Sunday December 5, 2010
The Nest- Master Bedroom
Indianapolis, Indiana
5:46 AM Local Time
“Wendy, wake up! We need to go!”
I desperately tried shaking my wife from her slumber, but wasn’t having much luck. For being such a self-proclaimed ‘morning person’, she sure had a hard time getting up when it really mattered.
Finally, my wife stirred, and she smacked my prodding hands away, rubbing her eyes as she struggled to sit up. Her normally well-maintained red hair hung loosely all over her shoulders, with more than a few strands in her face. She brushed them aside as she looked up at me.
“Terry- what... what time is it?”
“Quarter to six,” I responded quickly. “Come on now, get dressed. I’ll wake Theresa up. Up and at ‘em, hon.”
As I had hoped, the urgency in my voice seemed to rouse her quicker, and she stumbled to her feet, smoothing out her nightgown as she did. After a quick stretch, she looked at me, her eyes widening with concern. “Okay, Terry. I’m up. What’s going on?”
“Get dressed, I’ll explain in the car!” I said impatiently. “I’ll get Theresa up. But hurry, Home Depot opens in ten minutes!”
Wendy stopped dead in her tracks, suddenly rooted to the carpet, and I inwardly groaned. We did NOT have time to dawdle. “Wendy, please we don’t-”
“You woke me up at five forty-five in the morning to go to Home Depot?” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“We don’t have time to argue about this, hon!”
Wendy slowly turned around “Why in the HELL did you wake me up at five forty-five in the morning to go to a HARDWARE STORE?” she was still whispering, but it was more of a stage whisper now. An incredulous, furious stage whisper.
I could vaguely hear alarm bells going off in the back of my mind, the kind that security guards probably get when they have stumbled across a package that looks like a bomb. A very volitaile, red-haired bomb.
“The Sickles bought an inflatable snow-globe. I need to find something to beat it.”
Wendy stared at me for just a second, her arms clenched at her side. “I’m going back to bed,” she finally said, her voice flat.
“But...”
“Terrence, the way you woke me up, I thought the neighborhood was on fire,” she replied, giving me a positively dirty look. “Now, I’m sorry that you think we’re losing to the arrogant jerk down the street, and its killing your ego, but I’m not getting up in the wee hours just so we can win a stupid lighting contest!”
She marched to the bed, and threw the covers back, preparing to climb into them again. I stood watching her, feeling absolutely foolish. I mean, yeah, winning the neighborhood Christmas decorating contest would be great, but at the same time... probably dragging your wife and kid out of bad at 5:45 was probably not the best way to go about things.
“Okay, you’re right, I’m sorry I woke you up,” I said in all honesty. “I got carried away.”
Wendy nodded and sighed. “Just remember, its all for fun, Terrence. We can’t take it so seriously. We don’t even get anything for winning.”
“I know.” I managed to mumble. “I just hate those bastards. I mean, that fat bastard is always strutting around, pretending that he’s God’s gift to the world. Just because he can yell at a bunch of teenagers and make them move a football...”
Wendy nodded, “I feel the same way, hon. And I’m certain Clint’s bullied Theresa a couple times. I even think he’s stolen some of her toys, but I can never seem to catch him...”
“And I remember all to well when Kelly called your potato salad ‘inedible’ at the neighborhood block party.”
For the second time this morning, Wendy froze, this time right in the middle of climbing into bed, so that one of her knees was on the matress, while her other foot was still on the bedroom floor. Ever so slowly, she turned to face me. When she spoke, again, her voice had been reduced to a whisper. “She said WHAT?”
I gulped, taking a step back at the sudden ferocity that had appeared on my wife’s face. “I... I thought you knew about that.” I managed to stammer out.
“When... when was this?”
“Memorial Day,” I replied.
For a few seconds, Wendy stood there, staring at a spot on the wall somewhere behind me. Then she removed her knee from the matress, and put both her feet on the ground. “Go wake up Theresa,” she snarled.
