Wednesday September 25, 2013
Hoosier National Forest- Indiana State Highway 56
Just south of Prospect, Indiana
11:38 AM Local Time
“Freedom… Freedom! FREEDOM! YEAH FREEDOM!”
Annoyed with herself, the entire world, her husband, and whatever awful falsetto he was using to sing along to Aretha Franklin, Wendy Briese crossed her arms over her chest and glared out the window at the passing scenery. As Terrence slowed the car down to turn right onto US 150, she sighed, and looked at her side view mirror, back down the road to French Lick, where the Coldstone Academy sat. Another pang of guilt wracked her as she peeled her eyes away, closing them, rather than looking at anything else.
“I said think… THINK! Think about what you’re trying to do to me! Yeah, I said THINK!”
Finally, the last vestiges of her patience snapped, and she punched out, her hand slamming into the power button of the car’s radio. Abruptly, the music died, and Terrence’s singing cut off with a nervous titter, and a glance over at his wife coupled with his attempt at a placating smile. “Everything alright there, hon?”
Wendy took a deep breath, and looked away, at first refusing to answer. But then all her emotion,and frustration and guild bubbled up inside of her, and it came out, predictably, in a glaring accusation.
“I can’t believe that after all that’s happened this morning, you can just sit there and sing, like everything’s fine.”
Terrence only shrugged mildly, all too used to his wife’s more dark moods. “It’s over and done with, hon. No point in being bothered with it for the rest of the day. There’s a Subway in Shoals up the road. We’ll stop there for lunch. I’m sure once you have some food in you, you’ll feel a bit better…”
“I don’t want food in me!” Wendy outburst, an obvious lie, considering how much her stomach was rumbling. “Ugh! I can’t believe you-”
“I CAN’T BELIEVE *YOU* WANTED TO LEAVE ME AT THAT PLACE!” shrieked a voice from the back seat.
She felt her face growing warm from shame, embarrassment, and that still general irritated feeling, and she turned around to meet the accusing glare of her daughter. “Look, it’s not that I WANTED to, Theresa. It’s… look, there’s probably better ways we ALL could have gone about today, alright? ”
Her mind flashed back to little more than forty-five minutes ago, when they were up at the Coldstone Academy, filling out the paperwork for Theresa’s enrollment. Terrence had spent the entire session peppering Ms. Frouch with questions upon questions of the practices of the academy, while Wendy had sat silently, frozen in her miserable funk. She hadn’t liked some of the answers the headmistress had given, but Terrence had liked them even less, his questions becoming more and more sarcastic, until he asked-only half kidding- how often they used corporal punishment
“We do NOT abuse the children here at Coldstone!” Ms. Frouch had snapped, rising to her feet in indignation.
“Oh, the hell you don’t!” Terrence had snarled back, rising to his own feet, and he had given the woman a piece of his mind with an impassioned speech about the merits of freedom and the human soul. Even despite her bad mood, Wendy had been impressed. Her husband was hardly ever a philosopher.
She had been less impressed as things had rapidly deteriorated from there in a heated argument, spiraling to a point when Terrence had been yelling Rage Against the Machine lyrics over the school intercom.
Needless to say, the Thompson family, Theresa included, were no longer welcome at the Coldstone Academy for Girls.
“Yeah… we probably could’ve.” the present-moment Terrence was musing, before breaking out into a grin. “But that was WAY more fun. And besides, Nulla Tolerantia… whatever is Latin for ‘making my daughter miserable’.”
Wendy shot her husband a very dark look, then turned away to look back out the window. She was annoyed with her husband, of course. She hated to be kicked out of anything, especially in the wake of such an ugly scene. But more than anything, she was annoyed at herself, wracked with guilt and shame.
Even after learning what a horrible place Coldstone was, she had STILL signed the paperwork to turn her daughter- her only child who she loved more than anything else in the world- over to them. When it mattered most, she had sank into herself, embraced cowardice, and accepted the inevitable. If it hadn’t been for Terrence and his fiery refusal, Theresa would still be back there, having every last vestige of happiness and personality sucked out of her. She was horrified that she had come so close to allowing that to happen, and she was eternally grateful, more than she could ever say, to her husband for preventing it.
“Well, we still need to get her into a school,” Wendy groused, unable to breach her true feelings on the matter. “She’s missed two days already, and I have to leave for Vegas tomorrow, and… oh God.” she closed her eyes rubbing the bridge of her nose as if she had a migraine. “How the heck are we going to get anyone to take her when she’s been expelled TWICE in three days!”
“I’m GLAD I’m expelled from there!” Theresa piped up from the back seat. “That’s the place where fun goes to die!”
“I don’t think it counts as being expelled if you were never officially enrolled.” Terrence replied with a chuckle looking into her rear view mirror. “And stop glaring at your mother like that. She tried to put you in a school, not run you over with a car.” He grinned as Wendy shot him another furious look.
“We still need to figure out what to do.” Wendy said, despairing of verbalizing anything else other than a long, piercing scream of frustration.
“Why don’t we teach her?” Terrence said with a shrug. Immediately in the back seat, Theresa sat up and began nodding her head vigorously.
“You mean homeschooled? Don’t be ridiculous, Terrence. I don’t know the first thing about teaching, and you have to be licensed and…”
“Actually, you don’t. At least not in Indiana,” Terrence replied. “All you have to do is register that you’re homeschooling your kid with your local district so they’re not a truant, and fill out a form that says your child is receiving 180 days of instruction a year. That’s it.”
Wendy looked over at Terrence. “That’s… actually kind of scary.”
“I know, right?” Terrence laughed. “But its not like we’ll shove her in front of Nickelodeon and call that instruction. There are these accredation services you can get… and they give you everything you need. Books, lesson plans, and support if you have any questions or concerns. She can even take tests online, and they grade them and let you now how she’s doing and where she needs to improve. And she can learn at her pace, which is probably a damn sight faster than she would at College Park, and it’s WAY cheaper than any boarding school.”
Wendy blinked, surprised at her husband’s knowledge on the matter. Normally, the only research he ever bothered to put in was figuring out which pizza place had the best deal. She was impressed, but still, the nagging thoughts of doubt pounded her mind. “But Terry, how would we even have time for this? I could be the FFW Champion in four days, and who knows what that’ll do to my schedule, and you-”
“Have one race left on the season,” Terrence said. “And then I’m off for five months. And come on, Wendy. You know that you can rearrange your schedule, it’s flexible enough and Cody Kincaid understands. We can even get Pollaski to help… dude seriously knows his math. And we’ll only do it for second grade, and then next year, she can go to St. Anthony’s.”
Wendy paused, biting her lip. She still had her reservations, but Terrence’s confidence was somehow reassuring. And she could almost feel her daughter’s telepathic waves slamming into her, begging them to do it. She glanced over at her husband. “Why didn’t you tell me about any of this sooner?”
Terrence waved his hand dismissively and shrugged. “You were working so hard yesterday trying to find a school, and so excited that you found one, that I didn’t want to rain on your parade and complicate things. And besides, that probably was the better way to go.. at least until the one place you found willing to take her turned out to be Hellhole University.”
Wendy sighed, and looked up at the roof of the car. “Let me look more into it when I get home… but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try…” she said. “But if it doesn’t work out, then I’m finding another school for her, and I don’t care if we have to put her on a plane to Utah. I’m not letting her miss a year of education.”
“Yay!” Theresa said, excited at the idea of mommy and daddy being her teacher.
“Done then!” Terrence said, grinning. “When we get home, I’ll show you those websites on material. You can probably figure that stuff out better than I can.”
“That’s fine. Although I really really do need to get into the gym today, too” Wendy said, surprised at the feeling of relief that was washing over her.
“Of course, but we need to get you some calories to work off first,” Terrence said, pointing at the Subway that was coming up on the right. Evidently they had reached Shoals. Terrence pulled the car into the lot, and parked. The three of them climbed out, and Terrence took a look at his daughter, frowning.
She was still in the Coldstone school uniform.
“Dear God, you look like you just walked out of an orphanage,” Terrence muttered, reaching into the car, and pulling out a plastic bag- inside were the clothes she had been wearing when they had first arrived at the academy. He tossed them to her. “Go into the bathroom and change, for the love of God. We’ll burn those things when we get home.”
Theresa didn’t need to be told twice, and she was bolting across the lot, just as eager to be rid of the drab, uncomfortable uniform. Wendy smiled softly as she watched her daughter, then walked around the car, embraced her husband, and kissed him on the lips. “Thank you,” she whispered, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice.”
“Oh? What for?” Terrence asked, returning his wife’s embrace.
“For preserving our daughter’s happiness. For having the courage to do what needed to be done back there, even when I was too busy off moping feeling sorry for myself.”
“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself,” Terrence replied gently. “You thought you were doing what was best for her, considering the circumstances. I should have told you what I’d found out about homeschooling earlier, so you’d have known that there was a viable alternative.”
Wendy nodded, breaking off the embrace, and brushing her hair out of her face. “You really think we can do this?” she whispered.
“Of course we can,” Terrence responded. “I have faith in you. I have faith in myself. And most importantly…” he turned towards the restaurant Theresa had just ran into. “I have faith in her.”
Wendy turned towards the restaurant too, nodding in agreement, and taking a deep breath. It felt as if a monstrous weight had just been lifted from her shoulders. There’d be difficulties in what they were doing, to be sure. But how could any of it have be harder than what she was fully prepared to do this morning? For the first time all day Wendy Briese truly smiled in content.
“Now come on…” Terrence said, breaking into her thoughts by gently grabbing her shoulder and guiding her towards the Subway. “There’s a foot long Applewood Pork in there with my name on it.
Wendy only took two steps before pausing, distracted by a sudden vibrating in her purse. She reached inside, and pulled out her phone, staring at the text message she had just received in surprise. “Steph Dallins just sold her bar!”
“Hunh…” Terrence said, just as surprised as his wife. “Never thought she’d do that…”
“Yeah,” Wendy said, sliding her phone back in, as the husband and wife resumed their trek into the restaurant. But as they approached the doors, Wendy couldn’t help but voice the random thought that had suddenly overtaken her mind; a question for which there was no answer:
“Why is it everytime we have a pay-per-view, half the roster suddenly undergoes a dramatic, radical, life changing event?”
===================
Saturday September 28, 2013
MGM Grand Hotel & Casino- Room 918
Las Vegas, Nevada
2:11 PM Local Tiime
The scene opens up in the hotel room of Wendy Briese, where the redhead #1 contender is sitting on a couch in her suite, spending the day relaxing before her huge night. She’s dressed fairly casually, in a plain pale green T-shirt and a pair of embroidered jeans, her legs crossed. On her lap is a small manilla folder, and Wendy slowly opens it, looking inside, and begins reading from it.
“A good housewife - which is really where you should be, and not in a wrestling ring… You don’t deserve to be here. You never will… Please, Wendy, tell me why you do. Tell me why a woman who is incapable of holding a belt past the first defence in this company, yet is so dominant everywhere else she goes, deserves a chance at the top spot in this company.”
