One For The Money

“Jack, did ya see that?  We’re almost there.  Can we stop soon?  We haven’t got out of the car since we left Memphis.  If we don’t stop.  I’mma gonna leave a skidmark in my tighty whities.  How I held momma’s gumbo down is beyond me.  She’s a heck of a cook, I reckon.  But, you both know i have the IBS.”

My manager, gheri curl, pastel suit and all looked at me with his a grin on his face.

“I dig that Bruce.  Next stop.  But I couldn’t give two shits if ya shit your draws.  I don’t want ya to shit on my seats.  Seal skin, baby, seal skin!  You know how expensive customizing this car was?”

That was the aptly named Cadillac Jack, born Jackson Willis in 1975.  He was the son of two civil rights activists who lived near Memphis, Tennessee.  None of that Black Panther stuff.  Just good honest people looking for a fair deal.  Everybody whether they’re black, white, or purple deserves a fair shot.  But if you’re purple or violet... I’m the one to reckon ya should get your backside to the doctor, before you hit the floor for the big sleep.

Jack and I go way back.   He’s probably the best friend I’ve ever had in my life.  He’s stuck to me through the tough times.  He’s been there during my best times.  But the fact that his mother adopted me... Yes if you’re paying attention to the story, my legal name is Bruce Willis.  And no, I was not named after that actor who has made my life a little bit annoying by unleashing a slurry of questions from curious lips.  My full legal name is Bruce Calvin Willis.  Calvin was my surname at birth.  However a tragic mountain climbing expedition took the lives of my momma and my daddy.  Mr. and Mrs. Calvin were no longer in our world.  I bounced around from foster home to foster home from ages 2 to 4 until Melinda Willis, a woman as sweet as a Georgia peach took me in as one of her own.

Growing up the only white boy, the only adopted, in a flock of seven biological black siblings, and the youngest of which being good ol’ Jackie...  Growing up in that family especially in the south in the mid eighties, one would’ve thought that we would have been targets for abuse and harassment.  It was quite the contrary our neighbors were more than neighborly.  They helped out Momma Melinda in many ways after Jackie’s daddy passed.  It was our way of life.  When we had our homes in order we helped our neighbor’s homes.  It was the right and honest thing to do.

“Jackie, I’m about to poop myself.  Is there a rest stop anywhere around here?”

“Look at the map, Brucie.”

I unfold the map of the interstate system in Minnesota.

“Any words on my debut match, Jackie?”

“Yeah they got you squaring off against this guy from Nawlins,  Scott Knight, rumor has it he’s got some money, or rather that he’s got distant relatives who are very wealthy.”

“One for the money, two for the show, three to get ready, and four to go.”  I start to sing out in the stylings I learned from my early teenage years, listening to my idol, Elvis Aaron Presley.  I made money around Memphis and Las Vegas when I grew the mutton chops and a glorious pompadour.  The first earnings I collect went towards a new house for Momma Melinda in suburban Tennessee.  I told her someday I would help buy her a new house with a big yard so she could do her gardening.  Momma loves her flowers.

“Rich guy, eh?  So this Visionaries of Wrestling is the real deal, the big time?  Seems weird that you and I will have to move up here for a while though.  They’re doing all their shows from the Twin Cities.  So how big could they really be?  I mean I only have a year’s worth of wrestling experience.  This Scott Knight fella could very well have more experience than I.  Ya know sumthin though, Jackie?  I have a funny feeling that Mr. Knight and I are gonna be beating the heck outta each other all over Saint Paul.  My first paid wrestling match.  Jackie, maybe someday we’ll get into one of the bigger leagues, like WCF.”

Jackie started his high pitch cackle.

“I’ll tell ya what, little brother.  Momma always said that if we wanted to achieve anything, all we gotta do is out our mind to it, put our work to it, and put our hearts in it.”

Jackie looked like a natural when he turned the large steering wheel of this Sedan de Ville.  Little known fact about Jackie was he tried his hand in stock car racing in the early nineties.  He did well in the locals but only lasted in the Busch Grand National Series for half the 1994 season.  Sometimes ya can’t win them all.  And I have so much admiration for my big brother, he took his bumps and didn’t let it kill his passion for automobiles.  That’s what I’m guessing I’m looking to do in VOW.  I wanna make a name for myself and find my passion.  My passion was entertaining people just like Elvis.  But I am not him.  I cannot be my idol.  However I can use him as inspiration in another facet of my life, and I chose the sport of professional wrestling.

