Rob's Lament

The emergency room always reminded Rob Williams of death. He would sneak in when he was bothered. Always left-right sized.



The smell of Fabuloso, groans of the saps with no kin to comfort them, staff rushing to the next crisis. Mortality. The contrast of someone counting their last breaths while some resident doctor cuts their teeth. Our problems are so small in the grand scheme. Alpha and Omega, or something like it.



He smirked as he watched a young ER doctor all but ignoring an elderly man while staring at his medical chart. The man watched the doctor moving to and fro, mindlessly asking him questions about the data contained in the chart - as if the data were the man. As if the years he had spent in service to those he loved and pursuing his passions and the losses and pains he had felt in his life were all surmised in some chart.



The old man’s eyes said he wasn’t there. Physically, maybe - but mentally he was 16, riding in the back of a truck while the hair blew in his wind. Not a care in the world. A young boy who didn’t know this day would exist.



Rob heard her heels clicking up behind him. Pavlov’s dog he was. He couldn’t resist turning his head to that sound and she knew it. He looked down as he felt her warmth emerging behind him.



“Who are these bums?”



In his giant bear paw, Rob Williams held a small piece of paper with scrawled writing on it. The writing covered the card for Friday Night Fury, Rob’s first show with Thunder Pro Wrestling. Rob was livid. It oozed from his pores and emanated an energy that Charlotte could actually feel. She always wanted him to show more emotion, but she probably wouldn’t have picked this.



“It’s your first show, babe.”



“First show with these clowns. I was taking bumps when these fairies were just a twinkle in their daddy’s eyes. Been at this way too long to be fighting a damn Peter Pan wannabe and,” Rob squinted to read the other name on the card, ”Jake Keeton. Ah, I’ve heard of him. He’s got some chops. But still, Pan? I’ve left more creativity in the McDonald's bathroom after a Big Mac.”



Charlotte traced the scars on the back of Rob’s neck with her red, manicured fingernails.



“Calm down, babe. This is a step. A chance. That’s all you need to show them what you got.”



Now that he had brought his green eyes up from the paper, he couldn’t peel them away from the old man. As Charlotte’s nails generated chills down his spine he felt himself drifting away to when they first met. He pondered the seasons of his life and whether you can tell when they’ve changed. Could you tell the leaves were changing colors and beginning to fall? Even if you could, what season would it be?



The old man, still oblivious to the young doctor’s rant, caught Rob looking at him. Their gazes locked. You couldn’t. There was no way to know. All that you could know is that someday you’d be the old man in the bed, dreaming about a kiss you’d stolen in the night or the smell of your baby’s hair or maybe the way the wind felt on a cold Autumn night.



“Yeah, you’re right. How did you find me?”



“Oh, babe, I always find you. We could live a thousand lives a thousand times and I’d find you every time.”



Rob reached for her hand and it met his mid-air. She knew him all too well.



“I’m not a bum, babe. I don’t deserve to be wrestling people playing dress-up. I’ve given too much to this and I know that time is running out. Forty-four years old. My knees hurt in the morning. When I sit down to take a crap my back sounds like a drumline.”



She squeezed his hand, “I know, babe. And you’re going to go out there and prove that to everyone else. C’mon, let’s go get a drink. I smelled the grease and liquor from next door walking in.”



He took a deep breath in, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.



“I could go for a steak and a shot of tequila.”



“Of course you could,” she pulled at his hand. And he followed. He always followed her.



Just before entering the elevator, Rob looked back one last time at the old man. A faint smile curled the old man’s lips at either end. Rob smirked back as the doors closed and the old man faded away.





Blood ran from the steak sizzling on the plate in front of Rob. He wasn’t sure bloody steak was supposed to sizzle, but he’d learned not to question too much. The 40-watt incandescent above them buzzed and gave off a faint glow and she looked perfect in it. She’d ordered a steak on their first date, too - one of many things he fell in love with. The girl wasn’t afraid to eat.



But you wouldn’t know it. Twenty years later she still looked like something out of the movies. Jessica Rabbit, but with black hair. She distressed over her hair, pulling it apart to stare at the grays in the mirror each morning. He always told her they made her look like a witch. He loved witches.



“Dig in,” she called to him as she sawed the dull butter knife through her ribeye. Rob just smirked, lifting his tequila. He’d promised her much better than this. Yet here they were in another dive bar. Maybe he should’ve given her children. Bought a house. Quit drinking.



“What do you think of this place?”



She looked around at the laminated wood paneling that had lost a few layers with each iteration of the bar. Some when it was an Irish bar, more when it was a Mexican joint, and a couple as a karaoke bar. It had a lot in common with Rob. She laughed, lifting her fork and holding her hand to her mouth to keep from spitting out her food.



