Post by English/Corpse on Jan 31, 2016 20:53:21 GMT -6
VoW Presents
A Casanova English Original
Name
“It ain't what they call you, it's what you answer to.”
― W.C. Fields
JANUARY 12TH
ST PAUL, MINNESOTA
THE ORPHANAGE HEADQUARTERS
Session #6
A Casanova English Original
Name
“It ain't what they call you, it's what you answer to.”
― W.C. Fields
JANUARY 12TH
ST PAUL, MINNESOTA
THE ORPHANAGE HEADQUARTERS
Session #6
They were making progress; at this point Dr. Hemsing just wanted to tap into Miss Jones' mindset, she just wanted to help get ride of the pain. She wanted her to stop blaming herself for the sexual assault. Too long has she waged a war on her own body, destroying her mind with opiates. Dr. Hemsing pushes her hair over her eye. “Darla, why don't you continue with where we left off last week.” Dr. Hemsing chewed the end of her pen gently as she analyzed her subject with hawk eyes. “Tell me about the birth of Andy. How you thought it would turn everything around.”
Miss Darla Jones was looking progressively better as the weeks went on. The wounds on her wrists were already healed into scars that would likely serve as a life long reminder. She folds her arms pausing for a moment as she thinks of Andy being born. “Yes I thought Andy would be my saving grace. Every time I tried to spend time with Cassidy all I could remember was the pain. The way it felt for him to be put inside me; and the way he felt coming out. Cassidy wasn't an easy birth, it took 12 hours. 12 Hours because he didn't want to come into this world, and 12 hours of me wishing that he wouldn't. During pregnant I thought over and over about suicide.” Darla Jones laughed to herself anxiously as the dark thoughts left her mind and got jotted down neatly on to Dr. Hemsing's note pad. “Andy's father was nice for the most part you know. . . he had his moments. I met him on a binge and we fell in love with each other almost at the exact same time we both fell in love with pills.” Gently she bit her lip thinking of Tyson's rock hard body and how it used to almost consume her when he wrapped his big arms around her. “Yeah we liked to do drugs together, but when I got pregnant that all changed. I was sober during the whole thing. I think that Tyson was too, to be honest with you. He got a job working at a local hardware store and we were really getting our shit together. Andy was my life, he came right out and I cherished him each and every day. I was even getting over the issues I had from Cassidy's conception. Then it happened.”
Darla stopped and shook her head angrily, Dr Hemsing looked at Miss Jones from head to toe. “Then what happened?” Audrey Hemsing assumed that it was the relapse that happened next, the relapse that would lead to a near 20 year continuous addiction that did not stop until Dr. Hemsing met Darla and used her radical treatment.
“No, not yet. The relapse didn't happen till later on. I was home and watching the Cassidy and Andy. Everything was going great, then the news broke. I was washing the dishes and I turned around to see his face plastered on my TV. Smiling at me, glaring at me, seeing through my close. Though that TV set he had all the power he had that night I felt his eyes on me, looking at me naked, bare, vulnerable. I collapsed on the floor. Cass was only 6 at the time and he called 911 thinking I had died or something from my fainting spell.” Darla's throat was growing dry from reliving the moments that lead to the relapse all those years ago. Beyond the large glass wall behind Dr. Hemsing a storm was festering. Snow flakes blew randomly, and wind whistled a healthy rhythm. “Tyson left work early and rushed to the hospital. He asked me what happened and I told him about the man they caught on the news. The one they are calling the serial rapist. He was on trial for raping more then 6 women and the murder of a 17 year old girl. Tyson heard of the sick fuck, and that is when I told him. I told Tyson about the rape. . . about Cassidy.”
“Did he go looking for the culprit? Did he go to kill him?”
“No, Tyson went to his dealer. He went to his dealer and bought a few tablets, and went for a rip on his motorcycle. That night he lost control and flew into a ditch.”
“I am so sorry for your loss Darla. I can see how that could of sent you over the edge.” At this point she was intrigued by her subjects story. The twists and turns, the trauma of Casanova’s mother. It was heartbreaking, but it was a testament to the resilience of human life. The survival instinct remains no matter how many times you try and shut it off.
“Oh Tyson didn't die. He is still alive. . .” Pausing for a moment she looked past her doctor to the brewing storm outside. “The crash left him paralyzed from the waist down. Mathason House for the Mentally and Physically Disabled that's where he is now. I haven't seen him in years; I doubt he would want to talk to me anyway. . . I ruined his life.” Miss Jones shakes her head and snickers. "Shortly after that is when I had my relapse.”
