So, Fuckwitgate has come to a sudden and merciful end. Wendy hasn’t actually met the Archbishop yet, but at least she can enter the Anarchy PPV with the full knowledge that she’s not going to be excommunicated. Probably a good thing, because the last thing she needs heading into a major PPV is the overlying fear of being kicked out of her church. As groundless as it probably is.
Anyways, it’s a beautiful day in the Metroplex as we the scene opens up. Wendy is sitting on a park bench, in front of a commons meadow with a fairly stately building behind her. Occasionally, behind her, a person walks by, some holding books, some holding Frisbees or a football. Several are wearing shirts with the red silhouette of a galloping horse upon them. For her part, Wendy’s dressed in a simple green windbreaker, her red hair tied back in a ponytail.
“Well, here we are!”
“Finally, the time has come for Anarchy, the final FFW show of the year. I have to confess, it was kind of nice that the PPV was moved to the week after Thanksgiving, instead of the week of. It’s a bit nicer to enjoy a holiday without feeling one of the most important shows of the year looming over your head- a show that could either make or break your momentum coming into the next year.”
Wendy chuckles.
“Not that I had an easy weekend last week, mind you. It was an honor going into SVW for a night, and finally getting to finish what I had begun with Wendigo last year at When Worlds Collide. That was just a FUN match, wasn’t it? I had a blast, and I think Wendigo had a blast, too. Like I told him, that felt at times that it was more of a dance than a fight… although I’ve never woken up that sore the morning after going dancing!”
Wendy grins.
“Seriously, though. I feel blessed for the opportunity, even moreso because I somehow managed to come out of that match with a win. Beating Wendigo… that’s no small feat, and that I was able to do it with the Emerald Cyclone, a move that’s backfired on me more often than not this year… I won’t lie that it’s not a bit of a confidence booster to know that I can still pull it off going forward!”
“So tonight is the second of a difficult three match stretch I’m ending the year with. And it’s interesting, because I think each of the three matches has a bit of a different motivation behind them. For Wendigo, it was all about closure. Finishing what we had started eleven months ago and bringing it to a satisfactory conclusion. For this match tonight… I don’t really want to use the word ‘revenge’, but… yeah. In a lot of ways, I guess it is. I consider it more making a point, to be honest, but I suppose your mileage may vary here.”
Wendy leans back on the bench, and gestures to the commons and building behind her.
“Before we go any further, I want to tell you all a bit of a story here. I’m sitting here on the campus of Southern Methodist University, right here in Dallas, Texas. As I talk, a couple thousand miles away, their football team, the SMU Mustangs, are playing the Connecticut Huskies in their final game of the season. This is their last chance for a win. They sit oh and eleven, and as of this morning sat twelve point underdogs to the Huskies. They may be going down in history as one of the worst teams in recent memory.”
There’s no mockery in Wendy’s voice as she says this, only a matter-of-fact speech.
“It wasn’t always like this. Thirty years ago, back in the 1980s, SMU was a juggernaut. They ran- literally RAN over any team they faced, their rushing game so dominant it was coined the “Pony Express.” They won Southwest Conference championships, contended for the National Championship. And they were smug about it. They were every bit the embodiment of the arrogance and swagger you’d associate with 1980’s Dallas.”
“At least until the scandal broke. Wave after wave of scandals, showing that SMU wasn’t exactly winning fairly. No, they were cheating. Blatantly cheating. Paying players under the table, buying them cars, hiring them for fake jobs where they were paid thousands of dollars to not even show up. The University knew… even approved of the antics. Because through it all, they kept winning, and as long as they were winning, everything was okay.”
“Eventually, everything caught up to them. They were hit with probation. Banned from playing in postseason bowl games or appearing on television. And yet, more and more, the cheating persisted. In their arrogance they continued to cheat, to do what they were doing. They ignored every single edict the NCAA- college sports’ governing body- threw at them. They were out of control.”
“And so it was… in that very building behind me, on a February morning in 1987, that the NCAA sat down, and handed down the harshest penalty ever known. They called it the Death Penalty, which is a bit of a misnomer, because unlike true death, it wasn’t permanent. But the team was shut down for two years. The penalty was so severe that the man who announced the sanctions passed out afterwards from the pressure of doing something so extreme.”
Wendy looks back at the hall, and shakes her head sadly.
“SMU never recovered. Since the team was reinstated in 1989, they have had four winning seasons, and three of those have come in the last five years. Even today, they cannot shake the stigma of being the one team… the ONE team, out of all the scandals that have wracked college football over the years… to be so corrupt they had no choice but to be exiled. They still struggle with their identity.”
Which makes the fact that they hired Larry Fucking Brown to coach basketball all the more hilarious, but that’s neither here nor there.
“So why am I telling you all this? Why dredge up a scandal from thirty years ago in a wrestling promo? Not to embarrass SMU, because the vast majority of students and faculty here are, and have always been fine, upstanding individuals. But it proves a point- that we can win all we want, but in the end, we cannot escape our methods, or the stigma they inevitably creates.”
“I’m going up tonight against a proud, arrogant woman in Mika Demidov. Like SMU, she’s practically come out of nowhere to become a powerhouse and a threat to the highest rankings in the company. Like SMU, she’s done it with no small amount of arrogance and audacity. And just like SMU, many of her biggest successes have come thanks to illicit means that she thinks she’s gotten away with.”
“And just like SMU… sooner or later it all comes crashing down.”
Wendy takes a deep breath, leaning forward on the bench.
“See, Mika, it’s been a wonderful year for you, and nobody can take that away. You shocked the world, wrinkled a few noses, walked around with the FFW Championship, and even picked up four end of year awards. You should be proud, maybe not insufferably arrogantly so like you have been, but proud nonetheless.”
“But now the REALLY hard part comes, Mika. See, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s a pattern that filters amongst the FFW Champions that have flitted through this company’s history. Getting to the top here in FFW is hard. You have to fight your way up through the ranks, maybe catch a couple of breaks, and have dang near the best match of your life to get there. And then holding onto the championship is not any easier. But the true test… that comes after. After the bell rings and someone else’s hand is raised and you learn that the title isn’t going home with you tonight. That’s when the gut check truly starts.”
“How many women collapsed after losing the FFW Championship. Amy did- she disappeared for a year, and was a shell of her former self when she returned. Emma did- it’s been four years since she lost the FFW Championship, and she hasn’t posed a true threat to the belt since. Kitty Stryfe never recovered. Katherine Stryfe lost like twelve straight matches after losing hers. Stacey Mackenzie imploded, and the unbeatable stigma that used to surround her has evaporated completely. Even Valerie Lamb has lost more than she’s won in the year since I took the belt for her. Heck, Isabella Pazzini went the same way, and was only save thanks to corruption and the Sydney Screwjob that she was able to get back into the picture and salvage her career. Only one woman has truly broken the pattern- Scarlett Kincaid.”
A small grimace, and Wendy takes a short, nervous breath.
“I’m trying to break the pattern. I’ve done everything right so far. I’ve dropped a couple matches, yes, but I’ve avoided a collapse. I’m back in contention, I’ve been taking care of business. Sooner or later I’m going to get that chance, and when the time comes I’m going to reach out and grab it. See, I may not be the most explosive wrestler in this company. But I may be the most consistent. Week in and week out over the last three years, not many… if any… women have maintained the level I have. I haven’t broken the pattern yet, but neither have I succumbed to it. And I like my odds.”
“Now its your turn, Mika. Here you are, the first match you’ve had since losing the title. Which pattern are you going to follow? The long slide down, or the fight to climb back up? I know you’re hoping for the the latter… of course. Nobody likes the former, but you know what?”
“History’s not exactly favoring you here.”
Wendy snorts, more in disdain than amusement, and shakes her head.
“You see Mika, all the women who have slid down? They all have one thing in common- they’re not very principled. Amy, Emma, Kitty, and Isabella all spit on the concept of principles as a weakness. Kat was extremely selfish and allowed herself to be burdened by a persecution complex. Stacey proved to be as fake as you could possibly get. And while Val is no doubt a nice, pleasant, likeable person, she still has time and again demonstrated that she views convictions as little more than a burden. Only Scarlett has shown herself to be a principled individual, and if you notice, when she became disillusioned and cast those aside for a time, it resulted in the least successful stretch of her career.”
