Eddie Cross
Every one-point-two seconds
Chronos follows a metronome
A pendulum swaying with the beat
A danse macabre
Every four-point-six seconds
A trapped chest rises and falls
Unopened, a promise of gold
Rasping bellows stoke a squandered flame
Every five minutes
A great constrictor hisses
Wrapped within coils and wires and velcro
Grasping, suffocating; controlling
Every one-point-two seconds
A waltz, Edvard Munch
A son takes his first breath and screams
Breaking the silence in a graveyard.
💻
01/03/23
Sunrise Hospital & Medical Center
Las Vegas, Nevada
Beep. Beep. Beep. Whiiiiiiirrrrrr…
Timo Bolamba and Gwenneth Cross sat on opposing sides of the hospital room as the sound of a digital sphygmomanometer inflating breaks the tension. Eddie Cross was in the middle, suspended in sedation, his heartbeat rhythmically charted on a display near the bed. “He’ll be OK, but he needs to rest” Doctor Rice had told them after they were allowed in the room.
There was a quick knock at the door. A nurse entered briskly and busied herself switching out a saline drip bag. She checked the readouts on the machine and seemed to be pleased with the results, then turned to see the other two occupants in the room and scurried out the heavy door as quickly as she could. Poison filled the space between the former husband and wife.
“I told him that wrestling was dangerous and that he wasn’t ready for what comes with the business,” Timo said, finally breaking the silence. “You can’t just show up and grapple with people and go home. There are terrible people in this world. People like Cancer Jiles, like Julian Bathory.”
She let Timo talk, for now.
“I told him,” he paused and shook his head. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. He is a grown man, and it’s too late now. Now we have to fix this mess.”
Her eyes narrowed. “We? This is your world, not mine.”
“Yeah, I know,” Timo spat. “But I don’t know what to do.”
He sat quiet for a bit before shaking his finger in the air as if he had figured out an answer.
“I’ll call in a favor to Lindsay and see about giving him some time to work the ring crew, or maybe he can set up behind the scenes and edit video packages or something. He isn’t ready for this.”
“Don’t you dare, Timo.” The Samoan sold the surprise away from his face as she scolded him. “Are you really that dense? He has been waiting his whole life for this, and you’re going to, what, call in a favor to the boss and pull him when he is so close? What would you do if your Dad had done that?”
“Don’t you talk about my Father, Gwen!” Timo growled, somewhere between a shout and the low voices they had been maintaining to let their son rest.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Whiiiiiiiiiirrrrr. The rhythmic spikes displayed on the digital readout became sharper.
The Samoan looked at the boy-become-man that used to fall asleep in his arms and sighed. “My whole life I have been less than perfect. I admit I made plenty of mistakes. He doesn’t need to repeat them.”
“Is that why you sent him off to train with “Uncle” Dave Gibson?” She scoffed. “The guy who tore your ACL and MCL and went right back after the injury the first chance he got? Is that really who you want training your son?”
“That’s exactly who I want training him.”
“That’s great,” Gwen rolled her eyes. “You are really something, you know that? Did that doctor of yours ever tell you that? You preach and preach about fighting, but you’re such a hypocrite. What the hell happened to you?”
“I retired, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Retired,” she mocked with finger quotes. “You’ll train anyone who walks through your gym doors and go out there every show to bask in the glory of being The Samoan Silencer, but you can’t even train your own son.”
“Yeah, well take a look in the bed! Maybe that’s why!”
She stood up and leaned forward, her voice not a whisper but a threat. “Maybe if you had been, this wouldn’t have happened. Have you considered that or were you too busy worrying about yourself?”
Beep. Beep. Beep. Whiiiiiiiiiirrrrr. The readouts started to resemble a high scoring Tarheels vs Duke playoff game and Eddie stirred uncomfortably.
The Samoan stood as well, his throat choking what he wanted to say like it was Tyler Nelson circa 2001. He looked at the peaks and valleys on the monitor becoming treacherously steep and sighed, relaxing his voice to a stifled growl. “This isn’t the time or the place.”
“Maybe you should leave.” she responded, matter-of-factly. “I… I think you should leave.”
Timo Bolamba, who never walked away from a fight, picked up his jacket and walked toward the door. Before he left however, he turned back for one final look at the woman he had once promised his soul to. “The way I remember it, you were the one who was good at leaving.”
