what I had just done. After all, the man was little more than a drunken sod, with absolutely no idea on proper martial combat skills. But I was beaming as I retrieved Theresa’s football, and climbed back into my own RV. I suppose I could have made the connection to what Terrence had been telling me- how I needed to be more assertive, but at that moment, I didn’t care about that. I just felt like a mama bear.

And no one messes with a mama bears cubs.
=============================================

Sunday November 21, 2010
The RV- Main Cabin
Kansas City, Kansas
3:10 PM Local Time

[Well, Wendy wanted to cut her promo from inside Kemper Arena, the site of the WhirlyBirdz title win several months ago. But the bastards in security wouldn’t let her in. So instead, we cut back to the boring old WhirlyBirdz RV, where Wendy sits on the couch. Interestingly enough, she’s by herself.]

“Three days. Just a bit over seventy-two hours and we will finally come to grips with Global Revolution for the second time.”

“Jacob, Antonio- have you figured out exactly what it’s going to take for you to take these titles from us? Do you know what it took the last time we lost a tag belt?”

[Small pause]

“Self-destruction.”

[Wendy smiles grimly, but continues]

“It took Terrence and I completely turning on each other. It took us being unable to be in the same room together leading up to the match. It took us unable to cooperate, or even so much as look at each other during the match. It took Terrence walking out on me in the middle of the match.”

[Wendy looks away for just a second, as if the memories of that night still continue to haunt her.]

“That won’t be happening, gentlemen. Not now, not ever.”

[Grim smile]

“The only bonds that held us together that night were two straps of gold. Two straps of gold, and words of promise that both of us had shattered like glass upon the sidewalk.”

[Hey, at least they made up!]

“This time, the bonds of leather and gold, they are the weakest in the entire structure. But they’re reinforced by every other bond we have between us. Bonds made of iron. Bonds made of love. Bonds forged by God himself.”

[Another soft smile]

“What everyone has seemed to fail to understand is that- when you step into the ring with the WhirlyBirdz, you’re not stepping into the ring with two entitities. You’re stepping into the ring with one. Terrence and I might have differing beliefs, and we might even have our squabbles. But five years ago, the two of us became one, and one we shall continue to be, both in the ring,and out.”

[Wendy’s expression becomes a bit more severe]

“‘What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.’ The gospel of Mark, Chapter 10, Verse nine. And how many have tried? Victor Mandrake couldn’t do it. The Kings Among Men couldn’t do it. And, Jacob, you yourself couldn’t do it.”

[The fire dances just a bit in Wendy’s eyes.]

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten the lies you spread about Terrence’s treatment of me right before Full Throttle, Jacob. I’ve been wanting a chance to pay you back for that for a while now. And I don’t care if you were just trying to build up the match, and I don’t care how great a person you’ve been since then. On Tuesday, at Adrenaline Fifty-Four, I’m going to blow the lies you spread about me right back down your throat.”

[Wendy pauses for just a second, then breaks into a small, confident smile]

“Jacob, Antonio, I do wish you both the best of luck. I think we’re going to have a phenomenal match. But the Global Revolution will not be walking out of Oklahoma City the tag team champions. Because the WhirlyBirdz are not going to be overthrown.”

[And fade]