“See, what you fail to understand, is that all this crap you pull- cheating, bragging, disrespectful antics… it’s all temporary. None of it lasts, and you have to keep upping the ante until you go bust. It’s like a drug, almost. You’ll just keep looking for the quick fix, and sooner or later it won’t come. You’ll get figured out and exposed. It’ll stop coming, and then what do you do? You panic, you get in over your head, and push yourself straight off the cliff.”
“I have the mental discipline you lack, Mika. I know to take things one match at a time, but I also know that our careers are not played out as successes or failures in the span of a single night. I can cope with failure, no matter how painful it will be, because I always know that I have the patience to succeed in the end.”
Wendy pauses and takes a deep breath, cricking her neck as she does.
“Four months ago, you put that to the test. You cut a promo, mockingly exhorting the values I hold dear, only to turn around and spit on them in the middle of the ring. You disrespected me every step of the way, and you ended up getting away with it. That was infuriating. Of course it was. Six months preparing for the match, and to have it all ripped away like that, by YOUR hands? Oh, no, that didn’t sit well with me. Didn’t sit well with me at ALL.”
“I can’t say for certain I would have won that match, but I KNOW for a FACT that I would have kicked out without the leverage from the ropes. I dang near did WITH them. It was so cheap. It was desperation tactics played by a desperate woman who saw the end of her reign in my eyes the moment that match was finalized. But you got away with it. In some people’s minds, that was an accomplishment, so bask in it. Love it. One of the crowning moments of your year is that you held on to a rope.”
“People have said that I haven’t been the same since that night. I’ve been angrier, less friendly, more bitter. Like the White Knight has been tarnished, all because of what happened.”
Wendy quickly stretches, and shakes her head.
“And they’re all wrong. I was angry, of course I was angry. I have every dang right to be angry! But bitter and tarnished? Hardly! I’m still the same person I’ve always been. You see me on Twitter, you see me on the streets, I’m still friendly and willing to talk. I’m every bit as approachable as I’ve always been.”
“But I am a bit more assertive and driven than before. That I won’t deny. But you know what? That’s not me being bitter… that’s me being BETTER. That’s me riding forth and being proactive, not simply waiting to react. I’m not butting heads with Isabella Pazzini because I’m bitter, I’m doing it because she’s unethically turning a division into her own personal science playground. I’m not calling out Valentina because I’m bitter, I’m doing it because she’s a horrid manipulative woman who’s hurt people I respect and care for. And I’m not in this match tonight because I’m bitter, I’m in this match because you’re a horrible toxin that needs to be expunged.”
“The fans know this difference, Mika. They see it, they know what I’m trying to do. That’s why I have an end of year award of my own.”
Wendy pushes herself off the bench, walking towards the side, nearly bumping into someone chasing a frisbee.
“Whoops, ‘scuse me.”
The Frisbee chaser doesn’t even seem to notice the apology, spinning away to go after the disc. Wendy shrugs off the contact, smiling, and shrugs.
“Obviously you’re well aware of that. You were at Breakdown playing it up for all it’s worth. I’m the Most Loved, you’re the Most Hated. I’m good, you’re bad. I’m nice, you’re mean. You just LOVE the thought of the Villian of the Year knocking off the Hero.
“But ever since the Awards Night, and your actions hence, I’ve been kind of wondering. If you had to choose between them, which one would you prefer? Villain of the year? Or Femme Fatale of the Year?”
“If you were being truly honest with yourself… you’d choose the former. It’s clear by now, Mika that being a gadfly is FAR more important to you than being a wrestler. You’d much rather irritate the fans and provoke your opponents than to have in-ring success. In fact, I think your main drive for having success is because the more you win, the more license you have to annoy people even more. Heck, think about how you acted in the wake of losing the FFW Championship.”
“It was totally okay. You had the belt for four months, which is about par for the course these days. You have a rematch coming up. It’s cool Scarlett- who in your own words is pathetic- walked away with your belt. It didn’t really matter that you lost because OH MY GOD DID YOU SEE HOW ANGRY SCAR GOT WITH YOU?!”
Wendy laughs and shakes her head incredulously.
“Honestly, I think you care more about that than any title in the world. Scarlett just beat the living tar out of you, and ripped the title from your hands… but you got under her skin by telling lies about her, so you can brag. You made a fan favorite upset. The crowning achievement in Mikaela Demidov’s book, title’s be damned!”
“It’s little things like this that makes it harder and harder to take you seriously every time you open your mouth to spew garbage. There will be more coming tonight, a whole barrage of antagonistic crap that has no bearing on truth or reality, because you couldn’t care less about any of that. You’ve already admitted it. So now that you’ve pretty much admitted you’re nothing more than a pack of venomous lies, what reason do we even have to listen to you?”
Wendy smiles, and srhugs again, as she keeps walking.
“See, Mika? Like I said from the get go… it all gets exposed in the end. Just like SMU doomed themselves with more and more desperate attempts to keep themselves from being discovered, you’ve doomed yourself with more and more desperate tactics to keep yourself afloat. But it’s only a matter of time before that water’s too much, Mika, and you’re simply washed away!”
“It’s those of us who know how to properly swim that can stay in the water for the long run, Mika. You’d do well to learn that quickly.”
Wendy hops out of the way as a bicycle speeds past, giving a small short wave to the cyclist, who rings a bell in return. She resumes walking, the camera keeping up.
“See, its funny you mentioned my manager. You see, him being a troll… I don’t think I’ve seen him doing too much trolling, lately, outside of lame attempts to irk Freya. Truth be told, I think Pollaski’s gotten a bit in over his head with things, considering his two co-conspirators just stabbed him in the back and left him alone, by and large over his head. He’s basically learning the same thing you will eventually- that it’s all going to catch up with you sooner rather than later. He’s become desperate, just like you are.”
“And yes, Mika, you are desperate, despite your adamant refusal otherwise. You’ve been desperate ever since you got the spotlight because you are TERRIFIED of losing it. And you know the quickest way for that to happen is for someone like me, someone who rigidly plays by the rules and opposes you on the basest of fundamentals, to pick you off and render all your verbiage completely meaningless. You know how many times you can cheat, provoke, and disrespect me, and I’ll keep going, and all I need is to beat you ONCE to destroy it all. Losing to Scarlett did more damage to your position than you’ll ever be willing to admit, and you’re mortified a second loss to one of the ‘good girls’ will shatter your image completely. And without your image, without the ability to agitate the fans and opponents… you’re just a very talented wrestler. Definitely not four FFW award material.”
“Ironically your only salvation lies in your façade. And so you desperately are trying to provoke and cajole me, try to make me lose my edge, get under my skin, so that I’m thrown off my game and left vulnerable, so you can take another win and earn yourself another few months of notoriety. But sorry to say, Mika. It’s not going to work. Not anymore. Like I said earlier- you’ve damned your own words to irrelevance with your inability to keep yourself straight. You’re NOT going to get any satisfaction from me. Not tonight, not ever.”
A slight edge comes to Wendy’s tone, as she turns off the path onto a smaller trail, heading apparently towards the road.
“So let’s talk about tonight, Mika. I think you’re expecting me to come in a ball of fire, rage, and hatred. Someone who’s looking to shut you up once and for all. You’d be wrong on just about everything… okay, I’d kinda like you to shut up, but that’s cause you can get REALLY irritating.”
Wendy snorts again, this time in amusement, and shrugs.
“No, Mika, I don’t hate you. I don’t particularly like you, but I don’t hate you. If anything, I more pity you, and not in the sad enabling way Valerie does. No, I pity you because I think, deep down, you ARE someone who desperately wants the acclaim and respect of your peers, but have actually no idea how to go about getting it, and thus have to resort to attention seeking methods instead.”
