Haley Duncan [vs] James Jefferson

~Shadows of a Past~

It would be wonderful if we could say that there was something validating in that victory last week. It would be absolutely amazing if we could say that victory, however hard fought, had brought with it some sense of satisfaction...but it hadn’t. If anything that one match only proved to her how far she had to go still. It cemented that things in the ‘professional’ world were dramatically different than the tight knit community of the independent company she’s used to. The stakes are higher. The crowds are bigger. She knows now, that she can manage, she can hold her own, she’s proven that much. But it was too close a thing for her tastes. Entirely too close of a thing. Which is why, instead of doing the typical thing, and celebrating that hard fought victory, she’s here. Back in the gym, busting her ass. Because this is just what Haley does. She’s not alone of course, she seldom is. Every rising star needs their voice of reason, the person who drives and pushes them. It might seem strange, the duo. Because, well it isn’t as if Micah is capable of physically forcing her into doing anything. But this is the nature of their relationship. Because she owes him. As far as Haley Duncan is concerned Micah Clarke is solely responsible for bringing her out of the dark. And whenever she gets to feeling particularly low, it’s usually Micah who lifts her back up. But she’s not in need of any uplifting at the moment, far from it. She hasn’t stopped smiling for days, and frankly? It’s starting to wear on his nerves. Worse, she’s endured all his ribbing without so much as batting an eye. At the moment, the buxom amazon is in the process of doing a set of leg curl reps, stretched out on the bench on her stomach, arms folded to brace herself.

“You’re in a remarkably good mood...it’s scary. Stop it.”

“Oh come on Micah. I’m entitled to my good days too.”

“Yeah, well, from the cheshire cat grin, you’ve had more than just a ‘good day’.”

“Yeah, well, not gonna lie. It was a very good day, leading into an even better night. I’ve got every reason to be grinning like a cheshire cat. So please Micah, cut me a little slack.”

He isn’t impressed, but then it’s his job to keep her on the straight and narrow...and frankly, some of her newfound friends aren’t really all that great for staying on that particular path. Haley however, ignores the nonplussed look and continues with her reps. It’s obvious that she’s well into her routine, strands of dark brown hair plastered to the sides of her neck where they’ve come loose from her ponytail. Sweat has turned the dove grey of her sports top dark, and the matching shorts hug and cling to the well defined legs and rear.

“I just don’t want you to get distracted Hales. You’ve still got a long way to go, and you can’t afford to lose focus because you’re too busy making googly eyes at someone. And honestly, I don’t even know how good for you he really is. I mean, he lives a totally different lifestyle than you do. You know how you get about drinking, and he’s so much of a drunk his friends had to stuff him in a car trunk and force him to go to AA. Do you really think he’s going to be good for you?”

“You know what Micah, you can come off the over protective brother thing. Okay? I get it. You don’t think he’s a good influence. But you know what? He makes me feel normal. He makes me feel...look, it doesn’t matter okay? We’re not here to talk about my recreational activities. We’re supposed to be getting me prepped for my next match. Hopefully so I don’t get drug around the ring like a rag doll.”

“Actually...Haley. I was thinking that it’s time you, you know, visit your parents’ graves. I mean, it’s been years Haley, and you’ve  never been out there. You don’t talk about it. You barely even acknowledge that they existed.”

And it seems that he might have struck a nerve, because Haley suddenly freezes before abruptly letting the weights drop, rolling off the bench to grab a towel to mop the perspiration from her face. Even then she doesn’t answer right away.

“Did you ever think that maybe there’s a reason for that Micah? I don’t like talking about them. I don’t thinking about them. I haven’t gone to the graves because I can’t get away from them. I close my eyes and I can still hear them screaming at each other. Dad would come home from the bar completely blitzed, and if he wasn’t beating on Mom, he was beating on me. I thought things were going to get better after he died. But they didn’t. Mom was abusive in a totally different way, she broke me down in ways Dad never could. I could never figure out what I did that was so wrong. I wasn’t petite enough for her, I wasn’t pretty enough. She wanted a cheerleader, she got a football player. And when she wasn’t screaming insults at me, and degrading me, she was eating. And eating. And eating. I hated myself. For not being good enough. And...for feeling relief when she died. That’s why I don’t go. Because I’m relieved. I’m relieved that they’re gone. I’m relieved that I got away because even bouncing from foster home to foster home was better than the hell they put me through. And there are times, oh, there’s times Micah that I hate myself for feeling that way. Because what kind of horrible person feels that way about their parents?”

