An Itch To Scratch: Breaking Through

Amy’s Diary
Entry Date: August 8th 2015

His eyes have told me everything. He doesn’t need to say a word. I know the truth.

I just wanted to keep his best interests at heart. I always have. Ever since we got back together, it was as if time mended the past. The misery and lonesomeness disappeared, as if it had never been. Now there’s a new pain; the pain of inevitability. God knows I love him, but I’m fighting a hopeless cause right now.

Maybe he was right all along. Maybe he is eternally bound to the beast that is Professional Wrestling.

Last night I cried. I cried alone. He came home drenched in sweat; another workout complete. Over the past few days his routine has become more vigorous, as if he’s preparing for something.

That was when I suspected the worst. Now I know for sure. He’s preparing for fate.

As I write this, I’m reminded of that Bruce Springsteen song, “The Wrestler”. Matt is neither a one trick pony nor a one-legged man, but fear makes me dread, some day in that ring, he’ll become a dead one. He’s always known what’s at stake. He’s always known what to sacrifice. This time... it could be his life. Our life.

We married young. Soon enough we brought Gabriel into the world. Matt is 31 years old now, but he’s already getting stiffness in his shoulder and neck. I’m unclear of the prognosis at this point but that does not say healthy to me. He says he is but... honestly darling, that’s a blatant lie. I’ve seen him attempt to hide the discomfort. Sometimes he acts as if nothing bothers him, but I know it does. I can sense it.

I’ve been conditioned to understand how wrestlers think. The facades they put on can be detected in an instant, if you know where to look. Matt has his obvious flaws, and I see them every time. From my time as a Journalist and Reporter, I interviewed quite a number of sports personalities, some of them wrestlers. They always acted so macho, so disjointed from the throes of humanity. But as the years went on, Matt fed me the signs.

Now he thinks I’ve forgotten. He should know me better than that.

Wrestling has been a callous sport for years now. Why does he need to go back? He’s done everything. He knows he has, yet he persists on this quest to relive the glory days. What does he have left to prove?

The thing is, I shouldn’t be asking myself what he has left to give. I should be asking what kind of injury he’ll sustain next on the road to hell.

He’s got another workout planned tonight. I proposed a night together watching movies, but his mind is clearly on something else… something that’s making me tear up even now.

A few days ago, Matt found out a wrestler he knew tragically passed away. His name was Frank Finelli, known worldwide as “The Executioner”. I don’t know the details regarding his death but it hit Matt like a sack of bricks. From what I could gather, they were acquainted to some degree. They were part of a group called “The Court”, which I do remember. They competed against each other a few times as well, and as he told me a few days ago, Matt always respected Frank. But as much as the death affected him, it hasn’t stopped him. It’s as if he’s possessed, and I don’t like it.

I wish he stayed home. I wish he just spent the rest of his life training students to wrestle. At least then he’s still part of the business in some way. I don’t want him to compete again, even if it is his lifelong passion. He gave up so much to pursue that dream, and that dream almost killed him. I’m sure you’ll think I’m being selfish, considering I gave up my life as a Journalist when Gabriel was born, but I care for him. I care for him so much it hurts sometimes.

Eventually, he’s going to make that call. Then he’s going to pack his bags, give me that sweet farewell kiss, hug Gabriel tight and drive away. Then I’ll be sat here, hoping he comes back on his own accord, hoping he’ll even come back at all. And when that day does come...

God… please don’t take him away from me…




“Rain Wizard” by Black Stone Cherry flowed through Slater’s earphones, keeping him focused as he pounded the punching bag relentlessly. Instead of occupying an ordinary Gym, Slater decided to conduct his exercise inside the Simcoe Wrestling Academy, a location he had grown accustomed to over the past year.

Due to their recent batch of students graduating to professional status, Simcoe was on a short break before the next batch of students were assigned. Therefore, the premises were off-limits to potential athletes, but the employed trainers could still use the facilities whenever they wished, provided they locked up everything afterwards. Slater owned a key for the door, but it was not necessary for this warm afternoon. On this occasion, there were only two people present inside the Academy; one of them was Slater, and the other was a man who had never seen Slater workout as hard as he was currently doing. Until now.