“Nor am I on a quest to destroy you tonight. You’ll be doing that to yourself soon enough. I do consider it a duty and obligation to put a stop to you, but I can’t really do that tonight either. Either way, regardless of what happens tonight, we’re both going to get a shot at the FFW Championship down the road, me on the merit of my win over Valerie, and you on your rematch clause. Nothing either of us does will change that, although it might tamper the order that we get it in.”
“No, what tonight is about is paying back what I owe, and I owe a LOT. What I owe to you for your antics and stealing a match from me, yes, but beyond that. What I owe to every single person who cheered for me at Unstoppable, and groaned and cried when that bell rang and your hand was raised. What I owe to every single person who checked the box next to my name in the end of year awards voting. And what I owe to myself for the countless hours of training and the gallons of blood sweat and tears I have shed this year.
Wendy stops walking and turns towards the camera, both excitement and intensity dancing in her emerald eyes.
“And that’s to end this year on a high note. To get that monkey you put on my back off of it, and get some closure to the frustrations that I experienced at Unstoppable. To prove that I can best you, whether you play it clean or crooked, and to get the momentum I need to push myself up to the top of the mountain once again in 2015!”
Wendy spreads her arms wide, as if inviting Mika to charge at her here and now.
“So tonight, Mika, come as you will. Come crooked, come clean. Come with one of your buddies, or come alone. Just come to the ring ready for the toughest fight you’ve EVER been in. There won’t be any dancing tonight, Mikaela Demidov. Just a hard-nosed, hardscrabble wrestling match so intense you’ll be looking for a way out five minutes in.”
A short small, almost savage smile, as Wendy takes a step back, turning to go.
“Good luck finding one tonight.”
And away the White Knight walks.
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
EPISODE 271: Sacrament of Penance (Part 2)
Tuesday November 25, 2014
7:13 PM Eastern Standard Time
St. Michael's Catholic School- Auditorium
Indianapolis, Indiana
“And so thank you for inviting me to speak here tonight, and I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving, and the rest of the Holiday season thereafter.” Wendy concluded, smiling at the audience as she had wrapped up her speech. She furtively glanced down at her watch. Just under twelve minuts- and she had been allotted fifteen. She breathed a sigh of relief- the last thing she had wanted to do was exceed her time.
All in all she thought she had done well. She had hit her points correctly, and made sure to mention words of welcome to the newly appointed Archbishop Fuquet, just arrived from France. Considering she had arrived to the dinner about half an hour late due to a frozen car being unwilling to start, she was lucky she had even managed to get there on time.
Now, however, the room was dead silent, the audience not reacting at all to the conclusion of her speech. An uncomfortable miasma hovered in the air, and Wendy’s feeling of relief crumbled. In fact, looking out at the faces in the audience, she saw more than a few people were outraged as if scandalized. She thought back to the anectdotes she had given about life as a wrestler… none of them had been that bad, right?
Suddenly embarrassed, Wendy slipped from the podium, and retreated back to her seat at one of the head tables. Now a smattering of applause had broken out, more polite than enthusiastic, definitely nowhere near the level of the previous speaker, and the sour expressions on many of the faces had not changed.
The Mistress of Ceremonies was taking her place back up at the podium. “Thank you, Mrs. Thompson for that… interesting speech. Now before you all go downstairs for desert and the auction, I have a couple final announcements to make.”
Her face burning, Wendy bypassed her seat, and scurried along the side wall of the room, rushing as fast as she could to the back without running. A few people shot her looks, but most had turned their attention back towards the MC, and Wendy slipped out of the room, into the hallway.
She just needed time to think and vent to herself. She’d worked hard on that speech, and for it to be so ill-received had been a major disappointment. She had heard laughter throughout, and thought people had enjoyed some of her jokes, but in the end… she had seen the expressions on their faces. Were the parishoners of St. Michael’s really so narrow-minded that they still, even after eight years of living here, refused to accept her because of her profession? \
As she bounded down the stairs, she thought about just leaving, but that was impossible- after all, her daughter and husband were still upstairs, and they had only taken one car. Besides, she really wasn’t one to just run away, and doing so might make things worse. The best thing she could do was just take a few minutes, vent her anger and disappointment silently, cool off, and rejoin the group for desert and the auction.
In fact, she found herself walking into the reception room right now. Several volunteers had slipped down earlier, and were busy putting out an assortment of pastries, fruits, and vegetables, while on another table the items of the charity auction were lined up, ready for inspection. Wendy found an isolated chair and sat down, taking a deep breath and letting her anger and disappointment run its course. She knew the MC was a bit on the wordy side- she had a few minutes to wait until everyone else came in.
But two people were already approaching her, having slipped out of the banquet as well. Wendy looked up as Terrence approached her, their daughter in tow. “How are you doing?” he asked.
“They hated the speech, Terry,” Wendy sighed. “I worked so hard on it, and they just…”
“Nah, they didn’t,” Terrence said with a shrug. “They ate it up! Especially when you told that story about-.”
Wendy shot her husband a disbelieving look. “I saw them at the end of it, Terrence. People looked disgusted and appalled.”
“Oh, um… yeah…” Terrence said, suddenly nervous. “Uh… well…”
Theresa was more blunt. “You mispronounced the Archbishop’s name, Mom.”
“What? I did?” Wendy asked, puzzled. “No, I looked at it. It’s pronounced Fu-“
“No its not.” Terrence quickly interrupted. “FOO-quay. It’s pronounced FOO-quay. Like rhymes with bouquet.”
“Are you sure?” Wendy asked, her brow furrowing.
“Dead sure…’ Terrence intoned.
Wendy bit her lip. Come to think of it, because she had missed the opening of the dinner, she HADN’T actually heard the name pronounced before. Shoot… she should have asked to make sure. Well, that was an embarrassing feaux pax, she realized, color creeping back into her face. But still did it warrant so many people being furious with her? “And I pronounced it…” she began to muse.
“Fuckwit.” Her daughter gleefully finished for her.
Wendy’s head snapped up. “THERESA!” she hissed, scandalized at her daughter’s language. “Don’t say that EVER, but ESPECIALLY in a church, and I did NOT pronounce it…” her voice slowly trailed off as she saw her husband nodding slowly “…like…” suddenly it felt like her insides were turning to mush. “…that.”
Dead silence reigned over the room, although she could hear the sound of scores of footsteps coming down the stairs. Evidently the congregation had been released and was coming. She looked at Terrence and saw the most pitying expression he’d ever given her.
“Oh God…” Wendy whimpered, as the full realization of what she’d done hit her. “Oh God… I just called the Archbishop… Oh God. What do I do?” Now she really wanted to run away. Only one problem- the way out was back up the stairs, headlong into the rush of people coming back down.
Terrence could tell his wife was starting to panic. “Okay, calm down, hon. It’s not the end-“
“THEY’VE EXECUTED PEOPLE FOR STUFF LIKE THIS!” Wendy hissed hysterically.
Terrence’s brow furrowed. “Like, recently? Or back in medieval times?”
People were now streaming into the room, which was becoming full and uncomfortably hot. Why were the walls swimming? Sister Abigail was entering, and the look she turned on Wendy was one that would have slayed a lesser human being. For the first time, she understood Theresa’s claims that the woman was a dragon in disguise. Other people were streaming into the room, and more than a few were casting her looks.
“I gotta get out of here.” Wendy panted swallowing down a wave of nausea. “Terry, help me, I gotta…”
“Wendy, just calm down…” Terrence said again. “It was an honest mistake, you’re fine… you’re okay… everyone will understand.”
“Uh Mom…” Theresa piped up, undermining her father’s reassurances in one fell swoop. “He’s coming over…”
Wendy looked up, now in full fledged panic. Sure enough, the Archbishop was making his way towards her, stopping every couple of feet to meet another one of his new constituents. Still, even with all the handshaking, he’d be there in a matter of seconds.
And then…
She had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. No escape from the highest ranking religious figure in Central Indiana, that she had just insulted multiple times. No escape from this confining catacomb.
And no escape from the darkness that was quickly closing in around her.