“What?”
“We’ll have her take a nap later. I’ll go get dressed.”
I was stunned by this turn of events, but Wendy was already walking towards our closet, a grim look of determination on her face. “But...”
“You want my help or not, Terry?”
“Of course, I do,” I said quickly, then backed out of our bedroom as Wendy began to slip off her nightgown. Quickly, I crossed the hallway, heading for my daughters room to wake my little angel up. I had wanted Wendy to be as determined to win the lighting contest as I was, but I sure as hell hadn’t been expecting THAT.
It was going to be an interesting day.
==================================
Sir, I want to buy these shoes for my Mama, please
It's Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size
Could you hurry, sir, Daddy says there's not much time
You see she's been sick for quite a while
And I know these shoes would make her smile
And I want her to look beautiful if Mama meets Jesus tonight
“The Christmas Shoes” NewSong
December 5, 2010
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
8:51 PM Local Time
[You know, if the Thompsons could just manage to get the Sickles family in the ring for a one-fall match, their lives were probably be a lot easier.]
[Never gonna happen, but hey, at least they have the Belmonts to beat up in the meantime!]
[Anyways, long story short, by the time the Birdz left for their all-afternoon training session, another thousand lights were stapled to the house, and a full-size twenty piece Nativity set was on the lawn. Throw in an angelic chorus and the Christmas star, and the first couple chapters of the Gospel According to Luke could be very well playing out right in the Thompson family front yard.]
[Rest assured, they’re working on the missing elements.]
[In the meantime, the scene opens in the Nest’s living room. Unlike the exterior of the house, the interior has retained some level of sanity, with the only decor being a tastefully decorated all-white light Christmas tree. And coasters on the end table depicting various kitties in Christmas-related situations. You know, wearing a Santa hat, riding in a sleigh, getting electrocuted after gnawing on one of the wires...]
[... Okay, just kidding about that last one.]
[About the only thing amiss in the living room right now is the young lady sitting on the couch. Wendy Briese can definitely be considered one of the more emotional wrestlers in PWX, but its rare to to actually see her crying.]
[No, not full on wailing, but her eyes are definitely red and puffy, tears are running down her cheeks, which she dabs at with a handkerchief, and she’s sniffling. That’s crying. In a wrestling promo. That will be seen by millions]
[Or at least thousands]
[Hundreds? Dozens?]
[SOMEONE FUCKING CLICK THE GODDAMN WATCH BUTTON!]
[Or maybe not. This is probably kind of embarrassing]
[Noticing a movement out of the corner of her eye, Wendy, with another sniffle, turns towards the camera, and she freezes, a queer expression on her tear-streaked face as if she realizes that somethings not quite right, but she can’t really figure out what it is.]
[Suddenly, it hits her, and her eyes go wide in horror]
Wendy: “WHY is the camera on?”
Terrence: “Uh, we need to cut a promo.”
[As he says those words, Terrence comes walking in from the right hand side of the scene, opposite of Wendy. He plops down on the couch with a grunt, kicking back into his normally relaxed pose. Wendy, on the other hand, is in full fledged panic mode, as she turns towards her husband.]
Wendy: “NOW?”
Terrence: “Why not? You’re here, I’m here... have you been crying?”
[Probably an observation that was best made before hitting the power button on the camcorder, but good job, Terrence! Wendy can do aught but glare back at her husband.]
Terrence: “Is it because of what Moxie said in his promo? Because that was just a bunch of hot-”
[If it’s possible, Wendy’s eyes go even wider in alarm and indignation.]
Wendy: “No!”
Terrence: “Oh. Then what’s with the waterworks?”
[For a response, Wendy points to a spot behind and to the left of the camera. For those not well versed in the layout of The Nest, it’s where their 42’ HD Flatscreen TV hangs on the wall.]
Wendy: “I was watching ‘The Christmas Shoes.’ It just ended.”
