Post by Jeremiah Greyson on Sept 7, 2016 20:52:25 GMT
“How late did you get in?”
I hadn’t even realized I had fallen asleep until the sound of her voice startled me from my slumber. Her sweet smile was the same as it always, and the coffee that she was offering me in the same cup that I had drank out of since I was twelve smelled as delicious as it had the first time she had let me have a cup. If you couldn’t tell, my mother holds a very special place in my heart. She has spent countless hours encouraging me, caring for me and tending to the battle wounds that come along with being a part of this business. I don’t know what I’d do without her, and that’s what scares me the most. She looks more frail today than she had when I made it home to Portland, Maine two weeks ago.
“Four or five. I’m not sure. That old Van Halen cassette kept me awake.”
“You always did like that awful eighties rock music. I’ll cook you some breakfast. Your father should be back soon, just had to run to the store for some things.”
That was code for he had been sent on a grocery shopping run. Whenever I come home my mother always makes meatloaf. It’s the best meatloaf in the world. Don’t challenge me on this. I’m sure your mothers all make good meatloaf too, but it’s not like my mom’s. That’s how she has always taken care of me, with a smile and the loving care and concern that every mother who has a soul has for her children. It mortifies me to see the way some of the people act in the business that I love so much, as though they’ve completely had their own soul ripped from their body. Everybody has their own horror story. Everybody was touched by their father, or abused or abandoned. I’ve seen and heard of so many head cases that I have to question whether any of it is real. Sure, everyone has struggles in their lives. Everyone has obstacles to overcome. Why do the people who thrive in this business so often seem to only focus on the negative things? I can’t, and won’t, do that. I’m blessed.
“How’s Pop doing? I know he wishes I’d settle down and give him a couple grand babies already.”
“Your father is fine, he just frets over me too much. But he’s not the only one who wants you to settle down and have a few children, Jer.”
Her words reminded me that she’s sick, that the loving smile and the need to cook me enough food to last me for the next six months, are little more than a cover to keep me from worrying about her like my dad does. Cancer is a terrible thing. It’s a vile disease that takes parents, grandparents, siblings and children from their loved ones far sooner than they deserve. I don’t talk about it much. She’s the reason I fight, and I keep on fighting even though at times I can’t help but want to hang up my boots and settle down. I want to have a wife, and children, and a house with a white picket fence and a golden retriever. That’s who I am, and I want that wife and those children to know my mother and know the absolute sheer force of pure, unadulterated love that she is. So I keep on competing. I keep on fighting so that she’ll keep on fighting. I’m afraid if I give up, if I quit on my own dreams and what I love, that she’ll give up too. I don’t want that weight on my shoulders.
“Yeah, yeah. I know, ma. There’s plenty of nice girls here in Portland. You and pop would just love it if I’d come home, get a job at the lumber yard and marry Jenny Parker. Maybe someday, but not right now.”
“Alright, alright. I was only teasing.”
There’s that smile, again. The one that let’s me know that even though she really wasn’t teasing, she understood. God bless her. If every man was as lucky to find a wife like my pop did in my mom, the world would be a much happier place. Hell, if everyone could get a whiff of what my mom was whipping up for breakfast at this very moment I think we’d be able to come to terms on a worldwide peace deal. That smell of bacon, sausage and eggs all cooking together in a cast iron skillet that was thirty years old, that’s what heaven is.
“So tell me about this new company you’re working for. Is this it? Are you finally getting what you’ve worked so hard for?”
“Yeah, ma. I think it is. My boss, his name is Ernie Parker, seems like a legitimately nice guy. He’s got his eccentricities but he seems to mean well. And the names, ma. The people that are signing contracts just like the one I signed, they’re massive names. We’re talking about people I’ve looked up to in wrestling for a long, long time.”
It’s funny, because as soon as those words parted my lips you could almost see her swell with pride. The disease that was constantly attacking her body and sapping her strength was held at bay for a few moments while her pride in her own son held off the evil inside of her. People want to talk about having heart, purpose and drive in their professional lives. It’s nothing like this. I promise you that there’s no one on Livewire who can answer the question of why they fight in the way that I can. I fight for myself, sure, but I fight for her. I hate to lose more than I love to win because it feels like when I lose, so does she.
“Oh yeah? Anyone I’ve heard of?”
“Yeah. You know Aidan Carlisle, right?”
Of course she knew Aidan Carlisle. Everyone knew Aidan Carlisle. She was the Internet Champion in Boardwalk Wrestling. There’s a lot of things my mom does well but playing poker isn’t one of them. She’s got a terrible poker face. All I had to do was mention Aidan’s name and it clicked in her head the level of talent someone had thought I was worthy of competing alongside of. It was a tremendous honor and my mother knew it. So did I.
“And Ash Scion? There’s a lot of others too. It’s a big deal, ma. Honestly, I’m not sure I deserve it.”
“Now that’s enough of that. You’ve worked hard to get to where you’re at. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you don’t deserve this opportunity.”
She had turned away from the skillet to look at me sternly. Have I told you how much I love this woman? All of the problems in her life, all of her own personal struggles and she would go through it all a thousand times over if it meant that I would just believe in myself. I guess that’s the kind of love that goes hand in hand with being a parent. I don’t understand it, but maybe one day I will.
“We’ll get to see if you’re as good as you think you are. And if you’re not. Well, there’s nothing wrong with coming back home, working in the lumber yard and having those grand babies with Jenny Parker.”
There was always a healthy dose of humility to go along with her encouragement. She had told me the day I turned eighteen, the day I could supposedly do whatever I wanted to without repercussions, that if I ever turned into one of those wrestlers who thought they were ‘too big for their own britches’ that she would come and drag me back home to Maine by my ear. It might seem funny to you, but I’m telling you, she could do it.
“Ha! Alright, Ma, I get it. I’ll give it my best shot but no matter what happens you have to keep on fighting. If I have to give all of this up to come home and make sure you do, I will.”
“Enough of that talk, Jer. One man fretting over me is enough. The two of you together would be enough to drive me right own of my own mind.”
I knew better than to interject and try to argue with her. She’d lay me out in one swing, I’m sure of it. There was still so much more I needed to tell her about, too. I couldn’t wait for her to find out that I was going to have the chance to become a champion, too. And that they would be able to watch me on the internet. I’d have to show them how to get on the website and make it work because God knew they weren’t going to be able to operate anything more complex than a graphing calculator. She knew she had me right where she wanted me, though, as she turned and slid everything she’d been frying in that skillet onto a single plate intended for me.
That would be enough to shut me up for a few minutes anyway.