=================
Wednesday December 4, 2014
2:32 PM Eastern Standard Time
St. Michael’s Catholic Church- Confessional Booth
Indianapolis, Indiana
“And then I fainted,” Wendy said miserably, her hands clutching the hair on the side of her head in anguish. “I nosedived right into the vegetable platter and catapulted the French Onion dip right into the Archbishop’s face. The next thing I know, I’m waking up in the car, ranch dressing in my hair, and Terrence is driving me home…” She sighed, her tale finally finished. “So, well, Father…”
Silence answered her. Damning silence, and Wendy’s heart sank as she waited condemnation that was surely about to come. The confessional booth itself was shaking, as if God’s wrath was about to unleash on her own head right then and there.
And then, on the other side of the partition, she heard wheezing on the other side- almost as if someone was laughing and trying to keep as quiet as possible about it. “Father? Are you okay?”
Another moment of silence came, and Wendy finally heard a long, deep intake of breath. “Sorry, child. Had to clear my throat.” Father Joseph’s voice came through the partition. “Go ahead.”
“Well, what can I do, Father? I mean… I’m not going to be excommun… i… cate…” Her voice slowed to a stop as something clicked in her mind. “Wait… Father Joseph? What happened to Father Theodore?”
There was a long pause, this one lasting seemingly an eternity before the priest spoke. “Uh… he had to uh… go to the bathroom… so I stepped in for him…”
“He ducked out in the middle of my confession?” Wendy was aghast. Not just any confession too, but the most embarrassing one she’d ever given in her life!
“Uh well… I… um… stop elbowing me, you idiot!”
Those last words were whispered, but Wendy could still faintly hear them. She suddenly stood up, frowning. What the HELL was going on?
Father Joseph’s voice came out a bit louder this time. “Anyways, my child, what happened was definitely unfortunate, and I recommend…” the priest suspected something was wrong. “Wendy? Are you still there?”
The door to the confessional booth swung open, and Father Joseph, along with Father Theodore and Father Declan, turned to regard her.
“REALLY?!” Wendy nearly exploded. What in the heck were THREE priests doing in the confessional booth? Only the senior pastor, Father Simon, was missing. “What are you all doing in there?”
All three priests at least had the decency to look sheepish. “So… uh… surprise! It’s uh… triple absolution day!” Father Declan attempted lamely. Wendy merely crossed her arms and put on her best death glare, entirely unconvinced.
“Okay, okay. They really wanted to hear the story so I let them in to listen. None of us were actually there when it happened.” Father Theodore confessed.
“But… confession… private… confidential…” Wendy stammered, her face somehow even becoming redder.
“Not really confidential when every Catholic in the city already knows what happened…” Declan responded with a shrug, only to receive a slap to the back of his head from Father Joseph. “Ow!”
“Wendy, exactly what sin were you confessing?” Father Theodore, far more practical than his two colleagues, asked, although he remained smiling.
Wendy stared at him incredulously. “I called the Archbishop a…”
“You mispronounced his name. In about the worst fashion imaginable, but mispronouncing a name is not really a sin. Therefore, they weren’t really eavesdropping on a confession, were they?”
Wendy’s jaw dropped, although her face remained red. “Well… I… uh…”
“We’re sorry we eavesdropped,” Father Joseph said. “But it was WAY funnier the way you told it than when the Archbishop told us…”
“The Archbishop told you?” Wendy felt faint again.
“Yeah, he was tearing up telling it, he was laughing so hard. He’s a good guy. You’ll like him… he’d love to meet you. Conscious this time.” Father Joseph grinned. “Really child, you have nothing to worry about.”
Wendy wanted to scream. “I’ve been anguishing over this for a WEEK now, and everyone else just brushed it off?! WHY DIDN’T ANYONE TELL ME?”
All three priests shrugged, unable to answer. Wendy, completely out of things to say and even more out of fight, turned around, shaking her head and walking away, her fists still clenched at her sides.
“God be with you Wendy, now and forever,” Father Theodore called after her, sensing she was leaving.
“You. Too.” Wendy mumbled as she trudged out of the sanctuary, heading towards the exit, reminding herself faintly to drop off Theresa’s forgotten homework at the school across the street.
“I bet this kind of stuff never happens to Protestants,” she sighed forlornly as the doors to the church shut behind her.
7:13 PM Eastern Standard Time
St. Michael's Catholic School- Auditorium
Indianapolis, Indiana
“And so thank you for inviting me to speak here tonight, and I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving, and the rest of the Holiday season thereafter.” Wendy concluded, smiling at the audience as she had wrapped up her speech. She furtively glanced down at her watch. Just under twelve minuts- and she had been allotted fifteen. She breathed a sigh of relief- the last thing she had wanted to do was exceed her time.
All in all she thought she had done well. She had hit her points correctly, and made sure to mention words of welcome to the newly appointed Archbishop Fuquet, just arrived from France. Considering she had arrived to the dinner about half an hour late due to a frozen car being unwilling to start, she was lucky she had even managed to get there on time.
Now, however, the room was dead silent, the audience not reacting at all to the conclusion of her speech. An uncomfortable miasma hovered in the air, and Wendy’s feeling of relief crumbled. In fact, looking out at the faces in the audience, she saw more than a few people were outraged as if scandalized. She thought back to the anectdotes she had given about life as a wrestler… none of them had been that bad, right?
Suddenly embarrassed, Wendy slipped from the podium, and retreated back to her seat at one of the head tables. Now a smattering of applause had broken out, more polite than enthusiastic, definitely nowhere near the level of the previous speaker, and the sour expressions on many of the faces had not changed.
The Mistress of Ceremonies was taking her place back up at the podium. “Thank you, Mrs. Thompson for that… interesting speech. Now before you all go downstairs for desert and the auction, I have a couple final announcements to make.”
Her face burning, Wendy bypassed her seat, and scurried along the side wall of the room, rushing as fast as she could to the back without running. A few people shot her looks, but most had turned their attention back towards the MC, and Wendy slipped out of the room, into the hallway.
She just needed time to think and vent to herself. She’d worked hard on that speech, and for it to be so ill-received had been a major disappointment. She had heard laughter throughout, and thought people had enjoyed some of her jokes, but in the end… she had seen the expressions on their faces. Were the parishoners of St. Michael’s really so narrow-minded that they still, even after eight years of living here, refused to accept her because of her profession? \
As she bounded down the stairs, she thought about just leaving, but that was impossible- after all, her daughter and husband were still upstairs, and they had only taken one car. Besides, she really wasn’t one to just run away, and doing so might make things worse. The best thing she could do was just take a few minutes, vent her anger and disappointment silently, cool off, and rejoin the group for desert and the auction.
In fact, she found herself walking into the reception room right now. Several volunteers had slipped down earlier, and were busy putting out an assortment of pastries, fruits, and vegetables, while on another table the items of the charity auction were lined up, ready for inspection. Wendy found an isolated chair and sat down, taking a deep breath and letting her anger and disappointment run its course. She knew the MC was a bit on the wordy side- she had a few minutes to wait until everyone else came in.
But two people were already approaching her, having slipped out of the banquet as well. Wendy looked up as Terrence approached her, their daughter in tow. “How are you doing?” he asked.
“They hated the speech, Terry,” Wendy sighed. “I worked so hard on it, and they just…”
“Nah, they didn’t,” Terrence said with a shrug. “They ate it up! Especially when you told that story about-.”
Wendy shot her husband a disbelieving look. “I saw them at the end of it, Terrence. People looked disgusted and appalled.”
“Oh, um… yeah…” Terrence said, suddenly nervous. “Uh… well…”
Theresa was more blunt. “You mispronounced the Archbishop’s name, Mom.”
“What? I did?” Wendy asked, puzzled. “No, I looked at it. It’s pronounced Fu-“
“No its not.” Terrence quickly interrupted. “FOO-quay. It’s pronounced FOO-quay. Like rhymes with bouquet.”
“Are you sure?” Wendy asked, her brow furrowing.
“Dead sure…’ Terrence intoned.
Wendy bit her lip. Come to think of it, because she had missed the opening of the dinner, she HADN’T actually heard the name pronounced before. Shoot… she should have asked to make sure. Well, that was an embarrassing feaux pax, she realized, color creeping back into her face. But still did it warrant so many people being furious with her? “And I pronounced it…” she began to muse.