It was paining vivid picture of an all too familiar story to Dr. Hemsing. Drugs lead to her own daughter making non-rational decisions that would later take her life. Slowly they were working through Darla Jones' trauma. Slowly, they were figuring out how to make her better.
Casanova on the other hand had plans of his own.
JANUARY 29TH
LONDON ONTARIO, CANADA
MATHASON HOUSE FOR THE MENTALLY AND PHYSICALLY DISABLED
LONDON ONTARIO, CANADA
MATHASON HOUSE FOR THE MENTALLY AND PHYSICALLY DISABLED
The cigarette was the only thing keeping me warm as the bitter Canadian air bit fiercely at my face, the only part of my skin exposed. I sucked hard on the cigarette trying to absorb every bit of nicotine, but the weather was winning the war as it normally did in Ontario. I throw the cigarette to the ground and smudge it into the ice with my boot. I was here in Ontario and in a few days I had to fly down to Caguas, Puerto Rico; talk about climate change. There on February 1st I will be facing Seth Iser for the Visionary World Championship. First, I had to take care of business. I have to continue the journey to find the identity of my father. I know it seems foolish having this envelop that contains his name, but my journey is much more internal. I have to be in the right place, the right mindset. I have to find the proper motivation to do what I have to do. Too long have I paid for the sins of this man, too long has he effected my life without ever being a part of it. He planted a satanic seed inside my mother womb, and I was spawned into a hell that never wanted me. No wonder I never felt like I had a proper place in humanity; I find it even ironic they call us that. Humanity. . . when are we humane? Places like this put that all into perspective. I pushed the door open to the medical center. The smell of antiseptic fills my nostrils almost imminently, It's strange how sanitary the decay of human life smelled. It was amazing how this dark void of failed human existence shines such a bright white as did most medical centers. They say this is a 'good' place, but who the fuck are they kidding. This is where problems are put, problems that families can't deal with. They pawn them off on the government. Kids with down syndrome with no where to go, people who are immobile that Aunt Annie is tired of dragging around and force feeding. They can dress it up with all the fancy names they want; it's still a fucking orphanage. A place for the people unfit to fall into the status quo. All hospitals, and medical centers have that same sent, that same brightness, and as I approached the reception desk to a bright wide smiling girl I was transported back in time to when I got the letter.
5 YEARS EARLIER
JANUARY 19TH, 2011
PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND, CANADA
SGT. LAURENCE NURSING HOME
PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND, CANADA
SGT. LAURENCE NURSING HOME
The next step from here was a fucking hospital bed and Uncle Bryon knew it too. He had maybe a year left before he forgot how to swallow. Some days were better than others for sure. I looked at the sign on the front of the building for what felt like hours that day. Sargent Laurence was a renowned Canadian Air Force pilot, a hometown boy that shot down a load of Nazi's in WWII. He was later diagnosed with dementia and slowly died. His brain was donated by his family to the cause and lead to several advancements in medicine on the disease. Obviously it didn't advance them far enough because here 50 year old Uncle Bryon sat in a rocking chair near people twice his age shitting themselves an arms length away. I could see him past the reception desk; his wide grin indicated he remembered me today. The clerk got to know me, I was there everyday. Susan was her name, she was plump, animated, and enthusiastic. One of those people that honestly believed they were making a difference in the world. Her cheeks always turned a bright red when she looked me in the eye. “He has been waiting for you all day Cass. I guess he has something very important to go over with you.” She motioned me to move in closer and I did, she whispered. “I probably shouldn't tell you nothin', but he has been talking to his lawyer.”
“Appreciate the info Sue.” I say planting one on her big rosy red cheek as I move past her to Uncle Byron, who cracked his knuckles against the side of his wheel chair and sarcastically put his fists up, I match fighting stance as he lets out a cheerful laugh.
“How ya doin' today boy? Been seeing that woman of yours? I haven't seen Kimmy in a while.”
He was the only one I knew that called Kim that; mostly because she hated it. Show how my Uncle had earned a pass. Maybe, she just loved me that much. . . poor girl. “Yeah I spent the night at her place last night. Thing have been going well since I came home.”
I came home to take care of him. I uprooted my life to help him deal with this disease, because this family didn't understand how to take care of its own. He was there to offer me freedom in my time of need. He was there to shelter me from the past I never knew I had. I owed him the same justice no matter how long it put my career on hold. Journalism wasn't going anywhere, it came all too naturally.