[A brief pause, as Terrence furrows his brow, trying to recall something]
Terrence: “Wait, is that the movie about the kid who’s mom’s about to die of some rare disease on Christmas Eve, and the kid wants to get her new shoes so she looks pretty when she meets Jesus, but doesn’t have enough money?”
[Wendy nods, wiping her eyes in the process. Terrence, sensitive soul that he is bursts out laughing]
Terrence: “That actually made you cry?”
[He’s really a loving husband and father, honest. He just can be.. an idiot sometimes]
Wendy: “It was touching!”
Terrence: “Well yeah. So’s ‘The Michael Jackson Story...’”
[Ba-dum-CHING!]
[Probably the wrong audience though]
Wendy: “It’s a reminder of the true values of the Christmas Season, Terrence, something we all occasionally forget. If I was on my deathbed, and Theresa wanted to bestow one final kindness on me, you wouldn’t support her in that?”
[Terrence shrugs]
Terrence: “Well, its really not the same, is it? I mean you already own a nice pair of shoes. Several of them, actually.”
[And there’s the ever infamous Wendy-death-glare!]
Wendy: “I think you’re missing the point.”
Terrence: “What is the point? That Jesus won’t let you into heaven unless you meet the dress code?”
[The glare only intensifies. Terrence starts to look a tad uneasy from the stare his wife’s giving him.]
Terrence: “Just sayin’”
[Still glaring. Terrence decide’s it might be best if he changed the subject, and quickly]
Terrence: “So, did you hear Johnny Moxie said some really mean things about us?”
[That’s probably not gonna get her in a better mood]
Terrence: “I mean... REALLY mean things.”
[Wendy hasn’t even blinked yet, and Terrence is definitely starting to wilt. He has to do something before lasers come out of her eyes. Or her retinas dry up.]
Terrence: “I mean, he said that you were a-”
Wendy: [clenched teeth] “I know what he said. Unoriginal inaccurate idiot.”
[Wait... did she just...?]
Terrence: “Wait... did you just...?”
Wendy: “Call Johnny Moxie an idiot? Yeah. I did.”
[Win?]
Wendy: “Its really the same thing from people like him, isn’t it? Call me ugly, say I can never make it on my own. Even insult my child, which, by the way, I only have ONE of. All in, what, some attempt to get a rise out of me?”
Terrence: “Well, it looks like he’s got you pretty pissed off-”
Wendy: “I’m not angry because Moxie opened is mouth, Terrence. I’m angry because I haven’t had the chance to prove people like him wrong.”
[Wendy tosses her handkerchief on the nearest end table, and sits up a little straighter, her eyes blazing]
Wendy: “If Johnny Moxie wishes to downplay my singles credentials, then why not step into the ring with me one on one, and give me a chance to better my resume.”
Terrence: “He could even put the Hybrid title on the line.”
[Wendy snorts]
Wendy: “He can’t put on the line what he’s not going to win, hon.”
Terrence: “You don’t think he’s gonna beat Val?”
[Wendy looks at Terrence with a quizzical smile that all but says ‘are you kidding me?’]
Wendy: “You do?”
Terrence: “Well yeah. He might be an ass, but I’ve wrestled Val, and she’s nothing special. He could take her.”
[Wendy shakes her head]
Wendy: “Just trust me on this, Terry. Valerie Belmont’s walking out of End Game the Hybrid Champion. But that’s not really the point here. The point is, Johnny Moxie’s yet another person to jump on the catch-twenty-two that my singles career has become. Personally, I think I could win any of the three singles titles in this company, if I could just get a chance at them.”
Terrence: “And this hogwash about you being the ‘lesser’ of the two Whirly-”
Wendy: “Actually, that’s probably the only thing Moxie’s right about.”