It took everything in him not to slam the door for effect, but concern for his son won out over the pettiness of a failed marriage. A wave of anxiety washed over him like waves breaking on a cliffside. Dave Gibson walked up slowly and looked at his long time friend struggling to keep his ship from being dashed upon the rocks.
“Everything OK?”
“No.” The Samoan closed his eyes and saw his son laying in the hospital bed, stitched and bruised, his lips chapped. His feet hung out from under the blanket, bandaged in gauze. “My boy… I should have…”
Dave looked at the door and then back to his friend. “Naw, Eddie is a good kid and he knows what he got himself into. He just needs to grow up a little and realize that ain’t everyone gonna play fair and he has to get tough. It wouldn’t be the worst thing to get a little of his old man’s fire in him.”
“Yeah? How do I teach him that when I can’t even get Eddie to pick up his phone?”
Dave smirked, “I might have a few ideas.” He reached for the handle and Timo grabbed his wrist. Mr. Old School turned and looked the Samoan in the eyes. Timo’s heart of an emerald irises told Dave all he needed to know. “That bad, eh?”
“I’d rather burn a Soviet flag in front of Ivan than go back in there.”
“Sheee-it.” Dave replied. “I guess it can wait then.
💻
01/06/22
Side Betty Grill
Las Vegas, Nevada
Ok. Yeah. Yeah. Yep.
Naw, he will be fine by then.
Ok, I’ll tell him.
Dave Gibson hung up the phone, reached forward and grabbed one of the Birria Vampiro tacos he had ordered for lunch. “I have great news, kid. You’re on the next ReVival and guess what? If you win, you get a shot at the 5-Star Title.”
“Against who?”
“Why does that matter?”
“Because it does.”
Dave took a deep breath. “Well, it’s against that Best kid.”
“The one Lindsay Troy trained?” Eddie furrowed his brow behind his yellow glasses. “That seems a bit convenient doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, convenient for you.” Dave replied. “You got peanut butter in your ears or something? Win once and you get a title shot in PRIME. This is what we’ve been after.”
Eddie shook his head. “There’s more to this you aren’t telling me. What is it?”
Dave shoveled the taco he had been holding into his mouth greedily. “Omph umph…taco…” Dave wiped his mouth and after realizing Eddie wasn’t going to go anywhere without an answer, he finally swallowed the mouthful of taco and gave him what he was looking for. “Anyone who has eyes is gonna see this and think of the parallels between you two. It’s a booking dream.”
“I’m nothing like him.”
“Well, maybe not deep down, but you gotta admit, on the surface… it’s a bit on the nose, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t.” Eddie stated matter of factly. “I don’t like that mouthy prick and you know it. I like that people are comparing us even less.”
“I guess you better do something about it, then, and after go have a chat with Mr. Colton about that belt he is carrying.” Mr. Old School stood up with a grunt and the sound of aged knees grating.
“This joint aint bad, but I’m fixin’ to head out.” Dave crumpled up his napkin and threw it on the table. “Oh, one more thing. I got us a place to train, starting tomorrow.”
Eddie smiled, after so many days in a bed and laying around. A chance to run the ropes felt like a dream to him. “Good, I never thought I’d say this, but I miss the ring.”
It’s Dave’s turn to furrow his brow. “Don’t get yourself too excited because I’m pretty sure you ain’t gonna like it.”
💻
01/07/23
The Asylum
Las Vegas, Nevada
After what Eddie had been through, no doctor would ever recommend getting in the ring five days after recovery. Dave Gibson knew he should wait, but Mr. Old School was true to his name. He knew this was precisely the time to get Eddie in the ring and see what he was made of. Eddie’s feet had healed up well enough that he could move around, but he still couldn’t put on a pair of shoes without significant pain.
Eddie winced as he effortlessly shot on his training partner, another student of The Asylum named Gabriel “Baconator” Martinez. Gabe was a youth that was looking at being the first super heavyweight luchador, and was normally a student of El Temblor. Today El Temblor had asked him to help Eddie get back on his feet, literally and figuratively.
Gabe acknowledged the shot by lightly slapping Eddie on the back to signal he had lost his position and Eddie stood up, grabbed a towel, and wiped his face off.
“Seeing you in the ring with no shoes on, you look just like your Daddy.” Dave chuckled.