“I hope those words sound familiar to you, Val. You said them. Three hundred and twenty-two days ago, they came out of your mouth, for all the world to hear.”
Wendy grimaces sadly, and shuts the envelope, reaching over and setting it on an end table next to the sofa. She takes a deep breath, and sighs, looking into that camera, a bit of melancholy laced in with her usual intense expression.
“You got your wish.”
“Less than twelve hours later, we faced. An errant charge, a crash into the steel steps, and a couple fractured vertabrae, and that was it. I wasn’t here. I wasn’t anywhere in FFW. I was back in my rightful place, according to you. A housewife in Indianapolis, although one who wasn’t good much for cleaning and cooking, considering I could barely move.”
“One hundred forty days, I was like that. Twenty weeks I was away from this company, fighting my own battlle. First fighting through the pain enough so I could simply function as a normal human being. Then fighting through rehabilitation as I tried to heal myself. Then fighting through my training so that I could make my return, which I did, as you will very well remember at Chaos Theory.”
Wendy slightly spreads her arms, gesturing lazily at the hotel room around her.
“And now, here I am, Valerie. It’s been nearly eleven months after that accident, six months after my return. Since then I have gained victories over FOUR former FFW Champions. I main evented the biggest show of 2013, and faced- and beat- the only three-time FFW Champion to date in company history. And now I- the exact same person who didn’t even deserve to be in the semifinals of the Femme For All eleven months ago, stand here as the number one contender to YOUR FFW Championship.”
“So, Val. Do I deserve to be here now? Tell me what’s changed. Go on, I’ll wait.”
A small smile at using one of Lamb’s favorite phrases, although there’s more disappointment than humor behind it.
“I proved you wrong, Val. Every day I’m in this company, every event I attend, every match I wrestle, every victory I accumulate defies you. You’ll never admit it, of course. You’re too prideful and stubborn to ever do that. But you know it. I can tell by the way you’ve treated me since my return. You certainly would never have invited someone who didn’t belong here to train with you and your dad in Glasgow, that’s for sure.”
“Because I know the truth, Val. And the truth is, not only were you dead wrong about me, you were never more glad to be wrong in your life. Because if the Wendy you supposedly liked, the Wendy who sat back and took whatever the world gave her, had been sitting in the commentary booth on May 25, 2013, then Relentless- the greatest night of your career- would have ended with a bellhammer being smashed into your skull.”
The intensity is still there, but Wendy’s earlier melancholic tone has been replaced with a far more fierce one, one of vindication.
“We’ve had an interesting relationship over the past three and a half years, you and I. You’ve been my opponent, my rival, my boss, my tag partner, my colleague, and my one-time training partner. But for all the respect there is between us, we’ll probably never be best friends. You don’t really like me, Val, the venom you spewed last November came too easy to your tongue. You’re probably going to do it again, throw me under the bus with another contrived venomous lashing, and if that makes you feel better, if that’s what gets you mentally prepared for our match, that’s fine. But I’m not going to reciprocate, Val. I have a couple of points to make, and they are valid ones, but I respect you too much to run you down.”
“You’ve always seen me the way you’ve WANTED to see me. You see me as weak willed, someone who hides behind her husband and manager. Someone who wears a mask, faking humility and virtue. You see me as a sham, someone who falls so short of the ideals she claims to represent. And you see me as a fool, someone who only sees the world in black and white, and can’t comprehend anything that doesn’t fit into her neatly packaged paradigm.”
Wendy shrugs, a grimace across her features.
“And maybe some of it is true. I’m not perfect, after all, you can trust me on that. But you’ve turned me into a caricature, even more so than Colleen ever did with her Pollyanna schtick. Silly whiny clueless arrogant fake naive little Wendy! And you’ve distorted everything you could to make the picture fit in your frame. I think part of it was due to frustration, part of it due to irritation, maybe even a little bit of jealousy. But most of all, Val, I think its ignorance. You know what it was like for me in PWX. But before that, during my first run as a wrestler?”
“I debuted in 2001. I know you were only thirteen, but you grew up in a wrestling family, Val. Do you remember how things were then? Maybe it was different in Scotland, but in America, that wasn’t exactly during the golden age of women’s wrestling. The idea that women could compete on equal ground with the men, the idea that female wrestling was more than just filler and T&A exhibitionism, was only just getting off the ground. My first company, what few women there were could be divided neatly into two camps- those who dressed like strippers and tried to sleep with half the locker room, and those who dressed like dominatrixes and tried to torture half the locker room. My promoter had no idea what to do with ME, given that I fit into neither. He threw my barely trained self into match after match against talent way higher on the card, thinking that maybe watching a cute girl getting beaten up would get a rise from the fetishists out there. He went even so far as to encourage our rivals in the tag division to hide a camera in my locker room, and air me getting dressed on the jumbotron, trying to squeeze out the T&A that I flat out refused to give him.”
Wendy’s emerald eyes blaze. It’s obvious that, even nearly twelve years later, she’s still pretty angry about that.
“My first women’s division saw more catfights than wrestling, and the fights were more over men than they were the championships. It was so bad that after I finally broke out of it, I swore I’d never be in a women’s division or company again, a promise I held until I was convinced to come to FFW. Even after I broke out, and wrestled my butt off trying to gain the respect of the fans and my peers, it was an uphill battle. No one had a problem with me winning tag titles. Even secondary titles, once I proved myself, people were okay with. But the top belts? Sorry. Too small. Too nice. Not enough killer instinct.”
“You claim you’ve been through midcard hell, Val. I have too, in some of the most inexpicable, contrived ways. Imagine, Val, being passed over for a chance at the world title, against a man you hated more than anyone else, because he kidnapped you and locked you in a dungeon. And then imagine being told straight up that the reason why is because the LAST woman to challenge for the title needed eight of her friends jumping the champion and beating him into unconsciousness with frozen trout, and if SHE couldn’t get it done on her own, imagine what would happen if a goody-twoshoes who refused to cheat got in that ring? I wish I was making that up.”
“Then imagine your regional company breaking away from its alliance, expanding its territory, and forming its own World Championship. And then imagine being told that despite being the regional champion just the previous week, you weren’t even going to be in the tournament to determine it, and you can unify your belt with the secondary championship you already had for nine months, and go play in the sandbox with the other midcarders.”
Wendy shakes her head, almost amused at the recollection of some of what she’s had to deal with.
“You would have me blame Terrence for much of that, considering there were many, many times that a door closing in my face was also a door opening for him. The fact hasn’t been lost on my husband either. When he told me the best thing to ever happen to my career was him retiring so I could step out from behind his shadow, he was only half-joking.”
“But how can I resent someone I love getting a chance to fulfill their dreams, even if it comes at the expense of mine? He didn’t make the decisions. He wasn’t the one who told me I was too small or too nice to ever be a top level wrestler. He’s supported me every step of the way, Val, which is far more than we see from a lot of wrestling husbands in the world today.”
“I know you think I’m better than him in that ring. But my head to head record against him proves otherwise. Every time I’ve gone up against him but once, I’ve walked out the loser, and that one time had so many extenuating circumstances to it that even now it makes my head hurt. I’m probably better than him now, considering he’s been retired for two years, and I feel like I’m in the best physical condition of my life, but that’s neither here nor there. The fact of the matter is, I begrudge the decisions, but not who they benefitted. After all, it’s all of our jobs to rise as high as we can in this industry, and how can I begrudge someone who does their job better than me, especially if that person is the one I love most in the entire world? ”
Wendy sighs, and her voice softens.
“I know you don’t like Terrence, Val. You two got off on the wrong foot, and just like with me, you’ve painted this picture of him that you refuse to deviate from. A picture of this arrogant, overbearing, condescending jerk jock. And you know what? Sometimes he is. He’s certainly incorrigible. But he has NEVER screwed me over, Val. He has NEVER abandoned me, or left me high and dry, which is far more than I can say about the reverse. He has been a wonderful husband, and a wonderful father to my child, and just this week stopped me from making one of the biggest, dumbest, most horrible mistakes I’d ever made in my life.”
Wendy’s voice finishes on a catch, and she takes a second to compose herself.
“I suppose you’re wondering what the point of all this is. I’m not trying to convince you to like Terrence- there’s too much between you for that to ever happen. I’m not trying to get sympathy, most of that happened years, even a decade ago, and my run certainly hasn’t been all bad.”
“I’m trying to make you understand where I’m coming from, Val. We’ve both been climbing the rocky slopes of wrestling for a long time. We’ve had our rises, we’ve had our falls, and we have both stood on summits and admired the view. But no two mountains are alike. The paths are different. The hazards are different. And the view from the top is different. And I can already tell you, from standing here one ledge below the top, that this summit is higher and has a more beautiful view than any I’ve ever been on.”
A small, wistful sigh.
“Every company in wrestling represents something different, Val, and so do their belts. The BWA represented old school southern power. It was a great company, had wonderful booking and a phenomenal talent pool for a small regional fed, but it was very set in its ways. They wanted old school style matches that could turn into a good old fashioned fistfight at any second. Penny Buchanan would have felt right at home there, but me… I was always a bit of an outcast. I had my fans, of course, but I was never considered the true Bayou type. And when I survived an eight man tournament to win the #1 contendership, I had to wait six months for a crack at the championship. And even when I beat the champion in the middle of the ring, everyone immediately pointed to his concussion, and simply said I got lucky, and the first chance they had to push me back down the card- without me even losing my belt, mind you- they did it.”
“The X3 was dfferent. I got lucky enough to join just in time for their tournament, and that company had potential to be great. I became their first champion, winning an epic, emotional ladder match… and then things just fell apart. Madelyne McTaggert… yes, we all know her, took over, and began tearing down what the owner had built. We suddenly went on a monthlong hiatus, and even when we came back, we never recovered. When ownership is constantly trying to undo itself in a massive power struggle, you don’t have a chance. X3 ended up standing for unfulfilled potential.”
“FFW, on the other hand, stands for unlimited potential, and I know I’ve said it before, but it can NOT be said enough. FFW is the land of opportunity, where a female wrestler can be who she wants to be, so long as she can deliver in that ring. You want to be a high flyer? Go ahead. You want to be a submissionist? Fine. Amazonian power brawler? There’s a place for you. Ultraviolent? If you want to be.”
Even though the expression on Wendy’s face clearly says ‘but why would you want to be?’. Hey, old habits die hard.
“We’re not perfect, of course. We’ve had more than our fair share of controversies. I’m just like everyone else in this sport, I’ve been frustrated, I’ve disagreed with decisions, and I’ve feldt the need to vent on an occasion. But I have never felt more at home in a company than I have in FFW, I have never been more proud to be in a company than I have FFW, and I have never desired a title more than the FFW Championship you hold. Yes, even more than the No Surrender Championship, despite some people’s assumptions.”
Wendy cracks a small grin, although the pride on her face and in her voice doesn’t vanish.
“FFW is more than a company, Val, and that title is more than just another belt. It’s a statement. It’s a testament to how far we’ve come. A decade ago, women were viewed as little more than a sideshow, and now, an entire company exclusively of women not only can survive on a national, or even global level, but it has become one of the most premier wrestling organizations in the entire world. You can’t even imagine how unfathomable that seemed once upon a time.”
