The Lazarus Elegy
by
SpiritStream17 and Little Weasel Pants (Trinny and Solange you to people!)
Solange's Note: Heh, yah, so Weasel (Solange) and Trinny comes back fer more…Y'see, we both luvs Austin and we both luvs Spike and we luvs them as buddies, and so, we combined our talents - or rather, Trinny's talent and my lack thereof - and decided to mourn and make this fic a memorial. So, I wanna dedicate this fic to Steve Williams, who has been, arguably, the greatest wrestler this business has ever seen, and to Spike Dudley, who is also a great wrestler, and who has been my hero and inspiration since 1995.
"Friendship is like a violin; the music may stop now and then, but the strings will last forever." - Unknown
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// I don't feel a thing
And I stopped remembering
The days are just like moments turned to hours //
This is it. This is the last, fucking straw. So they wanted to get rid of me, why didn't they just fire me right there and then and not give me a death like Michaels or Bret, or anyone else who was given a slow death in the business. I'm not like everyone else. They don't know who the hell I am, really. No one does. This all feels like something from a crazy fan's story on the internet or a fucked up insane tale in the life of me. It can't be real. It can't be...
It just can't be.
// Mother used to say
If you want, you'll find a way
Bet mother never danced through fire shower //
I'm walking out of the business that I cared for all my life... and even I don't know why I'm doing it. But I know the reason. I do. I just don't want to admit it. I didn't want to let go of my star that I said so long ago that I would with ease. But didn't anyone understand? Didn't anyone understand that I didn't want to go out like this? Goddamit, I didn't want to go out like Bret and Michaels and Hogan and Goldust and Flair and everyone other legend in this forsaken company. I wanted to go with my star intact so that people can at least remember me. But no! They had to give to to Brock or The Rock or Jericho or RVD or some other rookie in the damn company to lead the way. They don't need ol' Stone Cold to have the reigns from now on. They don't need me. So fucking what? I don't need them! They can just burn in hell for all I care!
But then... why am I hitting Debra?
// Walk in the rain, in the rain, in the rain
I walk in the rain, in the rain
Is it right or is it wrong?
And is it here that I belong? //
Am I going crazy? Is this is the end for me? Should I just truthfully give up life and leave the world in peace knowing that absolutely no one cares for me? Why am I even beating Debra? I... I just don't know anymore. It's all so confusing to me. I've hold the business for years, I know it more than anyone here, except for the legends, I helped create this damn business, and without warning, they're giving me the slow march to death? Of all the things I've done for the company, they're doing this to me? I feel so betrayed, so violated... that's why I'm taking it out on Debra. But I shouldn't... I really shouldn't. I knew they were giving me the slow march to death when Heyman gave me the idea to turn me heel at Wrestlemania. Right there and then I knew that the minute I walked into surgery for my neck the second time around, Vince and the boys of the company were deciding on who to fill my shoes.
I guess... that's how the world goes around.
// I don't hear a sound
Silent faces in the ground
The quiet screams, but I refused to listen //
Get rid of the old, bring in the new. Take out the decaying flesh and bring in the new slap of meat. Move out of the old shack, settle into the brand spanking new mansion. That's how the world goes around. New over the old. That's how humanity got itself to the days of the present. If we didn't, if we all stuck to customs instead of wandering our minds into a new frontier, we'd all be stuck in the Reinissance period or crowded around in Europe somewhere. Maybe even still be in the caves of prehistoric times. Who knows? Who even gives a flying fuck? No one does, that's for sure.
Oh well, that's life.
// If there is a hell
I'm sure this is how it smells
Wish this were a dream, but no, it isn't //
All I know now is that I'm leaving for good. I'm not coming back, and I'm not telling anyone that. I'm leaving my children, God I hope they forgive me, my wife, she doesn't need me anyways, my friends, they don't care anyways, and my life in the business of wrestling. I can always go into acting, or wallow in my misery hidden in the bayou's of Louisiana or lost in the deserts of Texas. A place where I can find peace within myself, and absolute locked away from the world entirely. Then I'll be happy.
Truly happy.
// Walk in the rain, in the rain, in the rain
I walk in the rain, in the rain
Am I right or am I wrong?