“Fuckwit.” Her daughter gleefully finished for her.
Wendy’s head snapped up. “THERESA!” she hissed, scandalized at her daughter’s language. “Don’t say that EVER, but ESPECIALLY in a church, and I did NOT pronounce it…” her voice slowly trailed off as she saw her husband nodding slowly “…like…” suddenly it felt like her insides were turning to mush. “…that.”
Dead silence reigned over the room, although she could hear the sound of scores of footsteps coming down the stairs. Evidently the congregation had been released and was coming. She looked at Terrence and saw the most pitying expression he’d ever given her.
“Oh God…” Wendy whimpered, as the full realization of what she’d done hit her. “Oh God… I just called the Archbishop… Oh God. What do I do?” Now she really wanted to run away. Only one problem- the way out was back up the stairs, headlong into the rush of people coming back down.
Terrence could tell his wife was starting to panic. “Okay, calm down, hon. It’s not the end-“
“THEY’VE EXECUTED PEOPLE FOR STUFF LIKE THIS!” Wendy hissed hysterically.
Terrence’s brow furrowed. “Like, recently? Or back in medieval times?”
People were now streaming into the room, which was becoming full and uncomfortably hot. Why were the walls swimming? Sister Abigail was entering, and the look she turned on Wendy was one that would have slayed a lesser human being. For the first time, she understood Theresa’s claims that the woman was a dragon in disguise. Other people were streaming into the room, and more than a few were casting her looks.
“I gotta get out of here.” Wendy panted swallowing down a wave of nausea. “Terry, help me, I gotta…”
“Wendy, just calm down…” Terrence said again. “It was an honest mistake, you’re fine… you’re okay… everyone will understand.”
“Uh Mom…” Theresa piped up, undermining her father’s reassurances in one fell swoop. “He’s coming over…”
Wendy looked up, now in full fledged panic. Sure enough, the Archbishop was making his way towards her, stopping every couple of feet to meet another one of his new constituents. Still, even with all the handshaking, he’d be there in a matter of seconds.
And then…
She had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. No escape from the highest ranking religious figure in Central Indiana, that she had just insulted multiple times. No escape from this confining catacomb.
And no escape from the darkness that was quickly closing in around her.
=================
Wednesday December 4, 2014
2:32 PM Eastern Standard Time
St. Michael’s Catholic Church- Confessional Booth
Indianapolis, Indiana
“And then I fainted,” Wendy said miserably, her hands clutching the hair on the side of her head in anguish. “I nosedived right into the vegetable platter and catapulted the French Onion dip right into the Archbishop’s face. The next thing I know, I’m waking up in the car, ranch dressing in my hair, and Terrence is driving me home…” She sighed, her tale finally finished. “So, well, Father…”
Silence answered her. Damning silence, and Wendy’s heart sank as she waited condemnation that was surely about to come. The confessional booth itself was shaking, as if God’s wrath was about to unleash on her own head right then and there.
And then, on the other side of the partition, she heard wheezing on the other side- almost as if someone was laughing and trying to keep as quiet as possible about it. “Father? Are you okay?”
Another moment of silence came, and Wendy finally heard a long, deep intake of breath. “Sorry, child. Had to clear my throat.” Father Joseph’s voice came through the partition. “Go ahead.”
“Well, what can I do, Father? I mean… I’m not going to be excommun… i… cate…” Her voice slowed to a stop as something clicked in her mind. “Wait… Father Joseph? What happened to Father Theodore?”
There was a long pause, this one lasting seemingly an eternity before the priest spoke. “Uh… he had to uh… go to the bathroom… so I stepped in for him…”
“He ducked out in the middle of my confession?” Wendy was aghast. Not just any confession too, but the most embarrassing one she’d ever given in her life!
“Uh well… I… um… stop elbowing me, you idiot!”
Those last words were whispered, but Wendy could still faintly hear them. She suddenly stood up, frowning. What the HELL was going on?
Father Joseph’s voice came out a bit louder this time. “Anyways, my child, what happened was definitely unfortunate, and I recommend…” the priest suspected something was wrong. “Wendy? Are you still there?”
The door to the confessional booth swung open, and Father Joseph, along with Father Theodore and Father Declan, turned to regard her.
“REALLY?!” Wendy nearly exploded. What in the heck were THREE priests doing in the confessional booth? Only the senior pastor, Father Simon, was missing. “What are you all doing in there?”
All three priests at least had the decency to look sheepish. “So… uh… surprise! It’s uh… triple absolution day!” Father Declan attempted lamely. Wendy merely crossed her arms and put on her best death glare, entirely unconvinced.
“Okay, okay. They really wanted to hear the story so I let them in to listen. None of us were actually there when it happened.” Father Theodore confessed.
“But… confession… private… confidential…” Wendy stammered, her face somehow even becoming redder.
“Not really confidential when every Catholic in the city already knows what happened…” Declan responded with a shrug, only to receive a slap to the back of his head from Father Joseph. “Ow!”
“Wendy, exactly what sin were you confessing?” Father Theodore, far more practical than his two colleagues, asked, although he remained smiling.
Wendy stared at him incredulously. “I called the Archbishop a…”
“You mispronounced his name. In about the worst fashion imaginable, but mispronouncing a name is not really a sin. Therefore, they weren’t really eavesdropping on a confession, were they?”
Wendy’s jaw dropped, although her face remained red. “Well… I… uh…”
“We’re sorry we eavesdropped,” Father Joseph said. “But it was WAY funnier the way you told it than when the Archbishop told us…”
“The Archbishop told you?” Wendy felt faint again.
“Yeah, he was tearing up telling it, he was laughing so hard. He’s a good guy. You’ll like him… he’d love to meet you. Conscious this time.” Father Joseph grinned. “Really child, you have nothing to worry about.”
Wendy wanted to scream. “I’ve been anguishing over this for a WEEK now, and everyone else just brushed it off?! WHY DIDN’T ANYONE TELL ME?”
All three priests shrugged, unable to answer. Wendy, completely out of things to say and even more out of fight, turned around, shaking her head and walking away, her fists still clenched at her sides.
“God be with you Wendy, now and forever,” Father Theodore called after her, sensing she was leaving.
“You. Too.” Wendy mumbled as she trudged out of the sanctuary, heading towards the exit, reminding herself faintly to drop off Theresa’s forgotten homework at the school across the street.
“I bet this kind of stuff never happens to Protestants,” she sighed forlornly as the doors to the church shut behind her.
EPISODE 270: Sacrament of Penance (Part 1)
From the private journal of Wendy Briese
11-17-14
Most Popular Wrestler of the Year.
I still can’t believe I actually won this award! Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always known the fans have liked me- I hear it every time I walk through the curtain. But to be #1 in their eyes, more beloved beyond anyone else in the company, including the likes of Scarlett, Eileen, and Caroline? That’s unbelievable.
It’s humbling really, because I’ve never really tried to be anything but myself, and I didn’t think I’d ever be considered “cool” enough to win something like this. I don’t wear sexy clothing or listen to the hippest music or hang out in bars and party after shows. I’ve been told that my personal life seems more akin to a librarians than a professional wrestler, but it’s always been who I am. I’ll never be the life of the party. I’ll never be the funniest or the wittiest or the best catchphrase spouter. I’m just someone who loves this sport, is good at this sport, and is willing to stand up and fight for what she believes in. For that to not just be respected, but adored to the point that they were willing to vote me to that award…
But it goes deeper than that. It’s a warm fuzzy feeling to win an award like that, to be sure. And I certainly owe the fans a message of gratitude on Saturday! But beneath the sentimentality of winning such an award, there’s another, darker, more primal feeling. One of triumph and pride and savage victory.
Vindication.
I’ve been told several times over the past few months that I’m taking too hardline a stance when it comes to the likes of Mika and such. Too angry. Too bitter. Too judgmental. The idea that I should have congratulated Mika after beating Scarlett, never mind that she just, and would continue to, spit on everything that I held dear about that title and this company. That I was supposed to just shrug and admit I was ‘outsmarted’ because Mika had grabbed the ropes and Jennifer Stringer failed to notice. That I should just take the punches as they come, shrug, and been the cheerful, peppy Wendy that I’m supposed to be.