Wendy’s face darkens slightly, her tone taking a subtle change.
“And you Val, as our champion, you’re the number one representative of this movement. The driving force. So I can’t, for the life of me, fathom why the HELL you would risk it all to go and participate in Ice Dog Fight Night. Yes, I know Todd Warren annoyed you, he’s annoyed all of us. There were fifty women on this roster who WEREN’T this company’s most precious commodity who could have kicked his butt just as easily.”
“But God, Val… the risk you put yourself in… for what? You have no idea how my heart ws in my THROAT as I watched that. No, I wasn’t afraid of Todd Warren beating you, but things HAPPEN Val, when we least expect them. You could have torn a muscle lifting him, you could have missed a move and strained something, someone looking to make a name for themselves could have jumped you and put you in the hospital. And all this, this big dream match, the main event for the second biggest show of the year, out number one wrestler at the moment, would have been gone. Just. Like. That. Because you wanted to grandstand for a meaningless match with a non-wrestler.”
Wendy shakes her head, not quite in disgust, but definitely disappointment.
“I don’t think you truly understand how important this is, Val. And you don’t understand how important YOU are to this company, whether or not you hold that belt. Could FFW survive without you? Of course, we’ve done that twice before. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt us.”
“There’s a lot of great talent in this company. We have great up and comers like Misty Whitmore and Kinsey DeCaro. We have competitors who are downright scary to face like Tara Thunder and Eileen Amaro. We have… Crystal Hilton. And then we have two women here who have a chance to transcend greatness, even transcend legendary status, to being point blank Icons. Women who have potential to be as synonymous to professional wrestling as Michael Jordan is to basketall and Wayne Gretzky is to hockey. You’re one of them, Val, and the second...”
Wendy pauses, then simply shrugs, chuckling softly, and shaking her head.
“It really doesn’t matter who the second is right now, does it? It’s not me, Val, I’ll tell you that much. You really think that after everything I’ve been subjected to in my career, I’d be an icon? No, I’ve suffered far too much himiliation over the years to ever achieve that status. I may become a champion. I may be eventually considered a legend. I may even one day be inducted into a hall of fame. But I will never achieve that iconic status.”
Her voice is matter-of-fact, there’s no bitterness there. It’s something she’s obviously come to terms with.
“But you Val, I knew you were special the moment I saw you in PWX. Heck, you already know that you were one of the reasons I joined that company, because I knew a match with you would be incredible, and you haven’t disappointed me yet. There’s a reason why you were the first inductee announced for the FFW Hall of Fame, Val. And you’re only twenty-four! How many years do you have left? How many more title wins, how many more five-star matches, how many more legendary moments can you decorate your already impressive shrine with? More than I will, that’s for sure.”
“I’m an old woman, Val, by wrestling standards. I’m thirty-two, and I just faced a woman YOUNGER than me in her retirement match. If it wasn’t for my five year hiatus, I doubt I’d even be here today. I’m in great condition now, perhaps the best of my life, but that’s not going to last forever. How long do I have left? Two years? Three years? Four years?”
A small shrug.
“I don’t know where the end of the road is, but it’s moments like this that make me realize all too well that it’s a lot closer than I want it to be. Time is a resource, and like all resources, when you realize they’re running out, you want to make what you have count a little more. Carpe Diem- Sieze the Day. And today, Saturday, the twenty-eighth day of September in the two thousand and thirteenth Year of Our Lord, is a day I plan to seize the heck out of.”
Again, Wendy’s voice softens, an emotional edge coming to it.
“Because I owe you my career, Val. Despite all the venom you spewed, despite how much you made it clear you wanted me gone, you still held back when I was injured, and didn’t completely cripple me. You didn’t take the liberties you could have taken, and you left me in condition to wrestle again. I’ll never forget that. So thank you. And the best way I can thank you for that, is the same as with any gift- to cherish it, and to use it every bit as I can. To treat every match I wrestle as a blessing, and to give everything I can to the fullest extent, because it’s one more match I may not have wrestled if not for you. And yes, Val, even if it comes at your expense. I doubt you’d have it any other way.”
The hard intensity returns, and Wendy leans forward, her emerald eyes boring into the camera.
“And I still have plenty of items left unchecked on my wrestling bucket list. The one’s I can make happen tonight? Well… One, finally have a match with you that doesn’t end in caveats or controversies or catastrophic accidents halfway through. Two, end this ridiculous Sin & Sacrifice losing streak that I’ve somehow become famous for. Three, beat you one on one, something that, for however impressive my record is against you, I’ve never done. Four, scale the mountain and claim the FFW Championship, something that will be all the more special beause of how hard, and how long that climb ended up being. And fiver, walk into Anarchy in my hometown of Indianapolis with that belt around my waist.”
“I want you to think back to Relentless, Val, when you stood in that ring, with the crowd cheering for you as tears ran down your face. I was at ringside, I saw point blank how special it was to you, how you finally achieved what you spent so long trying for. I want the same feeling, Val. And Saturday Night, come hell or high water, I’m going to get it.”
A small smile, as Wendy stands up.
“You have a long career ahead of you Val, and you will hold this title again. It may take a few months, it may take a year, but you will get it back. But you are leaving Las Vegas without that belt, Valerie Lamb. That summit is nice, Val, and I want my turn up top, even if it means that I have to knock you off of it.”
Wendy walks towards the camera, and leans down in front of it, speaking softly into it as she reaches for the power button.
“I’ve traveled far to stand up there, and I’m not going back down until I do.”
And out.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
EPISODE 225: Zero Tolerance, Part 3
Wednesday September 25, 2013
Hoosier National Forest- U.S. Highway 150
Near Prospect, Indiana
8:25 AM Local Time
“Okay, take a right up here onto Highway 56.”
“Here? Are you sure? Highway 56 goes straight ahead.”
“Yes, I’m sure, Terrence! I can read a stinking map! Highway 56 splits off here, and heads south!”
“Alright, but…”
“Just turn the stupid car, Terrence!”
“Alright, I’m turning, I’m turning. Jeez.”
Wendy folded her arms, looking crossly out the window as Terrrence slowed the Charger, taking a right onto the two-laned Highway 56, heading south. She felt slightly guilty about snapping at her husband like that. Her nerves were frayed, and so were his.
It had been a rough couple of days. And it was likely only going to get rougher.
Theresa had cried for hours after Terrence and Wendy had explained to her that she’d never be going back to College Park again, that her friends there were no longer her classmates. And now, just forty eight hours later, what belongings she was allowed were packed in the back of the car, headed south into the Southern Indiana foothills.
“Do we really have to do this?” came a whining voice from the back seat. “I said I’m sorry.”
“Yes, Theresa. We really… really… have to do this.” Wendy said through gritted teeth, with the exasperated air of someone who had answered the same question for the hundredth time. “I called every single school I could find, and there is NOTHING. This is honest to God the closest place willing to take you.”
It was true enough. Wendy had spent all of Tuesday trying to find a new school for her daughter. St. Michaels and St. Anthony’s both would be happy to take her next year, they said, but were overfull this year. The Washington and Wayne public districts had shot her down point blank. And on it went. Public, private, everything refused, either citing fullness, or budget, or a flat refusal to take anyone who had been expelled for ‘behavioral problems’. Finally, after nearly six hours of phone calls, web searches, and a ton of exasperation, she had found a place willing to take Theresa in. The Coldstone Academy.
An all-girls school located two hours south of Indianapolis.
Theresa had cried even more when Wendy had explained to her a concept of a boarding school. Furious, she had stormed upstairs the last night, screaming that she hated them and would never forgive them for this. That had driven Wendy to tears as well, and she had only gotten three hours of sleep from the time she went to bed at two to when she woke up at five to get ready leave. The morning had been no better, with Theresa refusing to leave bed until Terrence physically dragged her out and dressed her.
And now here they sat. In the middle of the most miserable car ride she had ever been a part of. Therea had spent pretty much the entire trip crying, or begging, or apologizing, or swearing she’d never love them any more. It had been as heartbreaking as it was annoying, and it took all her willpower to not force Terrence to stop the car and turn around and go back to Indianapolis.
She turned around, and forced a smile at her now pouting daughter. “Come on, Terr-Bear. Don’t look so glum. I went to a boarding school for several years too, you know. You’ll have a lot of fun, and meet new friends, and learn all kinds of great things. You won’t even miss us before too long.” She knew she was lying- she was miserable for most of her time at Blakely’s, and missed her parents, as neglectful as they were, costantly.
Neglectful. Is that what she herself was being to her daughter by sending her away like this?
No, another voice rang in her head. She’s being responsible. She loved her daughter so much that she was willing to send her away to get a good education. Besides, it was only for a year, and then she could start third grade in St. Anthony’s…
“And look where we are!” Wendy said, gesturing out the window. “You always loved coming down to the southern foothills and looking at the leaves. Now you’ll LIVE here, and you can watch as everything turns into brilliant colors by the day!”
Her sales pitches were falling flat, she could tell. Her daughter had folded her arms across her front and stared squarely at the back of Terrence’s seat. She never reacted at all, and Wendy wondered if she was tuning her out. Sighing, she turned back around.
“One mile to French Lick!” Terrence announced, his own attempt at false jovialty falling flat. “You know, Larry Bird’s from here,” he called back to Theresa. “Just think, you could be walking the halls and playing on the same playground he used to play!”
“I don’t think Larry Bird went to an all girl’s academy,” Wendy said quietly.
“Oh, right…” Terrence bit his lip, then tried again. “But, you know… Coldstone… like Coldstone Creamery! Maybe that’s who sponsors them, and you can get all the ice cream you can ea-” his voice faded as his wife shot a sidelong glare at him. Turning slightly red, he focused on staring straight ahead at the road and driving.
Wendy glanced back out the window and sighed again. Tomorrow, she’d be leaving for Las Vegas and Sin & Sacrifice and the biggest match of her life. She should be training for that now, should have been training for the past few days, but… circumstances.
She suddenly felt sick, and not for the first time. How could she be thinking about wrestling when she was about to drop her daughter off at some strange school? Theresa had fought because she had emulated her mom, and now she was being dumped off in the middle of nowhere.
No, she did not emulate you, the other voice countered. She lost her temper, and got expelled on a stupid beauacratic rule that shouldn’t exist. You got handed lemons, and you’re doing your best to make lemonade, even if you can’t find any sugar to sweeten it.
“Turn right up here,” she said again, pointing to a small road off the highway. This time Terrence didn’t argue. Just turned and headed up the winding road that took them into the hills to the rest of French Lick. The leaves were just starting to turn, splotches of yellow mixed in with the deep late-summer green. That was one thing she wasn’t lying about: in just a few months, the region would explode with color, and Theresa would have a front row seat.
“Coldstone Academy,” Terrence announced as he pulled into a small lot at the end of the road. As it was a weekday, only the teachers parking spots were occupied, along with a large, gray bus with “COLDSTONE ACADEMY” printed on the side. Wendy smiled slightly. At least her daughter would get to go on field trips.