“I am really glad you came by though Cass. I need you to wheel me back to my room; there is something we have to talk about.”
I pushed Uncle Byron down the orange carpeted hallway past the frail skeletal wrecks of human form salvaging their last days on this god forsaken space rock. Uncle Byron didn't belong here, not this young anyway. This was some kind of sick joke on our family; I am sure everyone has that moment in their lives. Where you think God. . . or whatever the fuck is out to obliterate you. Sometimes you are glad you have a ground level basement apartment. I thought it was strange he wanted to go back to his room so quickly for a discussion, My Uncle loved games, we would play crib, cards, anything that he believed could stimulate his mind. He was a fighter, most days he had hope.
“What do you want to talk about Byron? You get yourself a little nurse action. I know you have been barking up that tree.”
“I am the best one night affair of your life; I can't fucking remember to tell anyone.” He laughed for a moment, he was in good humor that day. That was always the attitude before Bryon wanted to talk about something depressing. “So to be honest I couldn't tell you, but I have been getting the “vibes” as the kids call it.”
“So if that isn't it then let's cut to the chase. Whats up? Something bothering you?”
“No, well. . . kind of.” He shuffled in his chair nervously. He tried to look me in the eye, but he couldn't. He had a secret.
“Well what is it? Those groups aren't helping. . . look what you are going through is terrifying. If you walk to talk. . .”
He cut me off before I could continue the “death” speech. A shame too; I was working on it for months. “No it has nothing to do with me Cass It's about you. “
“About me? What do you mean?”
“It's about your father.” Uncle Byron rubbed the side of his gray beard, he was determined to keep it until they had to shave to insert tubes.
“About my father? The asshole deadbeat that walked out?” I can't say the fact my father walked out was a big issue for me. I was much more concerned with the things in front of me like my mothers addiction, and my Uncle's disease. I never once thought my father, whoever he was could have helped with any of it.
“Oh, my boy. There is far more to the story than that. I cannot in good conscious tell you without your mothers approval. As you know with her being intoxicated most of the time that is not easy to obtain. Also considering. . .” He slapped the side of the wheelchair. “My wheels are not as nice as they used to be, so it's a little hard to track her down. What I can tell you Cass is I know his name.” He reached under the blanket on his lap and pulled up the envelope. “I wrote his name in here Cassidy. Before I give it to you, you have to promise me you aren't just going to rip it open when you are sad. I want you to promise me when you open this you will be clear headed, and it won't be only for your benefit. Every man deserves to know where they came from and who you are. . . you just promise me you won't let the answer destroy who you thought you were.”
He held it out to me, his arm shaking as he tried to maintain eye contact. It was then when I took the paper that I muttered the words that haunt me today “I promise.”
JANUARY 29TH
LONDON ONTARIO, CANADA
MATHASON HOUSE FOR THE MENTALLY AND PHYSICALLY DISABLED
LONDON ONTARIO, CANADA
MATHASON HOUSE FOR THE MENTALLY AND PHYSICALLY DISABLED
“Who ya here to see hunny?” She was a tall slender African American woman; nothing like Susan the receptionist at my Grandfathers nursing home.
“I am here to see Tyson North.” She seemed confused; as she looked down at the paper where Tyson's visitors were listed. I caught a glimpse. The only name on the page Judy North; his mother. She and Tyson's dad had a messy divorce after their accident. She must have been into her early 70's by now. I doubt she is dropping off as often.
“Who are you in relation to Mr. North sir? I have no male listed on the visitation list.”
“I'm his step son. I was by to visit Judy last week and she told me this is where I could find him.”
It was his mothers name that was the ticket that got me in. Not to mention I think she felt bad that no one had been by to see Tyson in a long time. He was in his mid forties now. We walked by people in their thirties still battling Autism. In some rooms people twitched uncontrollably. Tyson didn't belong here just like my Uncle didn't belong in his asylum. Like some time how I believe I don't belong in VoW. I am also surrounded by the near geriatric, and the borderline retarded.
“Hasn't been many people around to visit Tyson, but you know he is young and all there so he gets along with staff well. I wouldn’t say he is alone. We all love Tyson., as long as his pain is managed.” He spent most of his life battling with addiction before the accident put him here. Now they pump him up with the drugs he was told never to touch again. The drugs that ruined his life, now offered quality of life. He was going about it the wrong way to get his fix all along. Why rob a pharmacy and go on a weekend binge when you can just break your back and have a life time supply?