The fans message in the voting was loud and clear.
Screw.
That.
The fan’s don’t want me to be nice simply for the sake of being nice. The fans don’t want me to be demure and shrug and say “oh well” every time I’m wronged. The fans want me to FIGHT. They want me to speak out, whether its against Mika, or Isabella, or Valentina, or anyone else who disrespects this business, this company, or my colleagues and friends. They want me to be angry when I get screwed, not shrug it off and say I was “outsmarted”!
The fans want the White Knight. And the White Knight doesn’t sit in a castle drinking spiced wine and listening to minstrels and dallying about in fop. No, she’s in the field, getting dirty, muddy, bloody, bruised, all for the sake of what she feels, no… what she KNOWS is right. And there may be honor and glory and titles to go with it in the end, but when she goes to sleep at night, the first thing on her mind is that she did everything she could to make the world a better place than what it was when she woke up. That’s what the fans want to see.
And, by God, I’m going to give it to them!
-WENDY
===================
Wednesday December 3, 2014
2:17 PM Eastern Standard Time
St. Michael’s Catholic Church- Confessional Booth
Indianapolis, Indiana
“I absolve you of your sins in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” Father Theodore Flannagan spoke as he crossed himself, knowing that the supplicant on the other side of the partition was doing the same. “Amen.”
“Amen,” came the reverent reply, the voice masculine.
“Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good,” Father Theodore intoned, finishing his part in the ritual, and falling silent in waiting for the final response.
“His mercy endures forever.”
“God be with you, James, now and forever,” the priest said as he heard the man rising to leave, his traditional way of saying farewell after finishing the Sacrament of Penance with a confessor.
“You too, Father Theodore,” James replied, his voice muting as the door to the confessional banged shut.
Father Theodore sighed and rubbed his eyes. He knew he was coming down with something- he had spent the entire night coughing and mustered only three hours of sleep. He hadn’t been happy to remember that today had been his turn to hear confessions and thus far, he had twice caught himself dozing off in the middle of someone’s confession. He almost chuckled at the thought of a parishoner’s reaction to pouring out their souls and sins to him, only to hear a snore responding.
“Lord, give me the strength to get through this!” The priest muttered in a quick, earnest prayer, even as the confessional door swung open and the next confessor entered. “Enter, my child, and speak your sins,” the priest bade, clearing his throat. He patiently waited as they prepared themselves, fighting the urge to doze off again.
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”
Father Theodore’s eyes snapped open at the easily recognizable female voice. The Lord had answered his prayer! There was no way that he would be drowsy through this one, not this week!
“Go on, child.”
There was a long, uncomfortable pause, before the woman finally spoke. “I’ve harbored hatred in my heart, Father. I ran into my half-brother over the weekend… again. And… and I once again left wishing that he was dead that I… that I had killed him when I had the chance. I know we’re supposed to forgive those who trespass against us, but… I can’t. Not him, after all he’s done.”
“And… did you bring harm to your half-brother?”
“No… no, I didn’t.” The woman replied. “I was tempted to, though, and isn’t the thought just as bad as the deed?”
Father Theodore chuckled reassuringly. “I doubt it, Wendy. After all, we can always reverse our thoughts. A deed like that wouldn’t be so easily undone.”
There was a pause as the woman mulled it over. “I… suppose you’re right, Father. I never thought of it that way before.”
Father Theodore nodded. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before from the woman. Most of her confessions were for being unwilling to forgive someone else, whether her brother, or her manager, or even her co-workers. Giving up her grudges was likely one of her biggest moral challenges, likely made even more difficult considering her line of work. “Is there anything else you wish to confess, my child?”
There was another long, uncomfortable pause, and Father Theodore could easily sense the woman’s uneasiness and internal debate. Finally, she took a deep breath, and spoke. “I… I don’t think so…”
“Are you SURE?” the priest asked in an almost leading manner, and then cringed. He sounded WAY too eager there, and he knew the astute woman would sense it.
Sure enough, she seemed on the verge of panicking now. “I… I should go…” she stammered, rustling as she hastily rose from a kneeling position to her feet.
Father Theodore fought back a sigh at his error. “Wendy, you know your absolution won’t come unless you freely confess all your sins,” he said, trying to coax the unusually flighty woman back.
She hesitated, taking a deep breath. “You already know, don’t you?”
Of course he knew! The entire archdiocese knew! Although it probably wasn’t a good idea to tell her that. “It doesn’t matter what I know, Wendy. YOU must confess your sins. You know that.”
There was a despairing sigh from the other end of the partition, and a rustling sound as the woman knelt back down, sighing again. A long pause followed, filled with uneasiness, and, strangely expectation.
“Well, Father, I…” she gulped. “I…kind of…” her voice trailed off in a whimper.
========
Saturday November 8, 2014
4:07 PM Eastern Standard Time
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
“NO! NONO NO NO NOOOOO!” Wendy howled as the maroon clad player on the television ran down the sideline with the ball, the roar of the adulating crowd urging him on. No one was going to stop him- the interception was going to be returned for a touchdown… “No…”
“Welp, that’ll do it,” her husband remarked casually from sitting beside her, not entirely unsympathetically.
That’ll do it indeed. It had been a horrible game, with her beloved Irish starting the game by going down 34-3 (which hadn’t been made any easier thanks to the mockery of Christian Kincaid and Kelly McGuffin while the meltdown happened). They had spent the entire second half scrambling back, and had pulled to within 34-31 when disaster had again struck. Now they were down by 17 again and there wasn’t anywhere near enough time to catch up.
What had seemed a dream season that could finish with a trip to the National Championship wasn’t going to happen after all.
“Well, at least your team doesn’t suck like Dad’s,” Theresa spoke up from the other end of the sofa. “They lost to Pedo State, for crying out loud.”
“Don’t call them that.” Wendy snapped, shooting her daughter and her husband dark, disapproving looks. She had no doubt in her mind where Theresa had gotten the uncouth colloquialism for Penn State. Terrence, for his part, grunted noncommittally and shrugged. However, before Wendy could take the admonishment any further, the house phone rang.
“No, I’ll get it,” Wendy said irritably, standing up before either her husband or her daughter could. Even though there were about three minutes left in the game, she suddenly had no desire to see the final minutes of the atrocity. Understanding completely, Terrence slunk back in his chair tossing a knowing smirk to Theresa. While he rarely enjoyed seeing his wife so upset, he always found it fairly amusing how she always got so worked up about the Irish, especially when they were sucking.
In the kitchen, Wendy grabbed the phone, looking at the caller ID… a number she didn’t recognize, but from within Indianpolis’ 317 Area Code. She pressed talk. “Hello? Oh, hi Sister Abigail!”
Out in the living room, Theresa had stiffened at the name of her teacher, as if she’d just been shot in the back. It was a motion her father hadn’t failed to notice.
“What did you do this time?” Terrence asked, arching an eyebrow.
“N-nothing!” Theresa exclaimed, looking as innocent as she possibly could. “Nothing at all!”
Terrence snorted. He recalled making the same statement several times before many years ago to his guardian Uncle Steve- denials that generally ended with his backside getting a few whaps. Not that he was about to spank his daughter, but he knew a trapped miscreant when he saw one. “So your teacher just called to tell us about nothing, is that it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she likes Notre Dame and she and mom are in some kind of support group together.”
Terrence burst out laughing at his daughter’s sarcasm-doused response. Even if he ever had any reason to ever doubt Wendy’s faithfulness (and he strongly doubted he ever would), there was no denying that this was his daughter right here!
Theresa seemed to think the laughter was some form of absolution. “Can I go upstairs, now?”
Terrence stopped laughing, but remained smiling. “Why don’t we wait to see what your mom and Sister Abigail talked about?”
Theresa scowled, but plopped back on the sofa, folding her arms and looking up at the television. Fortunately, the phone conversation didn’t last too much longer, and Wendy was soon walking back into the room, a queer expression on her face.