Then she looked at the building in front of her and that smile faded.
Her minds eye flashed back to Blakeley’s academy, with its perfectly manicured lawns, the Victorian style buildings, nestled nicely into the Catskill mountains of upstate New York. Despite her misery there, she had always found her old school a very beautiful place.
Coldstone, on the other hand…
There was no other way to put it. Coldstone Girls Academy looked like a haunted house dropped into the middle of a maximum security prison. The main building was massive and well maintained, but hardly welcoming in appearance, with dark ivy crawling up the walls. Behind and to the side, she could se smaller satellite buildings, although whether outer classrooms or dormitories, she couldn’t tell. Somehow, despite it still being late September, nearly every tree inside the compound had lost its leaves, which lay in neatly raked piles on the browning grass. To top it off, the entire compound was surrounded by a black cast iron fence, the tops coiled with…
“Barbed wire?” Terrence said, glancing at Wendy.
“Probably to keep intruders or animals out,” Wendy reasoned, although she found the sight nervewracking as well.
“Or the girls in,” Terrence said darkly, showing reservations about this- and not for the first time. Behind them, Theresa whimpered.
“Well, that’d be good too.” Wendy replied, trying to keep her voice light. “We don’t want our daughter wandering around Hoosier National Forest, after all.” Then, forcing herself to proceed, she unbuckled her belt, and climbed out of the car, tilting her seat forward so Theresa could climb out. She half-expected another scene, where they’d have to drag her daughter kicking and screaming from the car. But Theresa climbed out voluntarily, although she looked at her mom with pleading eyes.
“Please don’t make me stay here,” she begged.
“Come on, Theresa, it’s not that bad.” Wendy lied. “I mean, it looks a little old, but look at that yard you get to play in!”
“Then why isn’t anyone playing in it?” Theresa countered.
“Probably because they’re all in class,” Wendy responded. “Now come on. And don’t slouch.”
Together, the three of them walked towards the gate in the fence that led to the school. Terrence paused, looking up at the archway and the black lettering written across it.
“Nulla Tolerantia Defectus” he said, looking over at his wife. “What’s that mean?”
Wendy shook her head. “I was never that good with Latin.” She knew a few phrases, including the motto of Blakely’s (Ubi Ars Vitae Est- Where there is art, there is life). But the overall grasp on the langauge eluded her. “We can ask when we get inside.”
She expected the gate to creak as she opened it, but it was quite well-oiled, and made no sound except a loud clang as Terrence shut it. Inside the compound, the school looked even more menacing, the shadow darkening the yard, despite the sunny day. She heard Theresa whimper again, and took her hand, leading her inside the door.
The interior of the school was clean, but somewhat dimmed in light, as only a small chandelier hung over the entrance and marble staircase. Looking up, Wendy saw the stairs wind upwards for four floors. There wasn’t a soul in sight.
“Hello?” Terrence called, his voice echoing around the hall. He cringed as Wendy wheeled towards him, a furious glare in her emerald eyes. “What I do?”
Before Wendy could snap out a response, a door opened, and a woman, maybe ten years older than Wendy was, stepped out, looking cross. That quickly faded into a smile when she saw the guests in the hallway, and she strode forward. “Welcome! Welcome. You must be the Thompsons, I presume? I’m Julia Frouch, the headmistress of Coldstone Academy.”
The woman was beautiful in a classic sense, with high cheekbones, a soft face, and a gentle bob of blonde hair falling behind her. Behind her walked another woman, smaller, shorter, and more frail. This one wasn’t as pretty, but had a sullen, drab look about her.
“Uh, yeah,” Terrence was saying, shaking the beautiful woman’s hand, and Wendy found herself doing the same. “Um, this is Theresa… your new student.” He pointed unnecessarily down at the terrified girl.
“Welcome, welcome.” Ms. Frouch said in a flourished voice, bending over and shaking her hand. “Such pretty eyes. Just like your mother’s, I see.”
“Thank you…” Theresa said softly, blushing shyly at the compliment.
“We… uh.. have her stuff still in the car,” Terrence said. “Wasn’t sure where we’re supposed to unload it”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” Ms. Frouch said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Students aren’t allowed to bring personal effects. Everything they need is provided for them here at Coldstone!”
Panic crept into Theresa’s face. “But… but my dolls…” she began.
Ms. Frouch bent in front of her, smiling. Wendy was under the impression she was trying to be friendly, but the impression was ultimately more condescending. “You’re here to learn, Theresa. Dolls and toys will only distract you from that, and lead to failure. And we here at Coldstone do NOT tolerate failure.”
Theresa’s face paled, and she looked over at her parents, panicked. Ms. Frouch looked up as well, that smile still on her face. “I’m sure you’ll agree that minimizing distractions is the best way. We don’t allow jewelery or cosmetics, and their wardrobe will consist entirely of our uniforms. This way, petty things such as vanity and jealousy don’t get in the way of a good education. In fact,” she clapped her hands twice, “Gertrude, why don’t you take Theresa up for sizing now? If we hurry, we can have her ready to start in the afternoon classes.”
Before either Terrence or Wendy could react, Gertrude had whisked their daughter away, and they could only exchange dumbfounded glances. Ms. Frouch smiled that same smile again. “Don’t worry, you’ll still get to say your goodbyes before you go. But while Theresa’s being fitted, I’m sure you would love a tour of our fine school.”
Terrence won the race to regain his voice first. “Uh.. yeah, sure.” he said. Wendy nodded, and they set off down the hall, listening to Ms. Frouch as she extolled the virtues of Coldstone Academy.
“Our average salary for teachers is ranked among the top 1% of all private schools in the United States,” she explained. “We pay top dollar to receive the services of some of the finest teachers available. 80% of our staff has at least a Master’s degree, and a full half of our staff are professors with doctorates.”
For the first time since entering the school, Wendy found herself impressed. The finest education was what she was hoping for, after all. She began to feel at ease as she glanced through the windows of classrooms, watching students intently listening to lecturing teachers.
“While at Coldstone, your daughter will receive the finest instruction in English, History, Geography, Biology, Astronomy, and Chemstry,” Ms. Frouch continued as she walked- no… strutted- down her hallway. “We strive to create an enviroment cultured to learning with minimal distractions. Of course, she’ll be required to perform chores to assist with the upkeep of our school, but she’ll also receive three full meals per day, plus a small, healthy snack in the afternoon and evenings, should she meet certain requirements.”
“What kind of requirements?” Wendy asked, curious.
“Showing academic excellence,” Ms. Frouch responded. “Perfect scores on tests, excellently written reports, etcetera. We believe that superiority is best rewarded, to inspire it’s duplication.”
“Like giving a dog a biscuit,” Terrence muttered under his breath, grunting silently when WEndy, without missing a step, managed to land a kick to his shin.
“What about your arts programs?” Wendy asked. “You know, visual arts, drama, choir…” her voice trailed off as Ms. Frouch pursed her lips, shaking her head. “No?”
That damned smile returned. “We believe here that such things as singing and acting are… unproductive. Things such as music and drawing only stirs the imagination, which leads to daydreaming and sidetracking. For that same reason we are very careful about which literary books we introduce, lest they entice our student’s minds to wander.”
Wendy was incredulous. “You curtail the imagination? Isn’t imagination what fuels inventions and discoveries and the overall betterment of our life?”
“Of course, of course,” Ms. Frouch replied. “But the imagination is like a tree. For it to reach its full potential when grown, you must prune it as much as you can when it’s young, do you not? By trimming it now, we allow the imagination to expand properly. Productively.”
Wendy blinked. She’d never thought of it that way before.
“Ah, and here we have our physical education room. After all, being fit is part of being successful, right?”
Wendy was surprised to walk through the door into a full sized gymnasium. The school certainly didn’t look capable of holding such a room on the outside. She looked around, and saw a PE class of perhaps twelve year olds- half wearing red bibs, half wearing blue- playing basketball. The game was as serious as any game she had ever seen in the NCAA tournament, the girls playing with intensity she’d never imagine for a simple P.E. class. She watched as a girl in red heaved up a three point shot, that fell just short, and clanged off the rim. As it did, a whistle blew, and the girls wearing red groaned.
“Time!” the PE instructor yelled. “Blue team wins, 41-39! Go get cleaned up for your next class. Red team, I expect you back here at six o’clock for your punishment!” The girls walked off, the blue team cheers filled more with relief, while the red team was busy squabbling amongst themselves, the girl who had missed the shot receving the brunt of her team’s wrath.
“Punishment?” she heard Terrence ask Ms. Frouch behind her.
“Nulla Tolerantia Defectus” the woman said proudly, echoing the words that had been above the iron gate. “Zero tolerance for failure. Those are the losers. They have failed, they must be punished. Tonight, during dinner, they will be assigned to clean a section of the school until it’s sparkling. Their drudgery will remind them to work harder to succeed next time. By this way, we instill a desire for success.” She reached forward to usher them back out of the gymnasium.
“You force children to miss dinner for losing a game of basketball?” now it was Terrence’s turn to be incredulous.
“Of course not. Once they are finished cleaning, they are more than welcome to eat.” Ms. Frouch replied. “Of course, by then, the food will be cold, but that will serve as a reminder to them about the consequences of failing. Ah, look! Gertrude returns with your daughter!”
Wendy tried to not think about how dull her daughter looked. Theresa was wearing a drab gray blouse buttoned high, and a equally drab skirt, with black stockings and a pair of black shoes. Her heart stopped beating as she realized that her daughter was refusing to meet her eyes, instead looking intently at the polished floor. Next to her, she saw Terrence, trying hard to keep an expression of distaste off his face.
“Yes, that is quite acceptable.” Ms. Frouch announced. “Now, if you follow me to my office, we can do the paperwork to complete her enrollment, and then she can get started learning immediately.”
Terrence looked at Wendy, his jaw set. For a second, she thought she saw him shaking his head, but she wasn’t sure. Ms. Frouch was staring at her, waiting for her to respond. For a second, Wendy was tempted to pick up her daughter, cradle her in her arms, and flee. She knew Theresa was going to be miserable here. Anyone with a soul would be miserable here.
But what other choice did she have? She had spent all of yesterday looking for a school, and this was her only option. It was here, or nothing, right? And it was only for eight months, then summer break would hit.
How much harm could that possibly do?
“Right,” Wendy sighed. “Let’s go.”
But as the rest trudged behind Ms. Frouch, Wendy lagged behind, tears clouding her eyes as she watched her daughter sulk behind her husband in that ugly gray dress. She thought about her own misery at beautiful Blakely, and how she had vowed never to raise her daughter the way her parents had raised her.
She had succeeded on that front, at least. She wasn’t anything like her parents.
She was worse.
Hoosier National Forest- U.S. Highway 150
Near Prospect, Indiana
8:25 AM Local Time
“Okay, take a right up here onto Highway 56.”
“Here? Are you sure? Highway 56 goes straight ahead.”
“Yes, I’m sure, Terrence! I can read a stinking map! Highway 56 splits off here, and heads south!”