And is it here that I belong? //
The rain outside of the arena is pouring like tears from the heavens above, trying to make a flood, as if the angels are trying to say to me to stop and think over. To watch over what I am doing. To not run away from my problems. But what else can I do? I'll be sent to jail, have no job in the end, disrespected, forgotten... and the only thing left is suicide. I would rather be free of the chains of responsibility than to be pushed into the confines of it all. I want freedom, and it's all in my clutches. I look outside to the rain, pouring majestically, and for some reason I can hear angels crying.
But that can't stop me from what I'm doing.
// Walk in the rain, in the rain, in the rain
I walk in the rain, in the rain
Why do I feel so alone?
For some reason I think of home... //
I think the Buddists said it best...
When you do something, you should burn yourself completely, like a good bonfire, leaving no trace of yourself.
Yeah... that about sums it up. It sums it up completely.
"Sometimes we stare so long at a door that is closing, that we see too late the one that is open." - Alexander Graham Bell
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// Happiness is just a word to me
And it might have meant a thing or two
If I'd known the difference //
He's walking out of the arena, the rain bouncing off of his slightly hunched frame, dripping down his bald head, hung forwards in defeat. I watch from the doorway, and my heart is tugged.
I had heard the shouting exchanged between Vince and Austin, J. R. trying to play peacemaker between them. It hadn't worked. He'd essentially been fired, and at the same time, had walked out. I'd come upon it totally by accident.
I couldn't believe it. I was watching Stone Cold Steve Austin - the greatest performer ever to hit the WWE - walk out on us. And more importantly, he was my friend. Sure, earlier in my WWE career we'd had differences. But he slowly, slowly became one of the guys I went to, one of the guys I trained with and went to the gym with. He was a considerable amount ahead of me, but I ran ahead, watching him leave the arena.
// Emptiness, a lonely parody
And my life, another smokin' gun
A sign of my indifference //
"Steve!" I shout. He hesitates, and turns to me. The rain slides from his bare scalp to his face, looking like tears. Or maybe he is actually crying; I can't be sure.
"Yeah?" He says, his voice mournful.
"Hold on a minute. Please?" I leave the dry confines of the arena doorway and stand next to him in the rain. "Steve, you can't do this. This is… you love the WWE, don't you? You love wrestling. You don't want to…"
"No, I fucking don't!" He suddenly shoots back at me. "I want to stay here, I want my family to see Steve Austin succeed in the goddamned company and I want to have at least another good run or two before I'm forced out of here. But dammit, Spike, I don't get that." He is suddenly remorseful, sorrow - filled. "I don't get to be where I belong." He laughs sharply. "Or maybe I never did."
// Always keepin' safe inside
Where no one ever had a chance
To penetrate a break in //
"Steve…" I beg. "What happened in there? Tell me. This is career suicide, y'know that? If you walk out again…"
"My career is already dead, man." Steve looks like a man defeated. A man who's just lost everything.
I guess he is.
"Just hold on! Don't take everything so fast. You need to slow down and think. Is this really what you want to do?" I ask, my voice desperate, desperate for my friend's life to put itself back together.
"Spike, I'm leaving now. You can get in this truck with me and you can get some answers, or you can go back in that building, for a show that's already finished that you weren't even on the card for, and you can say goodbye to Stone Cold right now." His eyes are dark and angry.
I am silent as I climb into the passenger's side of the truck.
// Let me tell you some have tried
But I would slam the door so tight
That they could never get in //
He drives us to a diner near the arena, a cruddy little Mom and Pop place. We are silent on the ride there.
I order a BLT sandwich, and Austin orders some kind of Roast Beef special thing. And beer, of course. As an afterthought, I have one too. If anytime is a time for alcohol, it's now.
// Kept my cool under lock and key
And I never shed a tear
Another sign of my condition //
"Vince is turning my push." Austin is the first to speak.
"What?" I ask, my brows furrowing in confusion.
"Turning my push. He doesn't care that in some cases, it's entirely who we are. How much push we get, for some of us back there, it depends on how good we can perform out there every night." I nod. "Well, Vince doesn't like it. He says I'm not getting heat anymore."
"Are you kidding? You're the best heel, the best face, even, in the company!" I exclaim. Steve gives me a small smile.
"You know that. You wanna go tell Vince? 'Cause he's not buying it. He says I'm not getting any push because no one cares anymore." Steve sighs and takes a bite of his meal. "It's Brock, Rocky, those Tough Enough kids, Triple H, even Vince himself, they're the ones getting the pushes. Not guys like me." Austin's quiet, and then a thought hits him. "Not guys like you, either."