“Can we not?” Eddie replied, rankling his nose as if he smelled something unpleasant.
“Oh, pish posh. Don’t you think you have bigger things to worry about than someone telling you that you resemble a friend?”
Eddie stopped and walked to the ring ropes. He leaned over them and looked down at his mentor. “Maybe, but you know I hate that. Why do you always try to rile me up?”
“Because sometimes you get me all momicked,” the pride of North Carolina smirked. “All that talent and no heart. You know that the world isn’t a video game where you can turn on mods and aimbots?”
Eddie looked legitimately shocked that Dave knew about aimbots.
“That’s right, I read an interweb article when I was doin’ my business the other day.” Dave nodded and Gabe lumbered out of the ring, hitting the floor like a pallet of russet potatoes. “I’m just sayin’ you could do with a little of your old man’s fire.”
“Fuck off, Dave. I’m really not in the mood.”
“Naw, I don’t think I will.” Dave hopped up onto the apron and stepped between the ropes. “Everyone is saying you and this Best kid are so much alike. Spoiled little pricks that are coasting on your daddy’s name.”
“That isn’t true.”
“No? Oh right, you don’t believe in your Daddy like he is the Ghost Train of Bostian Bridge or something.” Gibbo stifled a laugh. “Let me tell you something, your old man is real and furthermore…”
SLAAAAAAAP!
The blow was so hard that the ring on Dave’s finger split his student’s cheek. Eddie stumbled backward, grabbed his face, and pulled his hand back to see the blood on his fingertips.
“I can’t… Dave, you hit me?!”
“Your Daddy would have torn my hand off and made me eat it in front of him for that.” Mr. Old School snarled, and circled around Eddie like a predator. “You’re lucky you got all that talent from his nutsack because you ain’t got a lick of his courage, and you damn sure ain’t got his toughness. Dancing around the ring wincing every time you step on your bad foot.”
Dave stopped in front of his student and stared at him.
“Let me tell you something, I beat on your old man like nobody ever done before and he kept coming at me. The more I hit him, the more pissed off he got. After the whole thing, you know what he told me? ‘Dave, that was awesome’. I ain’t never been whooped like that.”
Dave paused to let that statement sink in.
“I’m gonna share a truth with you… you step into the ring with him, and you better be ready to die because he sure as hell is.” He stepped away and over to the ropes.
“What does that have to do with me?” Eddie screamed, frustrated. “I’m not like him. I don’t want to be angry like him. I don’t want to hurt people like he did. My mother told me all about him and his anger issues.”
“Oh she did, did she?” Dave held his fingers up to his eyes. “Look at me, son. Look into my eyes for the truth. There’s two sides to every story, and I’ve seen his side tear him apart for the better part of twenty years. But you, you won’t even pick up his phone calls like you’re somehow too good for him.”
Dave stepped through the ropes and hopped off the apron with the groan of an old man. God damn, he really does look just like him. Dave said to himself while he peered back at his student. He broke his gaze and started to walk away only to turn and impart one last lesson for the day.
“Have you ever seen your best friend break? I have. It was the day you killed his legacy. It wasn’t Ivan, or Clinton Sage, or even me. It was you. You broke him when you were too proud to ask him to train you.”
He stopped for a moment and then held up an accusing finger pointed squarely at Eddie.
“You know what else? Everyone thinks he is the prick that turned YOU down because that’s what he tells them. He is still protecting you because he loves you.”
He walked backwards, stopping right before the doorway.
“Maybe you ought to think about that and check your mirror next time you look for someone to blame.” He propped open the door and sighed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Eddie. I hope you understand what happened here today.”
💻
Knock Knock.
“Door’s open.”
Timo Bolamba looked up from behind his desk and saw his son’s cobra green eyes. There was so much conflict inside of them, and he wanted nothing more than to comfort his boy and let him know it was OK, and that he was sorry for everything, but now was not the time. Eddie needed to be focused. He had the biggest match of his young life in front of him and this… all this… could wait.
The Samoan Silencer breathed in deeply. His unpainted face was a mess of wrinkles and scars.
He said only one word.
“Atali’i.”
Son.
