Post by Kelsey Spencer on Jan 30, 2016 22:34:15 GMT -6
It’s a sunny day in the city. Drivers honk horns at other vehicles travelling half a mile slower than they are, People are bustling by, not a care in the world for anyone but themselves -- you know, stuff that’s typical of today’s society. I’m situated at a sweet little cafe on a street corner, enjoying a mocha latte; it’s been a while since I had one of these bad boys inside me!
Oh, get your mind out of the gutter!
I’m busy listening to The Dollyrots -- a young punk band out of Los Angeles, who perform my theme song -- when I get a call to interrupt my otherwise pleasant morning. I’d commonly be annoyed by this, but when I see the Caller ID, I answer immediately.
“Jackie!” I greet the caller with delight. “What have you got for me?”
Jackie’s my attorney, the one I sent in the paper work into for the lawsuit against VoW for putting me, a professional athlete, into a dangerous situation with the Chaossworn that could’ve cost me my career; not only that, but it could’ve ruined my life.
“I reviewed the tapes, and you’re right!” he admits. “This could definitely qualify for an unsafe work environment suit. I just need you to come down to my office and sign some papers to make it official."
“Thanks! I’ll be right--” I pause, remembering an appointment. “Oh, I can’t just now, I’ve got to go to work now. But I can swing by afterwards? How does 4 o’clock sound?”
“Sure, see you at four.”
This is great news! I’ve got all the evidence I need to nail the bastards in charge of VoW for putting my well-being in jeopardy! All I’ve gotta do now is get through this day of taping, then it’s off to the attorney’s office to sign the documents!
I resentfully stroll in the back door, hiding behind my shades, wanting to remain as invisible as possible for as long as possible. It works, for the most part, as I’m able to discretely slip past interns and whoever else may be occupying the back halls; but my path is blocked by the proverbial Snorlax -- the producer.
“Kels! Baby!” he excitably strides over with arms wide open, giving me a binding embrace. If I didn’t have better coffee control, he would’ve had a rather nasty scald on his left shoulder.
“Don’t call me Kels, I hate that name,” I snarl, fixing my hair up after that unwanted assault people call affection. I’d rather be literally anywhere but here right now, and I can’t wait until I can kiss this place goodbye, once and for all. I just want to collect one final paycheck before I ride off into the sunset.
The producer seems confused by my cold attitude towards him, but shrugs it off as he instructs me to stand in front of a sky blue backdrop. Standing on my mark, I glance over my shoulder at how proper and pretty it is and gag -- this isn’t going to cut it. I need something that’s going to reflect upon my mood, and this is atrocious.
Channeling my own inner Miss Saint, I snap my fingers and order the producer over.
“Problem?” he asks in an impatient tone.
“You’d better believe it,” I snap, motioning towards the backdrop. “The hell is this?”
“It’s...the backdrop you requested…”
"No, okay? I don’t want this rubbish, it’s moronic. I want something that’s going to outline the utter resentment I feel for this place and the people working here… Something grungy, out of place."
He stares at me for a moment, dumbfounded.
“Look, forget it!” I scoff, storming away. “I can do this myself. Tell what ever numbskull you’re working for that he can get the tape from me.”
He desperately pleads for me to come back, fearing that he’ll lose his job if he doesn’t turn the tape in, but I ignore him. He’s going down with this ship anyway, once the lawsuit happens, and I’m the only one smart enough to jump overboard before it strikes the iceberg.
Well, of course, there’s always room for Miss Saint on the life raft. Thaddeus, too… If he agrees to navigate.
My search for my setting comes to an end when I discover my locker is a more than adequate size for me to sit in snugly -- it’ll do nicely. I climb in, setting up my GoPro on the far wall in a position close to the door; that way, I can have it catch a shot of my profile, but at the same time, I can comfortably turn to face it if I need to. I shut the locker door with a clang; the light from the next room creeps in through the holes in the locker’s face; it works to my advantage, giving off the illusion I’m a prison inmate staring out at the setting sun.
It’s time. I’m ready.
“Why is everyone so concerned about my state of mind?” I ask rhetorically after preparing the GoPro. “People have had twenty-seven years to care about me, why have they suddenly started now? They come up to me on the street, people tweet me: ‘What happened to you, Kelsey?’ That’s what they say. They say it like there’s something wrong with me, like I have an illness or something. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before; in fact, I’ve been hearing it my entire life.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ they’d say. ‘She’s too quiet,’ they’d say. I was told from a very young age that I should always stay true to myself, no matter what others say. But I never fit in.”