From his office window, Brian York studied Slater’s movements like a hawk. Initially he was here to complete some necessary paperwork, but now his priorities had changed. Holding his usual cup of coffee, Brian watched the sweat drip down Slater’s face, overcome by unyielding curiosity. More sweat covered Slater’s armpits, staining his grey T-Shirt as his arms continued moving. His eyes failed to stray from the bag’s red outer casing, maintaining a precise mode of operation as he alternated punches with forearm strikes.

Brian smiled. He remembered their prior conversation, and he knew the path Slater had willingly chosen.

Eventually, Slater’s legs came into play, shin-kicking the bag backwards with ruthless abandon. Accompanied by grunts, the force of his kicks became more intense, as did his vocal elicitations. To Brian, it appeared as if he was trying to break his own leg through some kind of internal rebellion. Either that or he was trying to tear the chain from the ceiling, sending the bag careening into the opposing wall. Whatever the case, the expression on Slater’s face was emotionally unstable, triggered by something he could not quite comprehend.

Brian would never understand. Slater intended to get back to ring fitness, following the strict discipline his trainers had put him through over a decade ago. Never slack, never become complacent. Every ounce of his being saw a man out of his element, and that needed to change. Quickly.

His efforts would not be in vain. There would be no complacency. There would be no disappointment.

Exiting the office, Brian briskly walked towards his head employee. Slater failed to notice him; he was more concerned with completing his objectives than to exchange common pleasantries. This was majorly apparent when Brian frantically waved his arm, failing to draw Slater’s attention.

‘Matt!’ Brian shouted, only to receive nothing in return. The volume of Slater’s Ipod cancelled out any exterior noise, making communication nearly impossible. Meanwhile Slater’s leg continued to slam into the bag, giving the thick padding deeper indentations.

Taking a different approach, Brian walked directly in front of Slater’s line of sight. The closer he got, the more he identified Slater’s poised intent. He was like a machine, devoted to a cause too descriptive for words. At that moment, Brian realised Slater was in a destructive zone of compliance, too far removed from reality to heed anything outside his own perception.

Brian could have left Slater to his own devices, but there was a concern Slater might not stop. Ever. It was as if his self-restraint disappeared, existing only to pound the bag and his own leg into oblivion.

Shaking his head, Brian finally took command and resorted to another measure. It was mischievous, but it needed to be done. Reaching into his pocket, Brian took out a piece of wrapped candy. He threw the candy towards Slater, nailing his masterful employee on the side of the head. It took less than a second for the sign to register, but once it did, Slater visibly broke his gaze. From that moment on, he did not attack. He did not move. His routine was over; at least for now.

Removing his earphones, Slater looked down at the wooden floor. The piece of candy rested near his feet, being overshadowed by the dazzling circles the battered bag spun.

‘Score one for the old guy!’ Brian cheered.

Once Slater looked towards Brian again, his first inclination was to apologise for his ignorance, even though he had done nothing wrong. ‘Sorry, Brian... I was just…’

‘Trying to send the bag flying into the wall?’ Brian said, finishing Slater’s sentence as he watched the bag steadily settle to a stop. ‘You were nearly there. The plaster’s crackin’!’

Breathing heavily, Slater wiped his brow with the back of his hand. ‘Perhaps... I was giving it too much...’

‘You can say that again,’ Brian agreed. ‘You were in some kind of trance.’

Slater failed to respond, beginning to unwrap the sweat-soaked tape from his hands and wrists.

‘I will say this...’ Brian continued, ‘if more wrestlers were as committed as you, we’d have a more profitable business.’

Despite being fatigued, Slater managed to chuckle heartily. ‘And I suppose the wrestlers would earn grander paychecks?’

‘That’s if the accountants know what they’re doing.’

‘You should have seen some of the companies I worked in...’

Finally removing the tape, Slater scrunched them into ballish clumps with his hands and tossed them away. He would pick the litter up later; right now he needed to restore his energy.

‘I can see you’re serious about this though.’

‘Is it that obvious?’ Slater said. ‘You could have assumed I was keeping in shape for the new students.’

‘I’ve seen you train before, but never like this. You’re operating on an entirely different system.’

‘Yeah, a system that was pounded into my head until it became second nature.’

A juvenile smirk warmed Brian’s face. ‘That must have taken a lot of candy.’

Laughter was Slater’s only response. The perspiration on his skin glistened under the ceiling lights, documenting his ongoing struggle.

‘I suppose this means it’s a done deal.’