“Arizona State just scored again,” Theresa quickly said, pointing to the television where the exclamation point had just been placed on a 55-31 score. Terrence quietly snorted in amusement at the last-ditch attempt at a diversion.
It worked- for a second, as Wendy turned her head towards the television to give another sigh, but quickly regained her focus. “That was Sister Abigail on the phone…”
“We heard,” Terrence said, stretching his arms. “What’s up?”
Wendy looked as if she was unsure of what to make of the phone call. “You know that potluck and white elephant auction the Catholic Women’s League puts on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving? She’s on the planning committee, and she wanted me to be one of the speakers…”
“Well, that’s great, right?” Theresa exclaimed, relief seemingly pouring out of every facet of her small frame (Terrence hid a smirk). “You’re a great public speaker, mom. You do it all the time!”
“Yeah, but those are wrestling promos, not Catholic speeches,” Wendy said, plopping down on the sofa as if she couldn’t even bear to stand for another second. “It’s one thing to play to a crowd and hype up a match. It’s another thing to do… this.”
“Do you know what they want you to talk about?” Terrence asked.
“About maintaining Catholic values while being a pop culture figure…” Wendy said, exhaling at the difficult subject. “I guess… you know… I’m probably the biggest… well, celebrity… that attends the church, but I never really considered myself pop culture…” she sighed. “She also wanted me to say a few words of welcome to the new Archbishop of Central Indiana. Apparently he’ll be arriving just the day before.”
“There’s a new Archbishop? What happened to the old one?”
“Moved to the Vatican,” Wendy explained. “Got promoted to something, I forget what it was. An honor to be sure, but such a long relocation.”
“So you could probably say it was more of a diagonal promotion?” Terrence asked innocently.
Wendy’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “I guess you could say-“ she cut herself off as it hit her, and she gave a glare at her husband, who simply grinned back.
But her thoughts were racing. A speech! In front of some of the biggest dignitaries in the Indianapolis Catholic Community! What on earth was she going to say? A nervous feeling that generally only reserved itself these days for the biggest of matches was welling up in her. In truth, she was flattered. She’d wanted to spend more time with the Women’s League, to be sure, but her busy schedule generally prevented it. That and she knew that there was a not insignificant number of women in the group who thought her line of work distasteful, and looked down on her for it. It bothered her, of course, but if she didn’t get on well with most of the women in the church, she’d have found a different one.
Still, she screwed this up, she’d HAVE to find a new church.
Or even a new religion.
Still, Sister Abigail had faith in her enough to invite her to be a speaker. Despite Theresa’s early proclamation that the woman was the Spanish Inquisition reborn, Wendy found the nun a very pleasant woman, a bit stern, but enthusiastic with her work, and always eager to praise Theresa’s schoolwork whenever they ran into each other at various church and school functions.
That thought snapped her head back up, to where Theresa was quickly walking across the room towards the stairs. Another aspect of the phone call had just jumped back into her head. “Oh, Theresa?” The girl froze in her tracks. “What was this about you putting glue in Billy De Santa’s mashed potatoes?”
Off to her right, in his easy chair, Terrence chuckled. “Nothing, hunh?”
And both parents watched as Theresa slowly turned around and trudged, head down, back to the couch to plop on it once again, doing her best to put on an expression of overwhelming shame. She was a smart girl after all.
Smart enough to know when she was doomed.
11-17-14
Most Popular Wrestler of the Year.
I still can’t believe I actually won this award! Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always known the fans have liked me- I hear it every time I walk through the curtain. But to be #1 in their eyes, more beloved beyond anyone else in the company, including the likes of Scarlett, Eileen, and Caroline? That’s unbelievable.
It’s humbling really, because I’ve never really tried to be anything but myself, and I didn’t think I’d ever be considered “cool” enough to win something like this. I don’t wear sexy clothing or listen to the hippest music or hang out in bars and party after shows. I’ve been told that my personal life seems more akin to a librarians than a professional wrestler, but it’s always been who I am. I’ll never be the life of the party. I’ll never be the funniest or the wittiest or the best catchphrase spouter. I’m just someone who loves this sport, is good at this sport, and is willing to stand up and fight for what she believes in. For that to not just be respected, but adored to the point that they were willing to vote me to that award…
But it goes deeper than that. It’s a warm fuzzy feeling to win an award like that, to be sure. And I certainly owe the fans a message of gratitude on Saturday! But beneath the sentimentality of winning such an award, there’s another, darker, more primal feeling. One of triumph and pride and savage victory.
Vindication.
I’ve been told several times over the past few months that I’m taking too hardline a stance when it comes to the likes of Mika and such. Too angry. Too bitter. Too judgmental. The idea that I should have congratulated Mika after beating Scarlett, never mind that she just, and would continue to, spit on everything that I held dear about that title and this company. That I was supposed to just shrug and admit I was ‘outsmarted’ because Mika had grabbed the ropes and Jennifer Stringer failed to notice. That I should just take the punches as they come, shrug, and been the cheerful, peppy Wendy that I’m supposed to be.
The fans message in the voting was loud and clear.
Screw.
That.
The fan’s don’t want me to be nice simply for the sake of being nice. The fans don’t want me to be demure and shrug and say “oh well” every time I’m wronged. The fans want me to FIGHT. They want me to speak out, whether its against Mika, or Isabella, or Valentina, or anyone else who disrespects this business, this company, or my colleagues and friends. They want me to be angry when I get screwed, not shrug it off and say I was “outsmarted”!
The fans want the White Knight. And the White Knight doesn’t sit in a castle drinking spiced wine and listening to minstrels and dallying about in fop. No, she’s in the field, getting dirty, muddy, bloody, bruised, all for the sake of what she feels, no… what she KNOWS is right. And there may be honor and glory and titles to go with it in the end, but when she goes to sleep at night, the first thing on her mind is that she did everything she could to make the world a better place than what it was when she woke up. That’s what the fans want to see.
And, by God, I’m going to give it to them!
-WENDY
===================
Wednesday December 3, 2014
2:17 PM Eastern Standard Time
St. Michael’s Catholic Church- Confessional Booth
Indianapolis, Indiana
“I absolve you of your sins in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” Father Theodore Flannagan spoke as he crossed himself, knowing that the supplicant on the other side of the partition was doing the same. “Amen.”
“Amen,” came the reverent reply, the voice masculine.
“Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good,” Father Theodore intoned, finishing his part in the ritual, and falling silent in waiting for the final response.
“His mercy endures forever.”
“God be with you, James, now and forever,” the priest said as he heard the man rising to leave, his traditional way of saying farewell after finishing the Sacrament of Penance with a confessor.
“You too, Father Theodore,” James replied, his voice muting as the door to the confessional banged shut.
Father Theodore sighed and rubbed his eyes. He knew he was coming down with something- he had spent the entire night coughing and mustered only three hours of sleep. He hadn’t been happy to remember that today had been his turn to hear confessions and thus far, he had twice caught himself dozing off in the middle of someone’s confession. He almost chuckled at the thought of a parishoner’s reaction to pouring out their souls and sins to him, only to hear a snore responding.
“Lord, give me the strength to get through this!” The priest muttered in a quick, earnest prayer, even as the confessional door swung open and the next confessor entered. “Enter, my child, and speak your sins,” the priest bade, clearing his throat. He patiently waited as they prepared themselves, fighting the urge to doze off again.
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”
Father Theodore’s eyes snapped open at the easily recognizable female voice. The Lord had answered his prayer! There was no way that he would be drowsy through this one, not this week!
“Go on, child.”
There was a long, uncomfortable pause, before the woman finally spoke. “I’ve harbored hatred in my heart, Father. I ran into my half-brother over the weekend… again. And… and I once again left wishing that he was dead that I… that I had killed him when I had the chance. I know we’re supposed to forgive those who trespass against us, but… I can’t. Not him, after all he’s done.”
“And… did you bring harm to your half-brother?”
“No… no, I didn’t.” The woman replied. “I was tempted to, though, and isn’t the thought just as bad as the deed?”
Father Theodore chuckled reassuringly. “I doubt it, Wendy. After all, we can always reverse our thoughts. A deed like that wouldn’t be so easily undone.”