We were passing a small church inside the medical center and I made the tall receptionist dressed in a long black dress stop. “Would be it be okay if I stopped in here first?”
“Oh of course, of course that is no problem.” Comfortably she stroked my arm gently. “When you are done Tyson is just up the hall in room 163.”
I pulled the doors open to the small praying area that had the typical statue of Christ's crucifixion hung up at the front against a small stained glass window. I sat in one of the small wooden booths and removed my jacket letting out a sigh. Slowly I drag the camera from my jacket pocket; it will be strange cutting a promo without the World Visionary Championship. . . but the narcissists that carry it around constantly no matter there they go make me laugh. They do that because that championship is the only thing that gives them value. See I have done the opposite. . . I have brought this championship meaning. I was the king long before I was awarded the crown. In wrestling and in my personal life I am dealing with the same dilemma “fatherhood”. See Seth Iser thinks he has been “grandfathered” into wrestling. He thinks that he paved the way for people like me, he made it so we had a spot in this industry. That is not even close to the truth, that isn't even half of it. I didn't follow the Seth Iser plan to wrestling; no I want to be relevant my entire career. I want to be consistent.
I push the record button on and walk the camera up to the front of the room, I take a seat in the first row and sit hunched over looking into the red eye. “You know I always knew you and I would be here Iser. I actually expected it sooner than later, but you just couldn't get your priorities straight now could you? I mean you sure as hell aren't looking like a number one contender going into this match. I have cost you all your matches up till this point. I have made you look like a little bitch plan and simple Iser. If I was anyone else you would of waited for me in the locker room attacked me from behind and ended my career here in VoW. The reason why you haven't? Well that is simple, for the first time in his long long career Seth Iser is intimidated. He has been watching me, slowly watching me develop into wrestling next superstar and he know if he has any chance of taking my championship then this is the moment, because well Iser time is your enemy.”
I crack my neck to the side and snicker a bit before continuing. “It is funny; see months ago when I was challenging for the World Visionary Championship for the first time Seth Iser sat in front of me at my office in St. Paul and he warned me amount facing Vanessa. He warned be about how deranged The Queen could be. What did I do? I went out and I rid V of her demons. I knocked The Queen right out of her noggin, and in the process became the first ever World Visionary Champion. The game has evolved and I never needed your advice Seth. I never needed “The Deity of Destruction” to pave any way for me. No, I never asked you for anything Iser and I never will, because frankly I don't need you. If I did. . . you would be just another member of The Orphanage. Maybe, I could find you a nice position after I humiliate you at Double Jeopardy spit cleaning Matt Robinson's boots. Maybe you didn't notice but I am “The Modern Day Messiah” the age of “The Deity of Destruction” has eclipsed, provided their actually was one.”
I often think about that day I walked into my office to see Iser sitting at my desk offering me unwanted wisdom. The veterans in this business all look for someone to take under their wing, but I wasn't going to have Iser piggy back of my success.“You are not my father Seth, we are not one in the same. I am not doomed to repeat the sad history that is your wrestling career. I know what this is for you. It is a chance at a revival. It is an opportunity to prove that you belong at the top of the ladder. I believe your manager has been saying that you are in the best shape of your life; that is what I like to hear. Before every single title match I see this out of world confidence come over my opponent. You bring to the ring the best version of yourself Iser like the rest have, just when I deal you yet another defeat I hope you are able to reevaluate unlike the rest of them and come back swinging.”
I look up to Christ who looks down at me, and I crack a smile targeting my eyes to his bloody wounds. “You haven't lost it yet Iser. The chill that comes with your name. I see the way it still sets teeth on edge, but I see what you have become. You have become weak, and ineffective. You think these fans are starting to cheer you because you did anything different. Please, don't flatter yourself. The only reason these idiots are getting behind you is because you are the lesser of two evils so they believe. You have earned their respect by wrestling their idols, by flying to Japan for death matches, from wrestling marathons in Puerto Rico. I am still that young brash kid who walked in this sport and imminently started shaming World Champions into retirement. Once again the ball is in my opponents court. Under the hot sun Seth Iser will try and take the strap from me, in a place where wrestling is tradition. A place where they all know the name Seth Iser."