💻
That’s how much we have in common (yeah)
That’s how much we have in common (whoa)
Up on this mic, when we’re on it (yeah)
That’s how much we have in common (yeah)
That’s how much we have in common (woo)
That’s how much we have in common
We are not alike, there’s nada like us on the mic (yeah)
As Eminem’s “Not Alike” finished stretching the cones of his speakers, Eddie got out of his Aegean Blue Honda Civic with a grimace and a grunt. He had driven outside of town up to the Desert View Overlook in the Spring Mountains. It was late and there were only two other vehicles in the lot. He sat down on the hood of his car to watch the sunset over the desert, thinking about how peaceful it all seemed when days ago he nearly succumbed to the dangers held within.
Dave was right about too much today, he thought. How am I supposed to live up to my family name? Do I even want to live up to it? Is Tyler sitting out there on the hood of some car the Best family paid for painted in 97Red thinking about this?
Probably not.
Eddie had never met Tyler Best. They had interacted once or twice on Jabber, and from what he had been told, running his mouth was his best skill, so it made sense that he didn’t like what Tyler had to say. Thinking about the whole prospect of being compared to such an arrogant piece of shit, even if it was true, rubbed Eddie the wrong way.
In fact it wholly pissed him off. He looked down at his arm and noticed for the first time that one of the wounds that would become scars resembled a Samoan Fearless Warrior Tattoo. Eddie felt a swell of pride in his chest.
That’s how much we have in common.
His heart mimicked deep drumming, rhythmic and primitive. His face flushed, as if his ancestors called to the God, Mafui’e, asking him for his fire, but only Ti’iti’i answered, telling Eddie to Best the God and steal the fire for himself.
Eddie kicked off the loose fitting sandals he had been wearing while his feet healed. He knelt down and tore the bandages from his feet and stood back up. Blood crept from his cracked soles as he spread his stance like he had seen his father and grandfather do before him. He did not wince.
Trained by The Queen, Lineage of a God. Given an opportunity you do not deserve. You may be trained by a Queen, but that does not make you a Prince. You may be descended from a God, but that does not make you Immortal. I am, in my blood and soul, a warrior of Samoa.
That’s how much we have in common.
Every member of PRIME’s roster is looking at you right now asking themselves why you received this opportunity when you couldn’t even be bothered to fill out your company bio. The reality is you just showed up in PRIME and it was given to you because of your name and who trained you. I accomplished this opportunity, despite my name. You’ll never appreciate what Hayes Hanlon earned. What Rezin earned. What Flamberge earned. What Nate Colton earned. What I have earned.
Most of all, you received this opportunity because of who I am. Because Lindsay Troy saw money in pitting your legacy against mine. I’m sure if she trained you, you’re good, but guess what? My legacy has survived companies rising and falling. Great and calamitous companies like PCW, OSW, FSW, and SCCW. They are all dust now, just like HOW will be, just like your God Sire will be. Just like you will be. But we will still be here.
I am the Legacy of five generations. I am the Legacy of Samoa in wrestling. You’re just another case of nepotism.
That’s how much we have in common.
Eddie looked out at the desert that had tried and failed to kill him. He imagined Tyler Best walking toward him. He squatted into a low base, and a deep molten lava burst from within his heart up and out of his mouth.
SAMOA!!!
READY FOR THE BATTLE!
FIGHT FIERCELY!
WORK TO ACHIEVE!
LE MANU, SAMOA!
He stepped rhythmically, moving his arms in motions natural to him as if his ancestors stood with him. Eddie beat his chest with his right fist in time with his steps.
LET’S GO TO WAR!
FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT FIERCELY!
NEVER GIVE UP
WORK TO ACHIEVE!
He screamed into the air and stuck out his tongue for all his enemies to see. His acidic green eyes shone against the moonlight.
HERE IS MY HEART!
HERE IS MY SOUL!
MAKE WAY AND MOVE ASIDE!
BECAUSE THIS MANU IS UNIQUE!
I AM A WARRIOR!
I AM THE BEAST OF SAMOA!
I AM THE LEGACY OF BOLAMBA!
He howled his challenge to the sky and fell to his knees in a cold sweat. He blinked and let out a deep, primal roar, steam bursting off his body in the cool air and out of his mouth through gasping breaths.
Talk all the shit you want, Tyler. You better be ready to face me, because I am ready.
Look into my eyes. Remember them. These are the last you will see before you die.
That’s how much we have in common.
That’s how much we have in common.
We are not alike, no, we are not alike.