He doesn’t have the answers. He can’t even say that he knows how she feels because he’s had it easy. Sure, so he got really sick as a toddler and ended up in a wheelchair. He still had both his parents, and they’re wonderfully supportive, sometimes annoyingly so. But abusive? Never. He finds himself staring down at his hands, because the feeling of knowing that you’ve just caused your best friend in the world distress is a terrible, gut wrenching feeling. It’s a feeling that defies words, because what can you possibly say in that situation? Nothing seems adequate.

“I’m sorry.”

Haley doesn’t immediately respond. And the silence weighs heavy between them, stretching until it borders on awkward. Which is when she sighs, heavily, tossing the towel to the side.

“It’s fine. You didn’t know. Most people don’t. I don’t really talk about it because I don’t like the way people look at me when they find out. Like I need pity. I don’t. Yeah, okay, so I had it rough. A lot of kids had it worse than I did. I might have had hand me down clothes, but I never went hungry, I never starved. And honestly, if they hadn’t treated me the way they had I might not have the determination that I have today. I might not have met you. And I might never have figured out what it is I’m meant to do. I just don’t like talking about the shit. Okay?”

“Yeah. Sure. I totally understand that. I’m sorry, I won’t bring it up again.”

“Thank you. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. So, let me go grab a quick shower, and then we can go grab a pizza or something.”

“Sure thing Hales, sounds like a plan.”

He forgets sometimes, what she was like when he first met her. All the anger. It was like she was pissed off at the world. But maybe it wasn’t the world. Maybe it was the people who brought her into it. For not being better providers. For not giving her a better start. For never being there when she needed someone. He watches her move off silently, no doubt remembering that angry, frustrated teenager who had seemed so completely and utterly lost.

~Competition~

“I’m not going to sit here and lie. Last week felt good. It felt damned good. And not just because I won. When you spend your whole life, struggling to find where you belong, to find your place, where you fit in, when the realization finally clicks that you’re there...man, there’s nothing in the world like it. It’s not a sense of validation, it’s not a sense of success. It’s more, it runs deeper. It’s a feeling of...belonging, a sense of being home. That’s a feeling I don’t ever want to lose, because I’ve worked too hard to find it. I don’t expect you to understand that. I don’t expect anyone to understand that, because the only the way anyone could possibly understand this feeling, is if they’ve walked in my shoes, and lived my life. So let me clarify. This, is everything to me. You take it away, and I’ve got nothing. Someone told me recently, that we’re all built for our intended purpose, and with that in mind, this is what I was made for. This is the one place where my size works my to my advantage, instead of against me. This is the one place where I’m more than just the big muscular freak of nature.”

Unsurprisingly, we have joined the modern day Amazon in the quiet sanctity of empty arena. Because where else would she choose to appear? Like before, she’s set up a folding chair in the center of the ring and lounges in it, legs stretched out before her. Clothing is simple, faded jeans and an old Motley Crue tour t-shirt, faded from many washings. Her hair is pulled back, gathered into a ponytail and as ever there’s a certain relaxed air about her.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking over the last week or so...and you know? I’m lucky. I’m lucky because I get to travel. I get to meet new people. I get to do something that I love, something that gives me purpose and meaning. But you know what else I’ve noticed? We don’t get a lot of appreciation, us Undergrounders. The mainstreamers regard us as unimportant, as nobodies, or just completely ignore us. We work twice as hard, for not even half the pay. We don’t have the flash, or the glamour. We don’t get the publicity. Or the perks. Or half the benefits. We work twice as hard for just an ounce of recognition, that...honestly, doesn’t seem to come. Of course...when you’ve got the likes of the pornstart wannabe parading around trying to use really bad sex to sell himself, I guess that’s not too surprising. I guess what I’m saying...what I’m asking, is for people to stop thinking about themselves for two minutes and take that time, just two fucking minutes to look at the bigger picture. This, is something more than just any one person. People throwing tantrums because they don’t think they’re getting the recognition they deserve? Well stop tantruming and step up your game. Understand that you’re doing something wrong. And then fix it. But more importantly, understand that how you perform, how you carry yourself, and what you do, reflects on more than just you. Your actions are a reflection on ALL of us. Because each one of us is a representative of the Underground. Which is why, when I come down to this ring Thursday night, I do with the intention of giving nothing less than a hundred percent. Because I know, that I what I do, how I behave, how I perform, has a direction reflection on how we, as a collective are perceived. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a hero. I’m not a saint. And I’m not even the best that there is, or ever will be. And I’m not saying that I am. But what I am, is passionate. And dedicated. Loyal to a fault. I guess in some regards I’m more of a...soldier.