“It’s a total shithole.”



“No. Well, yeah, it is. But I don’t mean the bar. I mean TPW. This run.”



Charlotte swallowed her steak with a nod, her brown eyes squinting. She knew him. She knew where his head was at.



“Rob, one of these days you’re going to have to put down the weight of the world and just enjoy it, man. I made my choices, not you. You didn’t force anything on me and I’d be happy with you whether it’s flying first class or taking the Greyhound. You’re mine, that’s it, whatever.”



He knew she meant it, but it didn’t soothe the itch.



“I know, babe.”



“Then grab your bootstraps and pull yourself up out of this pity party. Do you want to be more? Go be more. No one is going to do this for you.”



He knew she was right. As always. And wanted it.



Rob drained the remainder of his drink.



Pan. Jake Keeton. Jesus Henry Christ. It didn’t matter, none of them would stand in his way. He was going to paint a thousand pictures of her with their blood and build her throne from their skulls. This woman deserved the world and the only way Rob knew how to give it to her was through pure, unrestrained violence.



“Just where do you think you are going,” Charlotte raised an eyebrow.



“I only know one way to do this Poop. I’m going to cut a promo.”



She smiled, not lifting her eyes from her plate as he cut another piece of steak. Charlotte knew Rob was finding his flow.



“I’ll get a box for your steak..”

I swear to the Lord I will slay him

He take you from me

But I swear I won't let it be so”

Times changed on Rob. The last time he was in a company large enough to cut promos it was a whole thing. You’d show up to a set, meet with some egghead in an off-the-rack suit holding a giant microphone and holler about your opponents. There was lighting and boom operators. Now, you just recorded yourself. The TPW media team had sent a tech package and Rob spent the better part of an hour figuring it out.



Lights, camera, action. The soft glow from the ring light created an eerie blue circle inside the pupils of Rob’s eyes. A timer counted backward from 10 as he pushed the circular record button on the camera.



9… 8…



All at once he felt it flowing through him. He was vibrating, he was electric. Rob knew what season this was.



3.. 2.. 1..



“TPW - it is with the utmost pride and sincerity that I introduce you to the one, the only, “The Legend” Rob Williams.”



Rob tugs at the neckline of his plain white tee-shirt, taking a deep breath in through his crooked nose.



“And let me welcome you to chaos. Pure, unadulterated chaos. Now, TPW, a lot of people talk about chaos. They shout it and words you’ll find,” his hands go up, perfectly vertical, “adjacent to it like “anarchy” and “carnage”. But, they’re just like a little boy whistling in the dark - trying to keep the truth as far away from themselves as possible.”



Rob produced a bottle of Espolon from between his legs and took a swig. He loved the way cheap tequila burned. Cleared the sinuses.



“I’m here to… to apologize to you, the fans. The shareholders. This world you all live in is watered down. Paper heroes and villains. Propped up by pyrotechnics and catchphrases. You deserve more.”



Rob takes a swig of the rail tequila.



“I’ve watched Pan and Jake’s “interviews”. They were cute. Let me tell you, boys, I may not look like the athlete of the day. I don’t oil myself up or shave my chest hair. My body has scars and some things are out of place. It aches in the morning and wakes me up at night. But let me tell you, I’m still a bad man.”



“I expected the fairytale character to pick the low hanging fruit, but et tu Jake? It’s always the same. Oh,” Rob’s voice goes low in a sing-song mock, ”you didn’t earn that name. Having a nickname like “The Legend” is a lot like being a boy named Sue. Just as we don’t pick our names when we’re born, I didn’t pick this name. I’m not that egotistical.”



“No, this name was bestowed upon me by the crooked ass promoter who gave me “my start” in an Army Depot in Georgia. He was a fat, rotten, evil bastard who threw me to the wolves - 19 years old getting my teeth kicked in by grown men in front of truck drivers and marks. I called him Dad. I don’t know why he picked that name, but it’s always the first thing uncreative cretins jump to.”



“Boys, I have earned it. I have bled in Army Depots. Slept in holding cells. I’m banned in bars across the country and it’s all because every asshole that’s stepped to me has walked away remembering my name. You won’t need a dictionary or Google to know me after this Friday. This isn’t the Discovery Channel and I’m not a f’n gazelle. I ain’t saying I’ve won every fight I’ve ever been in - and I may not win Friday. But when the bell rings, you will remember my name.”



“You will remember when you entered the ring with “The Legend”. You’ll remember how you hurt. I’m going to bring the pain. When you’re old and decrepit, not long from now Jake, and you’re looking back on all the sunsets of your life, the chaos and fury that Rob Williams brought you will stand out. You might say it will be legendary.”



Rob blew a kiss to the camera as he leaned in to turn it off.



“See you boys soon.”