I bury my head in my hands for a moment as I feel a wave of emotion come over me, bringing up repressed memories of my childhood that I believed I’d long forgotten. I run my fingers through my hair as a comforting mechanism.
“So many people berate me for my decision to align with Miss Saint, including my opponent this weekend,” I call attention to everyone pulling my integrity into question. “I shouldn't have to justify myself to you people, but do you really want to know why I’m devoted to Miss Saint, Zahara? Allow me to tell you.”
I clear my throat.
“How can I be myself when everyone is constantly judging me?” I question, frustrated and sick to my stomach, hard swallowing to try eradicate the lump forming in my throat. “My family -- my own family -- didn't accept me for who I was. I could never impress my dad, nor could I live up to mum's expectations, no matter how hard I tried. I was never good enough for anybody
What about my friends? Heh, never had any. I spent my whole school career either in the library reading extensively, or on the bleachers watching the other kids play. Who wants to talk to the quiet kid, anyway? She’s too weird.
That’s why I gravitated toward Miss Saint, because she offered me everything I’d always wanted. She was my first friend -- the first person to ever take a look at me and not turn and walk away. She made me feel happy, and warm, and safe. In my world, there was only darkness…”
I glance at the GoPro for a moment, and whisper: “...until Miss Saint brought in the light.”
I stare out of the locker door once again, becoming fixated on the humming fluorescent bulb that has gone from being a nuisance to a metaphor describing my undying devotion to Miss Saint, and everything she’s ever done for me.
“Miss Saint saved my life, Zahara. I was in a very dark place, thinking of doing the unspeakable -- I owe everything I have to her, for if not for her, I wouldn’t even be here in VoW. I wouldn't be here, period. I know that doesn’t compute in your mind, because you’ve always had the admiration of your peers. I haven’t.”
I sniffle, trying to mask the fact that I’m about to ball my eyes out. It’s a pain that never ends, but even though it’s out of my hands, I still feel ashamed. Even though I’m aware that this will be broadcast to a very large audience, I have no problem opening up about this in such a confined area -- it’s like I’ve inadvertently set up my own confessional.
“Not many know this, but I have a brother who’s three years younger than me. He’s the golden child; everything mum and dad wanted in their kid. He’s going to university, working on getting his bachelor’s degree… He never wasted his life on ‘that wrestling stuff’. As a result, I was shunned for wasting my life on this, even from an early age, for something that made me feel happy... I'd even for as far to say it made me feel complete.
Maybe all this comes across as whiny to you, but until you’ve walked in my shoes, princess… You can’t begin to grasp what it’s like.”
I turn to the GoPro, gazing deep into its lens -- I feel a wave of pent-up rage wash away any sorrow in my being.
“People like you, Zahara, remind me of my brother… And it makes me sick! Why does something I've struggled with my whole life come so naturally to people like you? I mean, I tried so hard to open my mouth, but the words didn't fall out...
What's more is I put my body on the line every night! I take risks others aren’t capable of -- or, brave enough -- to take, and yet they still boo me! For who I’m friends with?! That’s what our society has become; I walked in the door here by Miss Saint’s side, and not even five minutes into my tenure, I was pelted with jeers! I hadn't even wrestled here yet, and the foul-mannered, chauvinistic fans had already made up their minds about me, because of who I'm partnered with and where I came from!”
I wipe a stray tear, the feel of it like a scorpion crawling down my cheek; the sight of it boils my blood. Look at what I've been reduced to, because of everyone else casting their insecurities onto me!
“No more, Zahara. No more; I’m done caring what other people think of me. I don't care if people disagree with my actions, or my allegiances… Because at the end of the day, I've achieved more than any of those idiots out there judging me!”
I motion to the outside of the locker, figuratively pointing to the fans -- and, half-heartedly, the majority of the locker room.
“By beating you at Double Jeopardy, Zahara, I can cement my legacy as the one who ended your little undefeated streak. Not only that, but I'll show the world that even though the perception leans toward the contrary, you aren't perfect! You can be beaten!”
I take one final deep breath as a huge weight is lifted. I catch a glimpse of my wrist watch as the light hits it -- 3:45.
“I’ll have to wrap this up, as I’m short on time. I’ve got some very important business to attend to, but don’t worry -- I’ll be seeing you this Sunday, Zahara.”