There was a pause as the woman mulled it over. “I… suppose you’re right, Father. I never thought of it that way before.”
Father Theodore nodded. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before from the woman. Most of her confessions were for being unwilling to forgive someone else, whether her brother, or her manager, or even her co-workers. Giving up her grudges was likely one of her biggest moral challenges, likely made even more difficult considering her line of work. “Is there anything else you wish to confess, my child?”
There was another long, uncomfortable pause, and Father Theodore could easily sense the woman’s uneasiness and internal debate. Finally, she took a deep breath, and spoke. “I… I don’t think so…”
“Are you SURE?” the priest asked in an almost leading manner, and then cringed. He sounded WAY too eager there, and he knew the astute woman would sense it.
Sure enough, she seemed on the verge of panicking now. “I… I should go…” she stammered, rustling as she hastily rose from a kneeling position to her feet.
Father Theodore fought back a sigh at his error. “Wendy, you know your absolution won’t come unless you freely confess all your sins,” he said, trying to coax the unusually flighty woman back.
She hesitated, taking a deep breath. “You already know, don’t you?”
Of course he knew! The entire archdiocese knew! Although it probably wasn’t a good idea to tell her that. “It doesn’t matter what I know, Wendy. YOU must confess your sins. You know that.”
There was a despairing sigh from the other end of the partition, and a rustling sound as the woman knelt back down, sighing again. A long pause followed, filled with uneasiness, and, strangely expectation.
“Well, Father, I…” she gulped. “I…kind of…” her voice trailed off in a whimper.
========
Saturday November 8, 2014
4:07 PM Eastern Standard Time
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
“NO! NONO NO NO NOOOOO!” Wendy howled as the maroon clad player on the television ran down the sideline with the ball, the roar of the adulating crowd urging him on. No one was going to stop him- the interception was going to be returned for a touchdown… “No…”
“Welp, that’ll do it,” her husband remarked casually from sitting beside her, not entirely unsympathetically.
That’ll do it indeed. It had been a horrible game, with her beloved Irish starting the game by going down 34-3 (which hadn’t been made any easier thanks to the mockery of Christian Kincaid and Kelly McGuffin while the meltdown happened). They had spent the entire second half scrambling back, and had pulled to within 34-31 when disaster had again struck. Now they were down by 17 again and there wasn’t anywhere near enough time to catch up.
What had seemed a dream season that could finish with a trip to the National Championship wasn’t going to happen after all.
“Well, at least your team doesn’t suck like Dad’s,” Theresa spoke up from the other end of the sofa. “They lost to Pedo State, for crying out loud.”
“Don’t call them that.” Wendy snapped, shooting her daughter and her husband dark, disapproving looks. She had no doubt in her mind where Theresa had gotten the uncouth colloquialism for Penn State. Terrence, for his part, grunted noncommittally and shrugged. However, before Wendy could take the admonishment any further, the house phone rang.
“No, I’ll get it,” Wendy said irritably, standing up before either her husband or her daughter could. Even though there were about three minutes left in the game, she suddenly had no desire to see the final minutes of the atrocity. Understanding completely, Terrence slunk back in his chair tossing a knowing smirk to Theresa. While he rarely enjoyed seeing his wife so upset, he always found it fairly amusing how she always got so worked up about the Irish, especially when they were sucking.
In the kitchen, Wendy grabbed the phone, looking at the caller ID… a number she didn’t recognize, but from within Indianpolis’ 317 Area Code. She pressed talk. “Hello? Oh, hi Sister Abigail!”
Out in the living room, Theresa had stiffened at the name of her teacher, as if she’d just been shot in the back. It was a motion her father hadn’t failed to notice.
“What did you do this time?” Terrence asked, arching an eyebrow.
“N-nothing!” Theresa exclaimed, looking as innocent as she possibly could. “Nothing at all!”
Terrence snorted. He recalled making the same statement several times before many years ago to his guardian Uncle Steve- denials that generally ended with his backside getting a few whaps. Not that he was about to spank his daughter, but he knew a trapped miscreant when he saw one. “So your teacher just called to tell us about nothing, is that it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she likes Notre Dame and she and mom are in some kind of support group together.”
Terrence burst out laughing at his daughter’s sarcasm-doused response. Even if he ever had any reason to ever doubt Wendy’s faithfulness (and he strongly doubted he ever would), there was no denying that this was his daughter right here!
Theresa seemed to think the laughter was some form of absolution. “Can I go upstairs, now?”
Terrence stopped laughing, but remained smiling. “Why don’t we wait to see what your mom and Sister Abigail talked about?”
Theresa scowled, but plopped back on the sofa, folding her arms and looking up at the television. Fortunately, the phone conversation didn’t last too much longer, and Wendy was soon walking back into the room, a queer expression on her face.
“Arizona State just scored again,” Theresa quickly said, pointing to the television where the exclamation point had just been placed on a 55-31 score. Terrence quietly snorted in amusement at the last-ditch attempt at a diversion.
It worked- for a second, as Wendy turned her head towards the television to give another sigh, but quickly regained her focus. “That was Sister Abigail on the phone…”
“We heard,” Terrence said, stretching his arms. “What’s up?”
Wendy looked as if she was unsure of what to make of the phone call. “You know that potluck and white elephant auction the Catholic Women’s League puts on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving? She’s on the planning committee, and she wanted me to be one of the speakers…”
“Well, that’s great, right?” Theresa exclaimed, relief seemingly pouring out of every facet of her small frame (Terrence hid a smirk). “You’re a great public speaker, mom. You do it all the time!”
“Yeah, but those are wrestling promos, not Catholic speeches,” Wendy said, plopping down on the sofa as if she couldn’t even bear to stand for another second. “It’s one thing to play to a crowd and hype up a match. It’s another thing to do… this.”
“Do you know what they want you to talk about?” Terrence asked.
“About maintaining Catholic values while being a pop culture figure…” Wendy said, exhaling at the difficult subject. “I guess… you know… I’m probably the biggest… well, celebrity… that attends the church, but I never really considered myself pop culture…” she sighed. “She also wanted me to say a few words of welcome to the new Archbishop of Central Indiana. Apparently he’ll be arriving just the day before.”
“There’s a new Archbishop? What happened to the old one?”
“Moved to the Vatican,” Wendy explained. “Got promoted to something, I forget what it was. An honor to be sure, but such a long relocation.”
“So you could probably say it was more of a diagonal promotion?” Terrence asked innocently.
Wendy’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “I guess you could say-“ she cut herself off as it hit her, and she gave a glare at her husband, who simply grinned back.
But her thoughts were racing. A speech! In front of some of the biggest dignitaries in the Indianapolis Catholic Community! What on earth was she going to say? A nervous feeling that generally only reserved itself these days for the biggest of matches was welling up in her. In truth, she was flattered. She’d wanted to spend more time with the Women’s League, to be sure, but her busy schedule generally prevented it. That and she knew that there was a not insignificant number of women in the group who thought her line of work distasteful, and looked down on her for it. It bothered her, of course, but if she didn’t get on well with most of the women in the church, she’d have found a different one.
Still, she screwed this up, she’d HAVE to find a new church.
Or even a new religion.
Still, Sister Abigail had faith in her enough to invite her to be a speaker. Despite Theresa’s early proclamation that the woman was the Spanish Inquisition reborn, Wendy found the nun a very pleasant woman, a bit stern, but enthusiastic with her work, and always eager to praise Theresa’s schoolwork whenever they ran into each other at various church and school functions.
That thought snapped her head back up, to where Theresa was quickly walking across the room towards the stairs. Another aspect of the phone call had just jumped back into her head. “Oh, Theresa?” The girl froze in her tracks. “What was this about you putting glue in Billy De Santa’s mashed potatoes?”
Off to her right, in his easy chair, Terrence chuckled. “Nothing, hunh?”
And both parents watched as Theresa slowly turned around and trudged, head down, back to the couch to plop on it once again, doing her best to put on an expression of overwhelming shame. She was a smart girl after all.
Smart enough to know when she was doomed.
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