// Fear of love or bitter vanity
That kept me on the run
The main events at my confession //
It hurts to hear it from someone who I know won't lie to me. "I know," I surprise myself and say. "But I'm not giving up. I don't care about the push or anything. You know I'm out there just because I want to wrestle."
Austin nods. "Yeah. But I guess that's the difference between us. I need the approval - you don't."
I nod slowly. "Steve, I've been in wrestling for seven years. And I'm not at main event status. And I probably never will be, because I'm not a monster, or an asshole, and I don't insult people for no reason, and I don't beat the shit out of the commentators. And I'm happy with where I am." I take a deep breath. "But you, you've had such a bright star for all this time…" I finally spit it out. "You can't let goddamned Vince McMahon get rid of you now. You can't go out like…" He doesn't let me finish.
"I know, and I don't want to go out like this. I didn't ever intend to." He gives me a sardonic smile. "Do you know, I always planned my farewell match? Since I had my neck surgery, the first one. I imagined it all: I'd go out in a bust of glory and they'd try in vain to beat me down, but they can't. And you know what happens in the end?" He leans back, his eyes closed.
"Same thing that always happens," He says, his smile now serene. "Steve Austin gets screwed. I don't win. But it shows that's the only way to get me down: to screw me over. And in my plan, I would go home, and Debra and the kids are waiting there. They're thrilled that Dad's retired and that we've got enough that we can live in luxury, and I'll stay home with them all day and bond or whatever…" His smile fades now, and he looks at me. "But I'm never going to live that out. Instead, I did get screwed. The only way they brought me down was to screw me over. Fuck up Stone Cold. But the fans aren't on my side. I don't get to go home to Debra or the kids. I don't get anything. I'm alone, and I'm in hell."
I don't have any response.
// I kept a chain upon my door
That would shake the shame of Cain
Into a blind submission //
"I'm never going to climb any higher," I say to Austin, finally. Maybe it's a bad time to bring it up.
"You might. You've got it. You might." He says, almost mumbling.
"How can I get any bigger - want to get bigger! - in a company that Stone Cold Steve Austin can't succeed in?!" I demand. Austin looks at me, and smiles widely.
// The burning ghost without a name
Was calling all the same
But just I wouldn't listen //
"You know, you remind me of someone, Spike." He says.
"Who?" I ask, slightly puzzled.
"He's a good buddy of mine. I still talk to him sometimes. Not as much as when we were on the road together, but still. He was a good guy. A little goofy, kinda a dork. You'd've thought the fans woulda hated him. But no. They loved him. He didn't look like a wrestler - sure, big guy, but a little too much of a spare tire around the stomach. Crazy guy. Took the greatest bumps…" Austin sighs. "He didn't look cut out for wrestling. A lot of people say he didn't have 'it', didn't have the look. Wouldn't make it. He became one of the biggest stars in the WWE. People were so loyal to that guy." Austin gave me a condescending smile. "His name was Mick Foley."
My eyes widened. That was the greatest compliment anyone had ever given me.
// The longer I'd stall
The further I'd crawl
The further I'd crawl
The harder I'd fall
I was crawlin' into the fire //
It is now that it occurs to me. Steve is really leaving. He wouldn't drop a compliment like that and stick around, no. That's not his style.
Stone Cold is going to leave for good.
// The more that I saw
The further I'd fall
The further I'd fall
The lower I'd crawl
I kept fallin' into the fire
Into the fire
Into the fire //
I try and be casual about it. "So where will you go?" I ask, inside, suddenly, a little afraid and sad for my friend.
Austin shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe back to Texas - not to Victoria, though. Maybe I'll grow some hair," He chuckled. "Maybe I'll do the independent scenes, go out to California. That's where you were trained, right? You like it there?" Doesn't wait for an answer. "I always kinda wanted to learn to play piano. Maybe I'll learn in Arizona. Most gorgeous deserts, landscape out there…" Austin lets out a big belly laugh, and I laugh too. Neither one of us can stop. Neither one of us want to.
// Suddenly it occurred to me
The reason for the run and hide
Had totaled my existence //
"Your star hasn't even lit up yet." Austin said offhandedly. "I promise you, when it does, it'll take off, you'll be fucking huge…after all, you've got that babyface look." He gave me the most ironic smile I have ever seen on a human face. "Just like Stone Cold Steve Austin."