“Alright, but…”
“Just turn the stupid car, Terrence!”
“Alright, I’m turning, I’m turning. Jeez.”
Wendy folded her arms, looking crossly out the window as Terrrence slowed the Charger, taking a right onto the two-laned Highway 56, heading south. She felt slightly guilty about snapping at her husband like that. Her nerves were frayed, and so were his.
It had been a rough couple of days. And it was likely only going to get rougher.
Theresa had cried for hours after Terrence and Wendy had explained to her that she’d never be going back to College Park again, that her friends there were no longer her classmates. And now, just forty eight hours later, what belongings she was allowed were packed in the back of the car, headed south into the Southern Indiana foothills.
“Do we really have to do this?” came a whining voice from the back seat. “I said I’m sorry.”
“Yes, Theresa. We really… really… have to do this.” Wendy said through gritted teeth, with the exasperated air of someone who had answered the same question for the hundredth time. “I called every single school I could find, and there is NOTHING. This is honest to God the closest place willing to take you.”
It was true enough. Wendy had spent all of Tuesday trying to find a new school for her daughter. St. Michaels and St. Anthony’s both would be happy to take her next year, they said, but were overfull this year. The Washington and Wayne public districts had shot her down point blank. And on it went. Public, private, everything refused, either citing fullness, or budget, or a flat refusal to take anyone who had been expelled for ‘behavioral problems’. Finally, after nearly six hours of phone calls, web searches, and a ton of exasperation, she had found a place willing to take Theresa in. The Coldstone Academy.
An all-girls school located two hours south of Indianapolis.
Theresa had cried even more when Wendy had explained to her a concept of a boarding school. Furious, she had stormed upstairs the last night, screaming that she hated them and would never forgive them for this. That had driven Wendy to tears as well, and she had only gotten three hours of sleep from the time she went to bed at two to when she woke up at five to get ready leave. The morning had been no better, with Theresa refusing to leave bed until Terrence physically dragged her out and dressed her.
And now here they sat. In the middle of the most miserable car ride she had ever been a part of. Therea had spent pretty much the entire trip crying, or begging, or apologizing, or swearing she’d never love them any more. It had been as heartbreaking as it was annoying, and it took all her willpower to not force Terrence to stop the car and turn around and go back to Indianapolis.
She turned around, and forced a smile at her now pouting daughter. “Come on, Terr-Bear. Don’t look so glum. I went to a boarding school for several years too, you know. You’ll have a lot of fun, and meet new friends, and learn all kinds of great things. You won’t even miss us before too long.” She knew she was lying- she was miserable for most of her time at Blakely’s, and missed her parents, as neglectful as they were, costantly.
Neglectful. Is that what she herself was being to her daughter by sending her away like this?
No, another voice rang in her head. She’s being responsible. She loved her daughter so much that she was willing to send her away to get a good education. Besides, it was only for a year, and then she could start third grade in St. Anthony’s…
“And look where we are!” Wendy said, gesturing out the window. “You always loved coming down to the southern foothills and looking at the leaves. Now you’ll LIVE here, and you can watch as everything turns into brilliant colors by the day!”
Her sales pitches were falling flat, she could tell. Her daughter had folded her arms across her front and stared squarely at the back of Terrence’s seat. She never reacted at all, and Wendy wondered if she was tuning her out. Sighing, she turned back around.
“One mile to French Lick!” Terrence announced, his own attempt at false jovialty falling flat. “You know, Larry Bird’s from here,” he called back to Theresa. “Just think, you could be walking the halls and playing on the same playground he used to play!”
“I don’t think Larry Bird went to an all girl’s academy,” Wendy said quietly.
“Oh, right…” Terrence bit his lip, then tried again. “But, you know… Coldstone… like Coldstone Creamery! Maybe that’s who sponsors them, and you can get all the ice cream you can ea-” his voice faded as his wife shot a sidelong glare at him. Turning slightly red, he focused on staring straight ahead at the road and driving.
Wendy glanced back out the window and sighed again. Tomorrow, she’d be leaving for Las Vegas and Sin & Sacrifice and the biggest match of her life. She should be training for that now, should have been training for the past few days, but… circumstances.
She suddenly felt sick, and not for the first time. How could she be thinking about wrestling when she was about to drop her daughter off at some strange school? Theresa had fought because she had emulated her mom, and now she was being dumped off in the middle of nowhere.
No, she did not emulate you, the other voice countered. She lost her temper, and got expelled on a stupid beauacratic rule that shouldn’t exist. You got handed lemons, and you’re doing your best to make lemonade, even if you can’t find any sugar to sweeten it.
“Turn right up here,” she said again, pointing to a small road off the highway. This time Terrence didn’t argue. Just turned and headed up the winding road that took them into the hills to the rest of French Lick. The leaves were just starting to turn, splotches of yellow mixed in with the deep late-summer green. That was one thing she wasn’t lying about: in just a few months, the region would explode with color, and Theresa would have a front row seat.
“Coldstone Academy,” Terrence announced as he pulled into a small lot at the end of the road. As it was a weekday, only the teachers parking spots were occupied, along with a large, gray bus with “COLDSTONE ACADEMY” printed on the side. Wendy smiled slightly. At least her daughter would get to go on field trips.
Then she looked at the building in front of her and that smile faded.
Her minds eye flashed back to Blakeley’s academy, with its perfectly manicured lawns, the Victorian style buildings, nestled nicely into the Catskill mountains of upstate New York. Despite her misery there, she had always found her old school a very beautiful place.
Coldstone, on the other hand…
There was no other way to put it. Coldstone Girls Academy looked like a haunted house dropped into the middle of a maximum security prison. The main building was massive and well maintained, but hardly welcoming in appearance, with dark ivy crawling up the walls. Behind and to the side, she could se smaller satellite buildings, although whether outer classrooms or dormitories, she couldn’t tell. Somehow, despite it still being late September, nearly every tree inside the compound had lost its leaves, which lay in neatly raked piles on the browning grass. To top it off, the entire compound was surrounded by a black cast iron fence, the tops coiled with…
“Barbed wire?” Terrence said, glancing at Wendy.
“Probably to keep intruders or animals out,” Wendy reasoned, although she found the sight nervewracking as well.
“Or the girls in,” Terrence said darkly, showing reservations about this- and not for the first time. Behind them, Theresa whimpered.
“Well, that’d be good too.” Wendy replied, trying to keep her voice light. “We don’t want our daughter wandering around Hoosier National Forest, after all.” Then, forcing herself to proceed, she unbuckled her belt, and climbed out of the car, tilting her seat forward so Theresa could climb out. She half-expected another scene, where they’d have to drag her daughter kicking and screaming from the car. But Theresa climbed out voluntarily, although she looked at her mom with pleading eyes.
“Please don’t make me stay here,” she begged.
“Come on, Theresa, it’s not that bad.” Wendy lied. “I mean, it looks a little old, but look at that yard you get to play in!”
“Then why isn’t anyone playing in it?” Theresa countered.
“Probably because they’re all in class,” Wendy responded. “Now come on. And don’t slouch.”
Together, the three of them walked towards the gate in the fence that led to the school. Terrence paused, looking up at the archway and the black lettering written across it.
“Nulla Tolerantia Defectus” he said, looking over at his wife. “What’s that mean?”
Wendy shook her head. “I was never that good with Latin.” She knew a few phrases, including the motto of Blakely’s (Ubi Ars Vitae Est- Where there is art, there is life). But the overall grasp on the langauge eluded her. “We can ask when we get inside.”
She expected the gate to creak as she opened it, but it was quite well-oiled, and made no sound except a loud clang as Terrence shut it. Inside the compound, the school looked even more menacing, the shadow darkening the yard, despite the sunny day. She heard Theresa whimper again, and took her hand, leading her inside the door.
The interior of the school was clean, but somewhat dimmed in light, as only a small chandelier hung over the entrance and marble staircase. Looking up, Wendy saw the stairs wind upwards for four floors. There wasn’t a soul in sight.
“Hello?” Terrence called, his voice echoing around the hall. He cringed as Wendy wheeled towards him, a furious glare in her emerald eyes. “What I do?”
Before Wendy could snap out a response, a door opened, and a woman, maybe ten years older than Wendy was, stepped out, looking cross. That quickly faded into a smile when she saw the guests in the hallway, and she strode forward. “Welcome! Welcome. You must be the Thompsons, I presume? I’m Julia Frouch, the headmistress of Coldstone Academy.”
The woman was beautiful in a classic sense, with high cheekbones, a soft face, and a gentle bob of blonde hair falling behind her. Behind her walked another woman, smaller, shorter, and more frail. This one wasn’t as pretty, but had a sullen, drab look about her.
“Uh, yeah,” Terrence was saying, shaking the beautiful woman’s hand, and Wendy found herself doing the same. “Um, this is Theresa… your new student.” He pointed unnecessarily down at the terrified girl.
“Welcome, welcome.” Ms. Frouch said in a flourished voice, bending over and shaking her hand. “Such pretty eyes. Just like your mother’s, I see.”
“Thank you…” Theresa said softly, blushing shyly at the compliment.
“We… uh.. have her stuff still in the car,” Terrence said. “Wasn’t sure where we’re supposed to unload it”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” Ms. Frouch said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Students aren’t allowed to bring personal effects. Everything they need is provided for them here at Coldstone!”
Panic crept into Theresa’s face. “But… but my dolls…” she began.
Ms. Frouch bent in front of her, smiling. Wendy was under the impression she was trying to be friendly, but the impression was ultimately more condescending. “You’re here to learn, Theresa. Dolls and toys will only distract you from that, and lead to failure. And we here at Coldstone do NOT tolerate failure.”
Theresa’s face paled, and she looked over at her parents, panicked. Ms. Frouch looked up as well, that smile still on her face. “I’m sure you’ll agree that minimizing distractions is the best way. We don’t allow jewelery or cosmetics, and their wardrobe will consist entirely of our uniforms. This way, petty things such as vanity and jealousy don’t get in the way of a good education. In fact,” she clapped her hands twice, “Gertrude, why don’t you take Theresa up for sizing now? If we hurry, we can have her ready to start in the afternoon classes.”
Before either Terrence or Wendy could react, Gertrude had whisked their daughter away, and they could only exchange dumbfounded glances. Ms. Frouch smiled that same smile again. “Don’t worry, you’ll still get to say your goodbyes before you go. But while Theresa’s being fitted, I’m sure you would love a tour of our fine school.”
Terrence won the race to regain his voice first. “Uh.. yeah, sure.” he said. Wendy nodded, and they set off down the hall, listening to Ms. Frouch as she extolled the virtues of Coldstone Academy.
“Our average salary for teachers is ranked among the top 1% of all private schools in the United States,” she explained. “We pay top dollar to receive the services of some of the finest teachers available. 80% of our staff has at least a Master’s degree, and a full half of our staff are professors with doctorates.”
For the first time since entering the school, Wendy found herself impressed. The finest education was what she was hoping for, after all. She began to feel at ease as she glanced through the windows of classrooms, watching students intently listening to lecturing teachers.