“You’re right.  Momma’s a wise woman.  There is nothing more I can do, then live her words.  I wanna do this for her, you, our brothers and sisters, and myself.  I wanna show them that Blue Suede Bruce is coming to St. Paul in that aqua Cadillac for one thing and one thing only.  To be the best wrestler, the best entertainer he can be.  Even if it takes me... Jackie!  Pull over on the shoulder!  I can’t hold it anymore!  I’m about to crap my pants!”

“Hang on, Brucie!”

Jackie sharply merges the Sedan de Ville onto the gravel shoulder and I unlock the door.  I was ‘bout near jumping straight out the window.  But I was able to hold it. Just long enough to where I found a bush.  I undid my big steer belt buckle and dropped trou.  It was probably one of the worst poops I took in my life.  It was liquidy, it burned.  I felt it spraying in all directions.  Lava out my volcano.  My magma chamber was shifting for quite a bit.  As I pull a branch of leaves of the bus to wipe, a Minnesota state trooper pulls up behind Jackie’s Cadillac.  Dear lord, momma will kill me if I’m arrested in another state for showing my glorious privates all over the Minnesota country side.

“You, sir!  Hands in the air!  Step out from behind the foliage where I can see you!”

I quickly pull up my pants, but the jeans slip back down as I walk out from behind the bush.  As soon as I turned, this grown man tripped on his own pants and fell face first to the ground, cotton white drawers exposed to the world.  I couldn’t see him, but at this point I was sure Jackie was laughing it up inside the car.  While the officer came to secure me.

“Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you, what were you doing behind that bush.”

“I...  I was baking brownies, came out more like syrup.”

The officer upon getting a whiff of my special recipe twisted his nose.  It was almost as if he never came across another scent so foul.  He staggered past me and found the juicy mess, much to my embarrassment.  Momma, why did your gumbo hafta taste so good?

“Sir, please pull your pants back up and get back in your vehicle, I’m also going to need your identification.”

I look at the officer and kip up to my feet, and pull the jeans up in a furious fashion.  I reach in my back pocket and whip out a wallet and hand him my license.  He takes it and examines it.

“Tennessee?  You’re a long way from home, don’t cha know?  May I ask where you’re going...  Bruce.... Willis?”  Upon seeing my name, the officer chuckled to himself, “wait ‘til the boys here I got Bruce Willis today.”

“My brother and I are moving to Saint Paul.  We got work at a new company down there.  Pro wrestling.”

“And you’re a wrestler too?  Who’s the guy in the car?”

“He’s my brother.”

“Your brother?  I don’t see the family resemblance.”

“Most people don’t.”

“I’m gonna need his license and registration too."

I marched back up to the car and informed Jackie of what happened and he threw a slight fit, slamming the glove compartment as he pulled out his registration and handed his information off to the trooper.

“I’ll be right back.  Mr. Willis.  Mr. Willis.”

“Dammit, Bruce.  You got a brotha and a rockabilly in a 1972 Sedan de Ville.  In the middle of nowhere, stopped by a trooper.  This doesn’t end well.  Brucie, we’re gonna end up in jail and momma’s gonna disown us, kill us, bring us back to life, then kill us again!”

“Chill out, Jackie.  Momma would never do that, she’s a saint.”

“A saint with a mean streak.  I think that’s why one of the commandments is Honor thy mother.  So you don’t get the shit kicked outta ya.”

In what was a few seconds, the trooper came back with our paperwork.

“Alright your records are clean.  Mr. Willis.  This here is explaining that you were caught littering.  I could have put an indecent exposure charge on there.  However, I don’t wanna ruin somebody’s life by putting that on their record when all they had to do was take a dump.  Just do me a favor and whenever you’re on long trips, take frequent stops so you can avoid this kind of stuff.  Oh and welcome to Minnesota.”

Well this is gonna be a memorable start for a new beginning.  I hope Mr. Knight is ready for the craziness I’m about to bring to the table.