[For the prideful Wendy, its a tough thing for her to say, and it’s obvious she hates saying it. Terrence’s jaw drops, and he turns to Wendy utterly speechless. For her part, Wendy merely shrugs]
Wendy: “Look Terry. Winning and losing are important in wrestling, but in this business, what matters most of anything is perception. And save for Valerie Belmont, bless her, most people perceive you as my better. You’re the one who’s gotten the opportunities that I haven’t. Heck, when you and I faced head to head, you were the victor, despite interference on my behalf.”
Terrence: “You didn’t exactly solicit that.”
Wendy: “Of course not. And maybe if we ever faced again, it’d work out differently. But for now, in the minds of the people who matter the most, I’m the lesser of the two of us. I don’t like it, but I sure don’t begrudge you for it.”
[For a second, Wendy looks over in the direction of the Christmas tree, her eyes tracing the strands of garland, as she gathers her thoughts.]
Wendy: “But the funny thing is, Terrence, while its frustrating, it’s not something I’m all that ashamed of. I know Ojeda beat you at Never Say Die, but on a week to week basis, you’re probably the best, most consistent wrestler in this whole company. I know you’re proud of what you’ve accomplished in PWX, and me being jealous would take away from that. But just because I’m considered to be in your shadow now, that doesn’t mean I can’t walk down to that ring and beat anyone that’s put across from me, whether its Johnny Moxie, John Ojeda, or even you.”
[Wendy shoots her husband a small, soft smile, and Terrence gives her a bigger one in return.]
Terrence: “Though actually hon, you’re wrong. I’m not the greatest wrestler in PWX. Josh Graves is. In his own words too.”
[Wendy snorts, just once]
Wendy: “I think Josh Graves is going to be in for one massive reality check.”
Terrence: “Yeah well, I mean, I WISH I was awesome enough to where limo drivers would risk their own jobs and take the fall if I were to do something wrong, like, say, smoke, inside a hundred thousand dollar car.”
[Wendy gives a short laugh]
Wendy: “You want to do a montage?”
[For a second, Terrence grins, but he quickly sobers, looking pensive]
Terrence: “You know, I don’t even know what song we’d use.”
Wendy: “Eye of the Tiger?”
[Brief pause, Terrence looks tempted, despite Wendy suggesting the most overused montage song in the history of combat sports. Thanks for nothing, Rocky III]
Terrence: “Its kinda late. In fact, we should wrap this one up.”
[Wendy nods, and glances back at the Christmas Tree]
Wendy: “We never even mentioned the Belmonts.”
[Other than in narration. Which doesn’t count.]
[Holy shit, I think I just found a loophole!]
Terrence: “Yeah, I was thinking about that. But you know what, hon? It’s Christmas. We’ve been giving poor Jeremiah and Valerie such a hard time over the past eight months, I think they could use a night’s reprieve. And besides, I know everyone hates the Belmonts, and rags on them, and cracks vampire jokes and shit. But after facing them like a dozen times over the course of this year, I can safely say they’re not all that bad of wrestlers. Or people, for that matter. Of course, that’s not going to stop you and I from getting one last victory over them before the year’s up, and another victory over them in January when they go for our titles, but when it comes to the main event at End Game, you can squarely count me on Team Jeremiah.”
[Sorry guys, couldn’t resist!]
[Wendy looks at Terrence, surprised that the ever-cocky Mechanical Mayhem was at least somewhat complimentary to an opponent. Especially the Belmonts]
Wendy: “Are you feeling okay?”
Terrence: “Actually, yeah, I am. Maybe there’s something to this Christmas Spirit thing after all! Wanna watch a Christmas movie before we turn in?”
[Wendy looks pleased at Terrence’s suggestion.]
Wendy: “What did you have in mind?”
[Terrence breaks into a grin]
Terrence: “Die Hard.”
[Wendy’s face falls]
Wendy: “That’s not a Christmas-”
Terrence: “Oh, yes it is!”
[Yippie-ki-yay, Motherfuckers!]
[Fade]