“While at Coldstone, your daughter will receive the finest instruction in English, History, Geography, Biology, Astronomy, and Chemstry,” Ms. Frouch continued as she walked- no… strutted- down her hallway. “We strive to create an enviroment cultured to learning with minimal distractions. Of course, she’ll be required to perform chores to assist with the upkeep of our school, but she’ll also receive three full meals per day, plus a small, healthy snack in the afternoon and evenings, should she meet certain requirements.”
“What kind of requirements?” Wendy asked, curious.
“Showing academic excellence,” Ms. Frouch responded. “Perfect scores on tests, excellently written reports, etcetera. We believe that superiority is best rewarded, to inspire it’s duplication.”
“Like giving a dog a biscuit,” Terrence muttered under his breath, grunting silently when WEndy, without missing a step, managed to land a kick to his shin.
“What about your arts programs?” Wendy asked. “You know, visual arts, drama, choir…” her voice trailed off as Ms. Frouch pursed her lips, shaking her head. “No?”
That damned smile returned. “We believe here that such things as singing and acting are… unproductive. Things such as music and drawing only stirs the imagination, which leads to daydreaming and sidetracking. For that same reason we are very careful about which literary books we introduce, lest they entice our student’s minds to wander.”
Wendy was incredulous. “You curtail the imagination? Isn’t imagination what fuels inventions and discoveries and the overall betterment of our life?”
“Of course, of course,” Ms. Frouch replied. “But the imagination is like a tree. For it to reach its full potential when grown, you must prune it as much as you can when it’s young, do you not? By trimming it now, we allow the imagination to expand properly. Productively.”
Wendy blinked. She’d never thought of it that way before.
“Ah, and here we have our physical education room. After all, being fit is part of being successful, right?”
Wendy was surprised to walk through the door into a full sized gymnasium. The school certainly didn’t look capable of holding such a room on the outside. She looked around, and saw a PE class of perhaps twelve year olds- half wearing red bibs, half wearing blue- playing basketball. The game was as serious as any game she had ever seen in the NCAA tournament, the girls playing with intensity she’d never imagine for a simple P.E. class. She watched as a girl in red heaved up a three point shot, that fell just short, and clanged off the rim. As it did, a whistle blew, and the girls wearing red groaned.
“Time!” the PE instructor yelled. “Blue team wins, 41-39! Go get cleaned up for your next class. Red team, I expect you back here at six o’clock for your punishment!” The girls walked off, the blue team cheers filled more with relief, while the red team was busy squabbling amongst themselves, the girl who had missed the shot receving the brunt of her team’s wrath.
“Punishment?” she heard Terrence ask Ms. Frouch behind her.
“Nulla Tolerantia Defectus” the woman said proudly, echoing the words that had been above the iron gate. “Zero tolerance for failure. Those are the losers. They have failed, they must be punished. Tonight, during dinner, they will be assigned to clean a section of the school until it’s sparkling. Their drudgery will remind them to work harder to succeed next time. By this way, we instill a desire for success.” She reached forward to usher them back out of the gymnasium.
“You force children to miss dinner for losing a game of basketball?” now it was Terrence’s turn to be incredulous.
“Of course not. Once they are finished cleaning, they are more than welcome to eat.” Ms. Frouch replied. “Of course, by then, the food will be cold, but that will serve as a reminder to them about the consequences of failing. Ah, look! Gertrude returns with your daughter!”
Wendy tried to not think about how dull her daughter looked. Theresa was wearing a drab gray blouse buttoned high, and a equally drab skirt, with black stockings and a pair of black shoes. Her heart stopped beating as she realized that her daughter was refusing to meet her eyes, instead looking intently at the polished floor. Next to her, she saw Terrence, trying hard to keep an expression of distaste off his face.
“Yes, that is quite acceptable.” Ms. Frouch announced. “Now, if you follow me to my office, we can do the paperwork to complete her enrollment, and then she can get started learning immediately.”
Terrence looked at Wendy, his jaw set. For a second, she thought she saw him shaking his head, but she wasn’t sure. Ms. Frouch was staring at her, waiting for her to respond. For a second, Wendy was tempted to pick up her daughter, cradle her in her arms, and flee. She knew Theresa was going to be miserable here. Anyone with a soul would be miserable here.
But what other choice did she have? She had spent all of yesterday looking for a school, and this was her only option. It was here, or nothing, right? And it was only for eight months, then summer break would hit.
How much harm could that possibly do?
“Right,” Wendy sighed. “Let’s go.”
But as the rest trudged behind Ms. Frouch, Wendy lagged behind, tears clouding her eyes as she watched her daughter sulk behind her husband in that ugly gray dress. She thought about her own misery at beautiful Blakely, and how she had vowed never to raise her daughter the way her parents had raised her.
She had succeeded on that front, at least. She wasn’t anything like her parents.
She was worse.
EPISODE 224: Zero Tolerance, Part 2
Monday September 23, 2013
North Marion Speedway- Maintenance Lot
Indianapolis, Indiana
3:13 PM Local Time
“Is she okay?!” Wendy Briese called to her husband as she sprinted across the gravel lot towards her husband’s car, “was she hurt?”
“I dunno. I didn’t ask.” Terrence called back, with a grimace. “I’d assume she’s fine.”
“You’d ASSUME?!” Wendy asked, panic and outrage entering her voice. “Why didn’t you ask!?”
“Look, they told us to come to the school,” Terrence replied calmly as he opened the door on his 1971 crimson Dodge Charger, quickly climbing inside and starting the car. Wendy reached the car seconds later, throwing open the passenger’s side door, and practically diving inside. “If she was seriously hurt, they’d have told us to go to the hospital.”
Wendy didn’t speak for a second, catching her breath as she buckled herself, Terrence peeling out and driving as quick as he dared down the bumpy access road. She couldn’t believe that just ten minutes ago, she had been standing in her training ring, attempting to spar with her hired partner, being interrupted every few minutes to deal with one thing or another concerning the renovation of her gym. It was almost done, thank God. The exercise equipment would be installed over the weekend, while she was in Vegas for Sin & Sacrifice. But still, she was getting impatient with the frequent interruptions. She did have the biggest match of her life just five days away, after all.
And then Terrence came in, saying he had just gotten the phone call that no parent would ever want to receive from their child’s school. The one that requested them to come down immediately, because there was an emergency. In this case, Theresa had been…
“Fighting…” Wendy said out loud, looking out the window as they pulled out of the Parking lot onto 177th Street. “Why the HELL would she be getting into fights at school? She knows better than that!”
“Who knows?” Terrence said, shrugging, and Wendy’s irritation flared at his relative nonchalance. “I got into fights all the time at school. Sometimes you’re provoked, or you have to defend yourself, or you’re just screwing around and things go out of control. It happens to kids.”
“But she KNOWS better!” Wendy said, groaning. She paused for a second, taking a deep breath, and finally let loose her true fears. “It’s me. It’s because I wrestle. I’ve known it all along. I’m a bad influence. I taught her it’s okay to fight, and now she’s-”
“Wendy, shut up.” Terrence snapped, gritting his teeth in irritation. His wife did, but she threw a hurt expression his way. He spared her a quick glance, and gestued apologetically with his right hand, keeping the wheel firmly held with the left. His voice softened. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions, okay? Let’s just get there, and find out what happened. She may have just been defending herself. It might be a misunderstanding. We. Don’t. Know. So until we do…”
Wendy nodded, although she gulped down the waves of angst that was rising in her throat. She had always feared something like this happening. She had always thought Theresa had reacted well to her mother’s occupation, but now she saw otherwise. Her career was wrecking her daughter’s life, making her lash out in school.
But this was the first she’d even heard of any outburst from her, another voice echoed in her mind. In fact, her teacher the previous year, Ms. Savage, had always praised Theresa’s attitude and work ethic, although she warned that her tendency for sarcastic backtalk would be best toned down. And she had received great grades… with all A’s except for B’s in Science and Math…
The rest of the ride was silent, with only Wendy’s doubts and reassurances waging an ongoing debate in her head. Terrence was similarly thinking, given the grim expression on his face, and the way he clenched the steering wheel. Every turn of the wheels seemed like both a blessing and a curse, she was dying to make sure her daughter was okay and find out what had truly happened, and was also dreading the answers.
School had just let out as the Charger approached College Park elementary, and Terrence gritted his teeth as he waited for the crossing guard in front of the school to wave them into the parking lot. Luckily, there was a spot open near the building, that Terrence pulled into, and they were soon quickly walking towards the entrance, fighting against the tide of exiting students. Several- to her horror- recognized her, and she heard excited whispering amongst some students, catching her daughters name, along with such statements as “beat up” and “kicked his ass”. She exchanged an uncertain glance with her husband. He had evidently heard the whispering too.
After quickly checking with the school’s secretary, they were directed to the adjacent nurse’s office, and there they saw Theresa, sitting on a small bench, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders bobbing up and down with the sobs that wer wracking her body. “Theresa!” She exclaimed, rushing forward, Terrence following fast behind. “Oh, Theresa, are you okay?”
“I’m sorry, mommy!!” Theresa wailed as she embraced her mother. Wendy held her daughter tight for several long seconds, then forced herself to release, and push her daughter back, so she could get a good look at her.
To her surprise, save for the tracks of tears running down her face, Theresa’s visage was unblemished, although her hair was rather dirty and unkempt, with bits of gravel and dirt nestled in with the brown strands. Her hands, however, were a different story, both were heavily bruised, with some of the knuckles turning purple. Even as she reached out to feel one of her daughter’s hands, the small girl flinched.
Injured hands, and nowhere else, she realized, as her combat sport knowledge swept over her with relief and, in some bizarre sense, pride. Whatever the fight was about, and whoever it was with, Theresa had clearly won.
“She’s fine, for the most part,” the school nurse said behind them, forcing Wendy to turn around. Evidently she’d been watching the whole thing, albeit quite taken aback by the two adults bursting into her room. Still, her eyes were kindly and sympathetic as she held her clipboard. “Her hands are bruised badly, but they’re not broken. I had her put some ice on them for a bit. She’s just been very distraught.”
Wendy could imagine. She knew all too well the feeling of adrenaline wearing off, and it being replaced by weariness, pain, and in some cases, the overwhelming knowledge that she had just done something that was going to have very unpleasant consequences. She wanted to wrap her arms around her daughter again, to assure her that it would all be okay, that it’d be forgotten about tomorrow.
“What happened, Theresa?” Terrence asked, his voice firm, yet gentle. .
Theresa took a shuddering breath, trying to steady herself. “I was playing four-square with my friends, and I looked over, and I saw that some boys had taken Brianna Snitchen’s ball. I tried to make them give them back, but they wouldn’t listen to me, and then Clint threw the ball at my face and…” her eyes welled up with tears, and she sniffled. “The next thing I knew, I was on top of him, and Ms. Dillon was trying to pull me off, and…” her voice failed, and Wendy reached out to embrace her again, nestling her hair.
Terrence stared down at her and snorted. “Wait… Clint? As in Clint Sickles? The kid who lives across the street? You beat him up?”