“Your name, your name means everything. See I don't want to be simply known as the first VoW World Champion, or the man that ended V's career, or the man that buried Valquist alive, no. . . those are all attributes not proper titles. I want it so that the name Casanova English comes with no need for explanation. Everything is a given, because it is an synonym for best in the world. Seth this is my chance to stop just piling up simple accolades, this is my chance to achieve a true identity in this industry. This is my chance to finally prove that I didn't follow anyone's footsteps, this is my chance to prove that I am a once and a lifetime prophet for the masses. Seth I know how much this means to you, how I am the “money fight” right now so to speak. I am the hail marry. So come on Iser bring all you got; I know you are dying to get your hands on me the way I have been manipulating you over the weeks. The way I have made you look weak coming into the match, but you only have yourself to blame for that. What are you willing to do to put me away? Are you going to revert back to those filthy tactics these fans hated you for? To be honest they would probably still cheer you. Their morality is as thin as your move set has become. I'm going to cut you at the knees Iser, and show these people what you truly are. . Just a dinosaur who dodged extinction.”
I lean back letting out a sigh now. This is my chance to stand alone, to allow my success to finally sink in. This is my chance to finally cement myself as a true champion. “I am carving out my own destiny. After I am done with Mr. Iser here and leave him a pile of shattered old bones I will continue to assert my dominance as the World Champion. I see the industry talks a lot of shit about VoW, about how they aren't the biggest federation around. I find that hilarious, because it isn't for lack of effort. I have gone out of my other way to defeat champions of different organizations. The truth is the rest of the industry is scared of the big shark that swims around looking for the scent of blood. The name is Casanova English, I am the VoW World Champion. . . and you will know my name for I am The Modern Day Messiah, and this is only the beginning of my crusade.” This my chance to finally stand alone. If I beat Iser the only other person who has been around VoW as long as I have. If I can beat him I can once an for all silence the critics. Once and for all they will have no other choice, but to credit my wrestling ability. I reach out snapping off the camera.
Tyson's room was only a few doors down, I counted twenty black and white tiles as I walked up the hall. I pushed the door open gently and startled Tyson who wore a large black man bun on top of his head, a beard covered his face as he pushed pause on the controller that rested in his lap. In once quick motion he turned his wheel chair. On the wall where various trophies for MVP in tons of wheel chair basketball leagues. He looked at me coking an eye brow; he didn't recognize me. “Hello?”
“Cassidy.”
His eyes narrowed before widening finding the resemblance in his brain. “Casanova English! Little Cassidy Jones' himself.” He stuck his hand out for hand shake and I took it as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. “How has your mom been?”
“Really good. Clean now; took a little work.” If he only knew I had to tie my mom down and brain wash her I wonder what he would think.
“That is good. So to what do I owe the pleasure man? I don't get a whole lot of visitors.”
“I think you know that Tyson. You are pretty smart. I am here for the same reason you are.” The sweat came heavy now and rolled down the sides of his cheeks to look like tears. “I know now where I came from Tyson. I know about the man that ruined my mothers life, the man that ruined yours. The man that created me. . .”
“I know his name.” Tyson choked that out through a dry throat as I walked toward him and placed my hand on his shoulders.
“I didn't come here to get his name. I came here to see you. To see the potential he destroyed.” I run my finger along the edge of one of his basketball trophies. “I need to know what I am about to do isn't just for me. It isn't just for my mother. I need to find alternative motivation. See I don't want to do this to make myself feel better. Do you know what they nicknamed me in VoW? You watch wrestling don't you?”
“Yes, I watch. I mean it's not often someone you once called your step son wins a World Championship.”
“So what do they call me?”
“The uh. . . umm. . . The Modern Day Messiah.”
“That is right. Now did you ever hear of Hammurabi's Code?”
“An eye for an eye.”
I lean down to him now placing both my hands on his knees. “Now Tyson I can't give you your legs back, I can't even offer you your dignity. The one thing I can promise you is I can take away his.”
He looks me in the eyes, his bottom lip quivering as tears begin to form and he lets out a proud “Thank you.” before I get to my feet and walk out the door. I just wanted him to know he wasn't forgotten. That I know what it is like to get the news that someone you love was raped, and that you are an in adverted casualty to the crime.
I blow past the reception and the lady tells me to have a good day or some nonsense she spews to everyone, but I don't hear it. I bust out of the doors of the medical center and push a cigarette hastily into my lips. I cup my hand around it lighting the end. Now I could open it; this was bigger than me. I wasn't mad anymore. No now I was on a spiritual journey to find who I really am. One that included the wrestling ring, just as much as it didn't. I pulled that envelope from my breast pocket like it was my heart. I pulled the seal open and for the first time read the name of my father as Lawrence pulled up in the limo to relive me of the cold January sting.
Dean MacDonald
How anticlimactic.
What a white ass name.