// Everything left on the other side
Could never be much worse that this
But could I go the distance //
Is he really going to abandon the locker room, the WWE, to the Rock, Brock Lesnar, Test, HHH, all them? Not all of them had it. Sure, they were athletes.
But God, there can never be another Stone Cold.
// I faced the door and all my shame
Tearin' off each piece of chain
Until they all were broken //
I feel sick, and slightly selfish. If Vince McMahon was willing to let go the biggest thing he's ever seen, he's ever had within his grasp… then what's gonna happen to the guys like me, like Tommy Dreamer, guys who've been floating around and have enough talent to make it, but don't get the chance? I don't resent my place here. I like it. I just want to wrestle.
But what if they even take that away from me?
// But no matter how I tried
The other side was locked so tight
The door it wouldn't open //
This feels like a bad dream, from a career standpoint.
Career? From a personal standpoint. Austin is a good friend of mine. His life is going to shit. I feel bad for him, and for the whole company. I can say nine different guys off the top of my head who consider him a model for their own careers. How's the locker room going to feel every night when Austin's not there?
// Gave it all that I got
And started to knock
Shouted for someone
To open the lock
I just gotta get through the door //
I look across the table. Austin is examining the table with unnatural interest. "Steve," I say, quietly. He looks up at me.
"Are you sure?" My voice is almost trembling. "Are you sure you want to do this? If you leave now, you'll never wrestle… here, again." I hesitate. I almost say 'in the WWE'. But I can't bring myself to.
// And the more that I knocked
The hotter I got
The hotter I got
The harder I'd knock
I just gotta break through the door //
He smiles, and pulls his wallet out of his pocket. He drops a twenty on the table, and stands up. "That'll cover the food, okay?" Then, he pulls a photograph out of his pocket. It's a picture of him, his arm around Debra, the two kids in the front. A family portrait. He's been carrying his family in his wallet the whole time.
He drops the photo on the table, and I pick it up. "For you," He says, giving me a little smile.
"Steve, it's your family…you'll want this…" I idly push the picture in a small circle on the table.
He shakes his head. "No. I don't need it anymore. Okay? I don't need it anymore. You take it."
He walks out the door. In that moment, I realize that he's leaving his whole life - WWE, Debra, his kids, his friends - behind.
I hear the roar of his truck's engine outside as it fades away, getting further and further away.
// Gotta knock a little harder
Gotta knock a little harder
Gotta knock a little harder
Break through the door //
I call Buh Buh to pick me up. He wanted to know where I'd been. I just said out. I lean my head against the window. It is still raining - even harder now. I want to laugh. I remember something someone told me when I was a kid - when it rains, God's crying. I guess God's crying for Stone Cold today.
"So what were you doing?" Buh Buh asks, his eyes on the road.
"Saying goodbye to an old friend," I said, quietly, not looking at him. He glances over at me for a second.
The rain bounces off the windows, and I can hear angels crying now...
"If I leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me?" - Lynyrd Skynyrd, Freebird
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// Say what you want
What you see is what you get
Shed your tears, but never do forget
When the chips are down
And the world is on your back
We'll stick through thick and thin
In spite of our sins //
There's a song on the radio I've never heard before, but it feels like I have. Maybe it was long ago, centuries, aeons, or even millenias. Who knows? Who cares? No one does but me... and Spike. That kid is just -- wow. He'll make it someday, that's for sure. I'll miss the kid, but life goes on and nothing can stop it. Life has its twists and turns, and this is just one in the life of Stone Cold. I think about Mick, that crazy ol' goof who I completely loathe since he has a family to return to, but adore and admire since he has a life I can never have and the personality to fit it. Brian pops into my head, and I remember our days as the Hollywood Blondes. Boy, those was some great times... I sure do miss him. God rest his soul. I remember Taker, Dwayne, Hunter -- all the boys in the locker room. Even if they were getting the push and I wasn't, it wasn't there fault, it's the mangement's fault. I remember all my friends, enemies, and family members -- all of them mementos of my past. I'll miss them all, I really will. I pop open a Budwiser beer can, ready to savor in its entirety of alcohol. Then I realise the main thing about Stone Cold that stuck with me for so long. I smile noticing the final trace of myself that I can leave behind for good.
"Thank you, Spike," I whispered.