“Terrence!” Wendy snarled, looking up at him, angry at both the pride in his voice and the same feeling she had earlier. “It’s not funny!”
“It kind of is…” Terrence replied, his voice low. “That little shit’s been having this coming to him for a couple years now. Remember when he stuck a potato in my tail pipe, and his mom was all ‘He was just curious to see what would happen’” He chuckled, which withered quickly under Wendy’s glare.
“I’m sorry!” Theresa moaned again, miserably, and Wendy embraced her again.
Behind her, she heard the phone ring, and the nurse answer. “Yes? Yes. They arrived ten minutes ago. Okay, I’ll let them know. Bye.” She hung up the phone, then turned to the Thompsons. “Ms. Guntherson is ready to meet with you, so you can head next door whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you,” Wendy said quietly, then looking down at Theresa. She wanted to scoop her daughter up and carry her from the school, to shield her from any repercussions of what happened. But you couldn’t run from consequences, she knew that all too well. It was time to face the music. “Come on, Theresa. Let’s go see the principal.”
Theresa sniffled, and the tears threatened to come again. “What’s going to happen?”
Wendy shook her head, unable to provide an answer, but Terrence just shrugged. “I dunno what they do now, but whenever I got in trouble like this, I had to skip recess for a week. Stay in study hall.” Theresa’s face fell at that prospect, although Terrence smiled reassuringly. “Just get your homework done there, then you’ll have more time for playing at home.”
Theresa didn’t look all too reassured, but she attempted a smile, and the three began to leave the room, Theresa pausing to turn around and throw a small wave at the nurse. “Thank you, Ms. Harper!” she said.
“Good luck, dear,” the nurse, replied, waving back. And then the three were gone, back to the school office. The secretary led them to a row of seats right outside the principal’s office door still slightly shut. Wendy could hear the murmur of angry voices through the door, and she took one simple, pained guess as to who was on the other side.
Her fears were confirmed mere minutes later, when the door opened, and out stepped Clinton Sickles and his parents. If there had been any doubt over whether or not Theresa had won before (not that it mattered, a voice inside her head kept screaming), there was none now. His face had been cleaned up, but Clinton’s eyes were swollen and black, and he had a large dob of cotton had been wedged into both of his nostrils. His lower hip was cut too, and it trembled as he looked sullenly over at Theresa, who stared coldly back at him.
Behind Clint came his parents, Kelly and Erik, two adults who Wendy liked about as much as the average Power Trip member. Kelly’s pinched, blonde-hair framed face, narrowed even further, into a look of savage triumph as she looked at the Thompsons. The expression on Erik’s beefy face was almost identical, and Wendy felt a cold chill crawling up her spine. Suddenly, her memories jolted her- Erik was the coach of the local High School football team, the Pike Red Devils, and Kelly was the treasurer of the College Park PTA. Both held considerable clout in the School District.
The Sickles never said a word as they walked by, although Wendy was left with the distinct impression that they were resisting the temptation. No sooner had they left the office than a fourth person emerged from the doorway.
Wendy had seen Olive Guntherson plenty of times before, but never up close before. She was stern looking, probably in her early sixties, with straw colored hair that was now turning gray hanging like a curtain on either side of her bespectacled face. Wendy was oddly reminded of a cross between the scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz and a librarian.
"Mr. and Mrs. Thompson?". Her voice was low, melodious. "Please come in. Theresa too."
She stood aside to allow them entry into an office that was positively Spartan, then shut the door, and sat down in her chair behind a dark wooden desk, while Terrence, Wendy, and Theresa sat on the visitors chairs.
"Let us cut to the chase," the principal said, offering no other introduction. "Your daughter physically assaulted another student today. She attacked without provocation-"
"Whoah, hang on here," Terrence interrupted, indignation in his voice. Wendy slowly closed her mouth- she had opened up to object as well, but had been beaten to the punch. "Clinton Sickles hit her in the face with a playground ball."
"So he told me already.". The principal looked annoyed at the interruption. "He was tossing the ball back to her, and she got accidentally hit in the face."
"THAT'S A LIE!" Theresa had sprung out of her chair, standing up, her fists balled at her side. "I was turned around when he threw it! He meant to me and the whole playground saw it! Ask Brianna! Or Angela! Or Rose! Or Heather! Or..."
"Theresa, enough..." Wendy said softly, reaching out and gently grabbing her shoulder, trying to pull her back into her chair.
"But..." Theresa protested.
"Enough,". Wendy said again, more firmly this time. She knew her daughter was telling the truth, but she could tell that the outburst was not sitting well with the principal. On the contrary, it was only reinforcing whatever the Sickles had likely said. A horrible sinking came into the pit of her stomach.
Terrence was calmer than his daughter, but hardly willing to accept the point. “Did you talk to the witnesses who saw what happened? Call them in here and let them say what they saw.”
“The children have gone home for the day,” Ms. Guntherson said firmly. “And we do not take the word of children into account. We’ve found that their perception of the events tends to be… rather biased and unreliable.”
“And the playground monitor? I assume you think she’s reliable?” Wendy asked, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
“She did not see the ball being thrown. She did however, witness your daughter, straddling atop Mr. Sickles, landing at least half a dozen blows to his face before she could pry her off.” the principal said.
“Of course,” Wendy muttered. That sinking feeling in her stomach was growing.
“Alright,” Terrence said, trying to press the issue forward. “Look, Theresa’s a good girl. You look at her file from last year, her grades, you can see that. She shouldn’t have lost control the way she did, and there’s going to be consequences for that, from us as well as from the school, that she will have to deal with, and hopefully learn from. But she’s SEVEN. Seven year olds do foolish things all the time. Getting into fights is one of them.”
“This wasn’t a fight, Mr. Thompson,” the principal replied, looking at the auto racer cooly. “A fight involves two people hitting each other. Ms. Dillon, the playground monitor, never saw Clinton strike her. He never did anything but lie on his back and try to cover himself from her blows. The only one doing the striking was your daughter. That’s assault, Mr. Thompson. And as you no doubt read in the student handbook we sent home at the first of the year, the Pike Township School District has a zero tolerance policy on students assaulting each other.”
Wendy looked down at Theresa, who eyes were wide in fear and confusion. Most of what had just been said had gone right over her head, but she could tell that her parents’ mood had become all the more grim. Swallowing hard, she looked back at the principal. “Alright, we… understand that, and we wouldn’t expect you to have anything different. Schools should be a place where students can learn and interact with their friends in safety. We don’t dispute that, and we don’t dispute that Theresa broke the rules. What we want to know is what needs to be done so that we can move forward from here.”
“Ah,” the principal said, adjusting her glasses, and picking up a folder that Wendy guessed was Theresa’s and opening it. “Well, as to that, due to your daughters youth and no prior history of deliquency, the Sickles have agreed not to press criminal charges against her. However, they ask that you do pay for Clinton’s medical bills, and have expressed that they will file a civil suit if necessary.”
Wendy’s mouth was too dry, but Terrence answered with an accepting nod. “That’s fine,” he said, his voice quieter than Wendy had ever heard it.
“As far as school discipline goes, the District’s policy is quite cut and dry on this. We have a zero tolerance policy on children intentionally harming other children.” For the first time, Ms. Guntherson’s voice wavered. “I am sorry. My hands are tied on this, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson. Effective immediately, your daughter Theresa is expelled from all institutions within the Metropolitan School District of Pike Township. We wish you the best of luck in the future.”
Wendy suddenly found it extremely difficult to breathe, and she looked over at her husband, tears blurring her eyes. Terrence was equally stunned, his mouth open, his expression vacant, as if the words he had just heard were still being processed through the gears in his brain. Finally, he was able to choke out “That’s impos… you.. you… can’t..”
“I have to.” The principal replied grimly, stamping something onto the folder, and closing it. “I am sorry,” and although she looked like she meant it, it sure didn’t make Wendy feel any better.
Nor did it when Theresa, her voice nearly on the verge of tears again, spoke up from beside her.
“Wh-what does expelled mean?”
North Marion Speedway- Maintenance Lot
Indianapolis, Indiana
3:13 PM Local Time
“Is she okay?!” Wendy Briese called to her husband as she sprinted across the gravel lot towards her husband’s car, “was she hurt?”
“I dunno. I didn’t ask.” Terrence called back, with a grimace. “I’d assume she’s fine.”
“You’d ASSUME?!” Wendy asked, panic and outrage entering her voice. “Why didn’t you ask!?”
“Look, they told us to come to the school,” Terrence replied calmly as he opened the door on his 1971 crimson Dodge Charger, quickly climbing inside and starting the car. Wendy reached the car seconds later, throwing open the passenger’s side door, and practically diving inside. “If she was seriously hurt, they’d have told us to go to the hospital.”
Wendy didn’t speak for a second, catching her breath as she buckled herself, Terrence peeling out and driving as quick as he dared down the bumpy access road. She couldn’t believe that just ten minutes ago, she had been standing in her training ring, attempting to spar with her hired partner, being interrupted every few minutes to deal with one thing or another concerning the renovation of her gym. It was almost done, thank God. The exercise equipment would be installed over the weekend, while she was in Vegas for Sin & Sacrifice. But still, she was getting impatient with the frequent interruptions. She did have the biggest match of her life just five days away, after all.
And then Terrence came in, saying he had just gotten the phone call that no parent would ever want to receive from their child’s school. The one that requested them to come down immediately, because there was an emergency. In this case, Theresa had been…
“Fighting…” Wendy said out loud, looking out the window as they pulled out of the Parking lot onto 177th Street. “Why the HELL would she be getting into fights at school? She knows better than that!”
“Who knows?” Terrence said, shrugging, and Wendy’s irritation flared at his relative nonchalance. “I got into fights all the time at school. Sometimes you’re provoked, or you have to defend yourself, or you’re just screwing around and things go out of control. It happens to kids.”
“But she KNOWS better!” Wendy said, groaning. She paused for a second, taking a deep breath, and finally let loose her true fears. “It’s me. It’s because I wrestle. I’ve known it all along. I’m a bad influence. I taught her it’s okay to fight, and now she’s-”
“Wendy, shut up.” Terrence snapped, gritting his teeth in irritation. His wife did, but she threw a hurt expression his way. He spared her a quick glance, and gestued apologetically with his right hand, keeping the wheel firmly held with the left. His voice softened. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions, okay? Let’s just get there, and find out what happened. She may have just been defending herself. It might be a misunderstanding. We. Don’t. Know. So until we do…”
Wendy nodded, although she gulped down the waves of angst that was rising in her throat. She had always feared something like this happening. She had always thought Theresa had reacted well to her mother’s occupation, but now she saw otherwise. Her career was wrecking her daughter’s life, making her lash out in school.
But this was the first she’d even heard of any outburst from her, another voice echoed in her mind. In fact, her teacher the previous year, Ms. Savage, had always praised Theresa’s attitude and work ethic, although she warned that her tendency for sarcastic backtalk would be best toned down. And she had received great grades… with all A’s except for B’s in Science and Math…
The rest of the ride was silent, with only Wendy’s doubts and reassurances waging an ongoing debate in her head. Terrence was similarly thinking, given the grim expression on his face, and the way he clenched the steering wheel. Every turn of the wheels seemed like both a blessing and a curse, she was dying to make sure her daughter was okay and find out what had truly happened, and was also dreading the answers.