‘Not exactly,’ Slater admitted. ‘There’s still the issue of...’

When Slater paused, Brian knew what he meant immediately. ‘Amy.’

‘Now that was obvious...’

‘She’ll understand.’ Brian sounded reassuring, compensating for Slater’s anxiety. ‘Your heart is devoted to a career that used to be a dream. She’ll know she can’t keep you away from it forever.’

‘You don’t know her like I do.’

‘So are you going to keel over and forfeit?’

Slater turned his back on Brian, but it was not out of spite. He ventured towards his sports bag, rummaging through the items until he grabbed a bottle of water. Brian continued to wait for a response, watching Slater twist the cap off with ease. ‘We’re going to have a talk.’

‘Usually it’s the woman that says that,’ Brian joked. Staying focused, Slater consumed a large quantity of water without breaking into laughter. ‘But that means we have to talk too.’

‘I’ve already come to an internal agreement,’ Slater revealed. ‘Care to listen?’

‘I’m all ears,’ Brian said, taking a relaxing stance. Clearly this was something that Slater urgently wanted to get off his chest.

‘I’m aiming to get a part-time contract, something that will keep my career going whilst avoiding any future difficulties. I want to spend more time with my family.’

Brian nodded. ‘That makes sense.’

‘But that’s not all.’

Slater began to look around the Academy, absorbing every detail and filling his spirit with pride. He had become a positive influence here, and Simcoe had welcomed him with great hospitality and respect. He could not afford to leave it, no matter how much a wrestling company was willing to pay him to wrestle more dates.

‘I’d like to keep my post as a trainer here at Simcoe. I’ve enjoyed being a mentor to our latest batch of students, and I want to continue being a model of discipline and care. Therefore, I’ve come to the following compromise. Whenever I’m not booked to wrestle, I’ll be here helping the students get a firm grasp of the business. With a part-time contract, I’ll have a lot more free time.’

‘I can accept those conditions, don’t you worry bout a thing,’ Brian replied. ‘Antonio and Francine will have the bases covered when you’re unavailable.’

Once again Slater consumed more water, shrugging his shoulders as the tension began to dissipate. ‘Well, that negotiation went rather smoothly.’

‘They don’t always have to be complicated,’ Brian laughed. He pressed his hand against the punching bag, giving it an intense look before shifting his gaze to Slater. ‘Willing to pound it some more?’

‘I think I’ve beat it enough,’ Slater declined. ‘I’ll move on to the weights shortly.’

‘That’s the spirit.’

Issuing a thumbs-up, Brian smiled broadly and began to walk back to his office. After a few seconds, Brian paused and looked back at Slater, obviously having something important to say.

‘You know… there was a time when I wanted to go back. The thrill, the excitement; I missed it all. Somehow, I felt there was more I could do. But overtime, I began to realise that it was too late for me. Old age… past injuries. It got me down. Then one day, I got the idea to open a wrestling school. I wasn’t the best wrestler by any means, but I thought I had good business sense. My wife supported me every step of the way, and if it wasn’t for her, we wouldn’t be standing here today.’

Brian inhaled deeply, soaking in the atmosphere of his proud creation.

‘I’m not sad, because every wrestler I’ve helped train has gone into that ring representing me. They’re representing the spirit of Simcoe. Now I see you, someone people can live through vicariously. You have a second chance to live your dream, and in effect, you’re living every dream of every retired wrestler on the planet. Somewhere out there, someone is mentioning your name, wishing you’ll come back. I like to think, that when you finally do return, you’ll not only represent Simcoe, you’ll not only represent me… you’ll represent the very reason why we love this business until our dying day.’

Lost for words, Slater stared at Brian with a look of gratitude.

‘The wrestling business has missed you, Matt. Whether you believe it or not, they never forget an idol.’

Normally, Slater would not have been able to accept that kind of flattery. Being christened an idol seemed like a burden, putting pressure on someone who needed to maintain their respectable standards to an insane degree. Instead, Slater merely nodded with sincerity, not wanting to negate Brian’s belief and kickstart another lecture.

Still, he wanted to find out how truthful that statement was. The past tended to dictate an individual’s future endeavours, with everyone analysing their actions and comparing them to what they used to do. Previous offenders were a good example of this; they were always going to be judged suspiciously, even if they had dealt with their crimes and paid the price. Once they were released from their captive bonds, there was absolutely no room for error. They were stigmatized. They were always going to be watched, and their efforts were always going to be placed under a microscope.