Then I open the window and throw the can onto the road, the beer mixing with the rain.
// Here and now all is clear
You must face this mounting fear
All our dreams of the past
The sound and scent will always last
For we will always be those special friends
No one will ever, ever understand //
There's a song on the radio I've never heard before, but it feels like I have. Maybe it was long ago when I heard the song. I forgot who played this song. Probably one of Dreamer's or Sandman's songs. Those two loonies... compadres... life long buddies. Then I think about Austin, my other buddy. We hadn't known each other long enough to become the kind of friends me and Dreamer and Sandman have. But in a way, when we were both in the diner, I think we did. There was a friendship connection between us. It was something that I hadn't felt before with Dreamer or Sandman. It was like this was destiny, to talk together in a run-down, mildew infested Mom and Pop diner, to bond in one stormy, rainy night, despite our differences, and know that there is one person out there for someone to turn to. Secretly I moved my hand away from my brother sights, unraveling the crumpled picture of Steve's family inside my right hand. Then I realise that Steve is gone, never coming back, and I can always hold onto memories. Proof is too hard to take, it's the imagination and will power of the mind to hold onto what happened in the past, and cherise it forever. It's just a picture of a man I knew long ago -- I don't need proof to make it reality.
"Thank you, Steve," I whispered.
Then I opened the window and let go of the picture as it fluttered in the wind.
// No doubt this way is best
Have the cake and eat the rest
We grieve for the plain
We see to deep, too much pain
Poison creeps in every head
Crave for what they cannot have //
"Spike," Buh Buh asked me while he was still driving on the road.
"Yeah?" I answered, my eyes wondering from the window towards him.
"I'm just asking -- what do you think about this entire Austin mess? I don't know what the hell is going on here, but I think everyone has a right to know. What about you?"
I turn away from Buh Buh and smirk at the answer I give.
"The rest is silence."
// Here and now all is clear
You must face this mounting fear
All our dreams of the past
The sound and scent will always last
For we will always be those special friends
No one will ever, ever understand //
"Yo Steve-O!" Mick would yell in my ear.
"Your retired, finally! Let's go get a beer," Brian would offer, giving a brotherly hug.
"I'm up for that -- let's go party!" I would shout, driving towards the local bar with my two best buddies.
I turn away from fanatasy and smirk at the reality I know.
"Wishers were ever fools."
// With hair so high, clothes so black
We are one, get off our back
We're killing time, storm and stress
Side by side, just like that //
"Goodbye," Austin thought.
"Goodbye," Spike thought.
"I wonder if we will ever see each other again," they thought, as if their minds were one...
// For we are those special friends
For we are those special friends //
"You were a special friend," they thought together. "A very special friend."
"Adios! Adios muchachos, companieros, amigos--will you get the hell out of here?!" - Stan Freberg
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Rain by Mai Yamane and Yoko Kanno
Gotta Knock A Little Harder by Mai Yamane and Yoko Kanno
Special Friends by Clan of Xymox
Trinny's Afterword: Austin is gone, and we all know that. I am the only Austin-based writer, and we all know that. Well, if you don't know that, then you better check my profile. (No plug intended.) I really don't know what to do now that Austin is gone. I could just keep writing... but I would feel like a ghostwriter or something like that. I don't know. It's just that the inspiration and the muse is gone, and I'm empty now. Writing about someone gone is pretty pathetic in my book. And I really don't want to quit writing wrestling fanfiction, but there is nothing else left to do. All I know is that I have greatly improved my writing ability since I started at twelve years old. I'm fourteen now, I've gained much experience on the internet, and out in life itself. I've started an acting career, and some of my dreams I've dreamt since I was little are coming true little by little. I've gained a bestest best friend, Solange, and a wonderful, adoreable boyfriend, Seph. I've gained a numerous group of friends (you know who you are) that I never had in the outside world. It's been an experience that I'll never forget. It took me three months to learn web paging, two years to learn how to write, and it's one wrestling phenomenon known as Stone Cold Steve Austin that drove me on and on to keep on writing. Now that he's gone, I am lost without a sense of direction. I really do not know what to do. Call it a farewell, hiatus, "see ya later" afterword. I don't care. I'm just going to be here, and if you care, fine. If not, oh well. That's life. And now I leave you with something that is awe inspiring from the immortal Ray Bradbury, my God of Literary Writings:
And no one can help me.
Not even you.