School had just let out as the Charger approached College Park elementary, and Terrence gritted his teeth as he waited for the crossing guard in front of the school to wave them into the parking lot. Luckily, there was a spot open near the building, that Terrence pulled into, and they were soon quickly walking towards the entrance, fighting against the tide of exiting students. Several- to her horror- recognized her, and she heard excited whispering amongst some students, catching her daughters name, along with such statements as “beat up” and “kicked his ass”. She exchanged an uncertain glance with her husband. He had evidently heard the whispering too.
After quickly checking with the school’s secretary, they were directed to the adjacent nurse’s office, and there they saw Theresa, sitting on a small bench, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders bobbing up and down with the sobs that wer wracking her body. “Theresa!” She exclaimed, rushing forward, Terrence following fast behind. “Oh, Theresa, are you okay?”
“I’m sorry, mommy!!” Theresa wailed as she embraced her mother. Wendy held her daughter tight for several long seconds, then forced herself to release, and push her daughter back, so she could get a good look at her.
To her surprise, save for the tracks of tears running down her face, Theresa’s visage was unblemished, although her hair was rather dirty and unkempt, with bits of gravel and dirt nestled in with the brown strands. Her hands, however, were a different story, both were heavily bruised, with some of the knuckles turning purple. Even as she reached out to feel one of her daughter’s hands, the small girl flinched.
Injured hands, and nowhere else, she realized, as her combat sport knowledge swept over her with relief and, in some bizarre sense, pride. Whatever the fight was about, and whoever it was with, Theresa had clearly won.
“She’s fine, for the most part,” the school nurse said behind them, forcing Wendy to turn around. Evidently she’d been watching the whole thing, albeit quite taken aback by the two adults bursting into her room. Still, her eyes were kindly and sympathetic as she held her clipboard. “Her hands are bruised badly, but they’re not broken. I had her put some ice on them for a bit. She’s just been very distraught.”
Wendy could imagine. She knew all too well the feeling of adrenaline wearing off, and it being replaced by weariness, pain, and in some cases, the overwhelming knowledge that she had just done something that was going to have very unpleasant consequences. She wanted to wrap her arms around her daughter again, to assure her that it would all be okay, that it’d be forgotten about tomorrow.
“What happened, Theresa?” Terrence asked, his voice firm, yet gentle. .
Theresa took a shuddering breath, trying to steady herself. “I was playing four-square with my friends, and I looked over, and I saw that some boys had taken Brianna Snitchen’s ball. I tried to make them give them back, but they wouldn’t listen to me, and then Clint threw the ball at my face and…” her eyes welled up with tears, and she sniffled. “The next thing I knew, I was on top of him, and Ms. Dillon was trying to pull me off, and…” her voice failed, and Wendy reached out to embrace her again, nestling her hair.
Terrence stared down at her and snorted. “Wait… Clint? As in Clint Sickles? The kid who lives across the street? You beat him up?”
“Terrence!” Wendy snarled, looking up at him, angry at both the pride in his voice and the same feeling she had earlier. “It’s not funny!”
“It kind of is…” Terrence replied, his voice low. “That little shit’s been having this coming to him for a couple years now. Remember when he stuck a potato in my tail pipe, and his mom was all ‘He was just curious to see what would happen’” He chuckled, which withered quickly under Wendy’s glare.
“I’m sorry!” Theresa moaned again, miserably, and Wendy embraced her again.
Behind her, she heard the phone ring, and the nurse answer. “Yes? Yes. They arrived ten minutes ago. Okay, I’ll let them know. Bye.” She hung up the phone, then turned to the Thompsons. “Ms. Guntherson is ready to meet with you, so you can head next door whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you,” Wendy said quietly, then looking down at Theresa. She wanted to scoop her daughter up and carry her from the school, to shield her from any repercussions of what happened. But you couldn’t run from consequences, she knew that all too well. It was time to face the music. “Come on, Theresa. Let’s go see the principal.”
Theresa sniffled, and the tears threatened to come again. “What’s going to happen?”
Wendy shook her head, unable to provide an answer, but Terrence just shrugged. “I dunno what they do now, but whenever I got in trouble like this, I had to skip recess for a week. Stay in study hall.” Theresa’s face fell at that prospect, although Terrence smiled reassuringly. “Just get your homework done there, then you’ll have more time for playing at home.”
Theresa didn’t look all too reassured, but she attempted a smile, and the three began to leave the room, Theresa pausing to turn around and throw a small wave at the nurse. “Thank you, Ms. Harper!” she said.
“Good luck, dear,” the nurse, replied, waving back. And then the three were gone, back to the school office. The secretary led them to a row of seats right outside the principal’s office door still slightly shut. Wendy could hear the murmur of angry voices through the door, and she took one simple, pained guess as to who was on the other side.
Her fears were confirmed mere minutes later, when the door opened, and out stepped Clinton Sickles and his parents. If there had been any doubt over whether or not Theresa had won before (not that it mattered, a voice inside her head kept screaming), there was none now. His face had been cleaned up, but Clinton’s eyes were swollen and black, and he had a large dob of cotton had been wedged into both of his nostrils. His lower hip was cut too, and it trembled as he looked sullenly over at Theresa, who stared coldly back at him.
Behind Clint came his parents, Kelly and Erik, two adults who Wendy liked about as much as the average Power Trip member. Kelly’s pinched, blonde-hair framed face, narrowed even further, into a look of savage triumph as she looked at the Thompsons. The expression on Erik’s beefy face was almost identical, and Wendy felt a cold chill crawling up her spine. Suddenly, her memories jolted her- Erik was the coach of the local High School football team, the Pike Red Devils, and Kelly was the treasurer of the College Park PTA. Both held considerable clout in the School District.
The Sickles never said a word as they walked by, although Wendy was left with the distinct impression that they were resisting the temptation. No sooner had they left the office than a fourth person emerged from the doorway.
Wendy had seen Olive Guntherson plenty of times before, but never up close before. She was stern looking, probably in her early sixties, with straw colored hair that was now turning gray hanging like a curtain on either side of her bespectacled face. Wendy was oddly reminded of a cross between the scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz and a librarian.
"Mr. and Mrs. Thompson?". Her voice was low, melodious. "Please come in. Theresa too."
She stood aside to allow them entry into an office that was positively Spartan, then shut the door, and sat down in her chair behind a dark wooden desk, while Terrence, Wendy, and Theresa sat on the visitors chairs.
"Let us cut to the chase," the principal said, offering no other introduction. "Your daughter physically assaulted another student today. She attacked without provocation-"
"Whoah, hang on here," Terrence interrupted, indignation in his voice. Wendy slowly closed her mouth- she had opened up to object as well, but had been beaten to the punch. "Clinton Sickles hit her in the face with a playground ball."
"So he told me already.". The principal looked annoyed at the interruption. "He was tossing the ball back to her, and she got accidentally hit in the face."
"THAT'S A LIE!" Theresa had sprung out of her chair, standing up, her fists balled at her side. "I was turned around when he threw it! He meant to me and the whole playground saw it! Ask Brianna! Or Angela! Or Rose! Or Heather! Or..."
"Theresa, enough..." Wendy said softly, reaching out and gently grabbing her shoulder, trying to pull her back into her chair.
"But..." Theresa protested.
"Enough,". Wendy said again, more firmly this time. She knew her daughter was telling the truth, but she could tell that the outburst was not sitting well with the principal. On the contrary, it was only reinforcing whatever the Sickles had likely said. A horrible sinking came into the pit of her stomach.
Terrence was calmer than his daughter, but hardly willing to accept the point. “Did you talk to the witnesses who saw what happened? Call them in here and let them say what they saw.”
“The children have gone home for the day,” Ms. Guntherson said firmly. “And we do not take the word of children into account. We’ve found that their perception of the events tends to be… rather biased and unreliable.”
“And the playground monitor? I assume you think she’s reliable?” Wendy asked, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
“She did not see the ball being thrown. She did however, witness your daughter, straddling atop Mr. Sickles, landing at least half a dozen blows to his face before she could pry her off.” the principal said.
“Of course,” Wendy muttered. That sinking feeling in her stomach was growing.
“Alright,” Terrence said, trying to press the issue forward. “Look, Theresa’s a good girl. You look at her file from last year, her grades, you can see that. She shouldn’t have lost control the way she did, and there’s going to be consequences for that, from us as well as from the school, that she will have to deal with, and hopefully learn from. But she’s SEVEN. Seven year olds do foolish things all the time. Getting into fights is one of them.”
“This wasn’t a fight, Mr. Thompson,” the principal replied, looking at the auto racer cooly. “A fight involves two people hitting each other. Ms. Dillon, the playground monitor, never saw Clinton strike her. He never did anything but lie on his back and try to cover himself from her blows. The only one doing the striking was your daughter. That’s assault, Mr. Thompson. And as you no doubt read in the student handbook we sent home at the first of the year, the Pike Township School District has a zero tolerance policy on students assaulting each other.”
Wendy looked down at Theresa, who eyes were wide in fear and confusion. Most of what had just been said had gone right over her head, but she could tell that her parents’ mood had become all the more grim. Swallowing hard, she looked back at the principal. “Alright, we… understand that, and we wouldn’t expect you to have anything different. Schools should be a place where students can learn and interact with their friends in safety. We don’t dispute that, and we don’t dispute that Theresa broke the rules. What we want to know is what needs to be done so that we can move forward from here.”
“Ah,” the principal said, adjusting her glasses, and picking up a folder that Wendy guessed was Theresa’s and opening it. “Well, as to that, due to your daughters youth and no prior history of deliquency, the Sickles have agreed not to press criminal charges against her. However, they ask that you do pay for Clinton’s medical bills, and have expressed that they will file a civil suit if necessary.”
Wendy’s mouth was too dry, but Terrence answered with an accepting nod. “That’s fine,” he said, his voice quieter than Wendy had ever heard it.
“As far as school discipline goes, the District’s policy is quite cut and dry on this. We have a zero tolerance policy on children intentionally harming other children.” For the first time, Ms. Guntherson’s voice wavered. “I am sorry. My hands are tied on this, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson. Effective immediately, your daughter Theresa is expelled from all institutions within the Metropolitan School District of Pike Township. We wish you the best of luck in the future.”
Wendy suddenly found it extremely difficult to breathe, and she looked over at her husband, tears blurring her eyes. Terrence was equally stunned, his mouth open, his expression vacant, as if the words he had just heard were still being processed through the gears in his brain. Finally, he was able to choke out “That’s impos… you.. you… can’t..”
“I have to.” The principal replied grimly, stamping something onto the folder, and closing it. “I am sorry,” and although she looked like she meant it, it sure didn’t make Wendy feel any better.
Nor did it when Theresa, her voice nearly on the verge of tears again, spoke up from beside her.
“Wh-what does expelled mean?”
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