Which is something I think my opponent this week can understand, can’t you Mr. Jefferson? This, would normally be the point where we posture and preen. Where we regale each other with happy tales of why the other is doomed to lose...but what do you say we just skip that song and dance okay? Because it’s boring. I’m not going to sit here and say that I’m going to win Thursday night. Because to be be perfectly honest, you’ve got every advantage over me. You’re more experienced, that’s for sure. You’ve almost undoubtedly got better discipline. So there’s a very real possibility that you’re going to come down to this ring, and hand me my ass...but you can count on one thing James. I will make you for it. You’re not walking into a cake walk. It won’t be easy, and it probably won’t be pretty. But it will be something to behold. If there’s one thing that I’ve learned, it’s that you never go at anything half cocked, full tilt or nothing. And as a professional wrestler, what you want, the real mark of success isn’t measured in how many titles you can get, or how many wins...it’s in the ability to bring those people to the edge of their seats...and then to their feet, week, after week, after week. It’s in giving everything you’ve got...and then a little more. It’s in leaving a part of yourself behind, whether it’s your blood, sweat and tears, or a part of your soul. And when you lose track of that...you might as well hang up your boots...because you don’t deserve to be here.

Now I know what you’re thinking. Who the hell am I to pass judgment on anyone else right? What gives me the right? I’m nobody. Nah, quite literally. I don’t come here with some prestigious legacy behind me. I don’t come here because it’s in the blood, runs in the family. It’s not because my friends are here. I’m not part of a stable, or a group. And I don’t come from money. I was born and raised in Queens New York, in a shithole little apartment where you locked the doors at night with a double deadbolt and you walked to school every morning looking over your shoulder to make sure you weren’t going to get jumped. My dad died when I was ten, Mom followed him when I was thirteen. I spent five years bouncing in and out of foster homes, and in and out of trouble. I was pissed off at the world. And can you really blame me? I mean can anyone? Dad was physically abusive, Mom took the emotional route. That’s thirteen years of being told on a daily basis that you aren’t good enough. No matter what you do, it’s never enough to earn their approval, or their pride. I’m not gonna lie, I spent a lot of that five years blaming, blaming life. I mean look at me, you know how cruel kids can be to people that are different right? I didn’t have friends, they were either scared of me, mocking me, or trying to use me. And then...like a light at the end of the tunnel, I found purpose. I met Micah. Who understood, because he was different too. Micah got me started at the gym, where I learned to focus all that anger and frustration into something constructive. From there, it seemed only logical that my next step be the ring.

There’s no feeling that can replace the way it feels when you step between these ropes for the first time ever. Just like there’s nothing in the world that can take the place of that feeling, the rush, when you’re standing just there, behind the curtain, and your music hits and you step out under those lights for the first time. Or when you hear those people really get behind you in support, to hear them chanting for you, to see them on their feet because of something you’ve done. I wouldn’t trade that feeling for anything in the world...Mr. Jefferson, I don’t know you. And you don’t know me. I can’t claim to know your motivations or your philosophies. I certainly don’t bear any real ill will towards you. But you need to understand this. Ill will or not. I’m walking into Underground bringing everything I have. So you damned sure better do the same.”