If Slater truly was an idol of some kind, then he was really under pressure. He might have been away from the ring for over a year, but one small mistake could result in a stern, overblown backlash of ruined expectations. He did not want people to exaggerate how important his values were, but he also did not want to be seen as a has-been either.

He knew he had what it took. He felt he had enough left in the tank to rejuvenate his career. The main issue was convincing everyone that he could do what he felt in his heart, and that included his immediate friends and family.

After taking another good look around the Academy, Slater picked up his bag and walked slowly towards the weights. In his mind, every step brought him closer to the alluring door.




Silence welcomed Slater back to his humble abode. Such silence was uncommon at this time of day, and it had been awhile since Slater had spent time by his lonesome. Falcon and Dawn were temporary guests; now Amy and Gabriel permanently occupied the waterside residence. Usually the television would be on with Amy sampling the latest news and gossip. Gabriel would be running around, finding new and creative ways to dismantle his toys. Slater was not troubled, but he felt a little uneasy from the sudden change in routine.

Maybe she’s taken Gabriel to the Mall, Slater thought. It was a logical explanation, but the thought failed to hold any weight. Amy tended to shop in the morning; it was currently early evening. There must be another reason. The stillness was unbearable.

His sports bag met the floor with a thud; normally not the loudest of sounds, but the lack of noise amplified it beyond belief. He visually scanned the neighbouring rooms, which was not hard to do considering he was practically stood in the living room from the front entrance. The home was architecturally designed to be open and spacious, giving the illusion of a walless domain in which several areas could be seen at any one time. There was no trace of life, and the silence forced him to conduct his search elsewhere.

Remaining on the ground floor, Slater took a quick tour of the premises. Each decision led to further emptiness, which in turn caused more questions to arise. Where could they have gone?

Fortunately, after returning to the front entrance, Slater took a right turn and headed towards the Conservatory. The luscious lawn served as a remarkable backdrop through the glass windows, and potted plants gave the parlor a relaxing vibe. Once Slater reached the doorway, he stopped in his tracks, digesting the worrying scene before him.

There Amy sat, as quiet as a mouse, staring numbly out the window. Steam flowed from the cup between her hands, spreading an aroma of lemon throughout the room. Amber light bathed her body from setting sun, signalling the coming of dusk. She was lost in another world, failing to flinch or blink as Slater warily approached. Am I responsible for this?

‘Hey…’ Slater spoke softly, familiarising himself with Amy’s current mood. She did not acknowledge his presence, but her eyes did lower towards the mint-green carpeting. ‘Is everything alright?’

Moving behind her, he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. A closed diary rested next to her on the flower-patterned couch. Suddenly the pieces began to click together.

‘Everything’s fine,’ she finally replied, doing so in such a tone where it was obvious something was wrong.

‘Where’s Gabriel?’

‘He’s asleep upstairs.’ Slater nodded, slowly easing his way into a cautious conversation. However, he knew their discussion would not be a pleasant one, and he could not say the wrong word at the wrong time.

‘Look…’

He took a seat next to her, making sure to move the diary away beforehand.

‘I understand how you feel right now.’

‘No you don’t.’

Be careful, Matt, he thought, keeping a close eye on her mannerisms.

‘You’re concerned about me.’

Amy took the cup to her moistened lips, consuming some of the hot lemon drink.

‘I know - I know the past few weeks have been problematic, but it’s something I have to do.’

‘Something you have to do.’ Amy’s voice intensified.

‘Amy…’

‘Why do you have to?’ At last she turned to focus on her significant other. ‘You’ll get hurt again. And then you’ll hurt me.’

Slater took her hand gently. ‘I won’t hurt you.’

‘I just…’

Before she could start her following argument, Amy sighed and looked out towards the lawn. Silence engulfed the lovestruck pair, making the next few seconds feel like an eternity.

‘I want to be supportive, Matt, but I don’t want to be heartbroken. Something’s going to go wrong, I just know…’

A lone tear streamed down Amy’s face. For the first time since they got back together, Slater had become reaquainted with her true emotional side.

‘Hey…’ Slater repeated, cupping her head between his hands lovingly. His thumb stroked away the tear from her rosy cheek, salvaging her beautiful appearance. ‘Nothing is going to go wrong. I talked to Brian earlier today. I want to spend as much time with you and Gabriel as possible. You two are the most important parts of my life. Not even the wrestling business can surpass you.’

Amy blinked away the watery remnants of her drying tears. ‘Then… what are you planning?’

Slater took his hands away from her cheeks and took her hand instead. ‘Come with me.’

After Amy placed her cup of lemon tea down, the pair exited the Conservatory and made their way to the staircase. Amy looked around the premises, keeping close to Slater as her eyes took in every detail.

‘I’m still amazed by this place,’ Amy said, in awe of the home’s interior majesty. She may have been living here for a few months, but she was still surprised by what the home had to offer. ‘Who owned it before you did?’

‘A professional Golf player, believe it or not.’

Reaching the second floor, Slater guided Amy to a locked door next to the master bedroom. His hand revealed a silver key, etched and designed to specifically open this particular door. With a swift turn, the lock clicked, allowing the pair to enter without restriction. Amy was slightly taken aback.

‘Ready?’

Hesitantly, Amy nodded. With her approval, Slater swung the door open, revealing the Trophy Room.

And so we meet again.

Stepping into the room, Slater bypassed the glass cabinets and celebrity photographs, heading straight for the towering wardrobe. Amy lingered in the background, unsure what to make of the situation. She would know soon enough. The beast inside began to stir.

Opening the wardrobe, Slater scanned his selection of attires. That was when he saw it again, the foreshadowing accessory that gave way to his initial retirement.

He picked up the lightweight mask, holding it in both hands as he reflected upon his career. Now was the time to make the choice. He looked over his shoulder towards Amy, not so much luring her to come forward but to witness what was about to occur.

The beast growled inside, monstrously opposing the metaphorical door.

You know what must be done, the mask seemed to say, unnaturally becoming heavier in Slater’s hands. Issuing a nod unto himself, Slater put the mask back into the wardrobe and scoured his two silver jackets.

Amy began to grow impatient. ‘Matt?’

Instead of replying, Slater took one of the leather jackets from the clothes hook. He knew which one to take, because inside of the pockets existed a cherished memento.

A feeling of enlightenment came over him as he began to put the jacket on. A sense of purpose, a sense of being; everything came flooding back as the leather nestled smoothly against his skin. The beast roared mightily, becoming restless as the door shuddered.

‘Amy…’ Slater finally said, turning towards her as a rejuvenated man. ‘Do you remember this?’

Reaching into the left-side pocket, Slater took out a silver sword pendant. Amy’s eyes widened. She did indeed remember.

‘Two years ago, you gave this pendant to me as a gift. We weren’t as close then as we are now, but I’ll always remember what you told me. You said you would always believe in me. You knew the hurdles I had to get through in order to battle my depression, and I wasn’t expecting you to forgive me for what I did. As a matter of fact, I wasn’t expecting you to talk to me at all. But this simple gesture, this simple token, kept me going through the hardest of times. Even after I retired, I still kept this close, until one day I decided to keep it with my wrestling belongings. I never dreamed we would reconcile and get back together, but then again, I never thought I would ever go back to the sport I love.’

This time, it was Amy that took Slater’s hand. ‘I do believe in you, Matt, and I want to support you. But please promise me you’ll stay safe?’

After looking at the pendant, Slater gave Amy a heartwarming kiss. ‘I promise.’

Once they stopped holding hands, Slater walked back towards the wardrobe. Inside his mind, he was walking towards the door. Then it turned into a run. Then it turned into a sprint.

As soon as Slater closed the wardrobe doors, he charged shoulder-first into his mental door. His choice shattered the wood into splinters, exposing the beast in the shadows. All this time it had waited, and now it was ready to feast.

His reflection in the mirror made him see who he was, what he had been all along; a self-proclaimed Knight of Wrestling that the people could respect and idolize. This imagery formulated his inner being, drawing a sword that would conquer the relentless beast. From the shadows it charged, roaring powerfully at the sight of the drawn weapon. He steadied his grip, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

That was when Amy gripped his hand, now stood next to him as they shared their presence in the mirror together. Once her head leaned against his shoulder, the beast bounded forward, flying towards the arching sword.

Wrestling needed an honourable protector.

Soon enough, one of them would proudly return.