Feud
by Collin Breaux
Steve sits by the phone, anxiously awaiting the transmission to come through. He glances around his room; his laundry basket is full. He really needs to wash his work clothes for tomorrow. But he'll get to that later. Right now he just discovered a hot bit of news that he wants to comment on. Browsing through his phone earlier, he found out that Austin Gabriel had just been sidelined with a triceps injury. He sits on his bed, slightly bouncing up and down, crossing his legs. Finally, he hears the beep. Now he can get to work.
"What's good, people?" he opens up, his usual greeting. He smirks to himself while thinking about this. "It is…" he checks the alarm clock on his dresser "11:56 here in the great state of Illinois. Recently I've been browsing through the dirtsheets and found out that Austin Gabriel inured his triceps in a recent house show match." He strokes his goatee quickly as he seeks to gather his thoughts. "Sad to say, but this might derail his push. I mean, the guy was on a roll, and the timing of this injury really sucks." He can hear his mom shuffling about in the kitchen. She's probably cooking eggs. "I bet when he comes back, he'll get lost in the shuffle, being buried, back down to the midcard." He scratches his leg and stretches, yawning quietly so that his listeners don't hear it. "Some other quick briefs; Rick Corey might be leaving the company. Eh, so long. He didn't really add much to the show. I mean, when he first debuted he got a few big wins, but after that he just kinda bored me and the fans didn't really seem too into him." Now he can definitely smell the eggs. He hopes she makes toast too. "Plus his workrate was crap. Well, that's all my thoughts for today. Stay true and keep on tunin' in." That was his catchphrase. It took him a few minutes of making updates before he came up with that. Some of his friends that he passed it around to found the ending cool. After he finished, he pressed the pound sign so that his audio file would be saved and plugged his phone back into the charger on his wall (it was almost dead due to his online surfing on it).
A few states away Chris is busy packaging DVDs. He's received a few e-mail orders for some obscure stuff from the 80s. When he checked his library he saw that he had the matches and burned his customers some copies after they wired him the money from . He stops to sip on some coffee while resting on his leather couch. He stares at old letters from his ex-girlfriend. She hasn't texted him back yet. He figures she's probably just busy at her job. She's a barista and some of the shifts can be long. That's why they didn't spend too much time together.
His phone goes off. His heart flutters. He sits up and walks over to the table to check it. As he scans the words he realizes it's Steve. He grimaces and checks what he has to say. "Hey man what u up to? You heard Heatland won the title?" He holds off a bit on replying to him. Steve will usually reply back real quickly and Chris has to send these DVDs off to help pay his electric bill. Ever since he sent Steve some shoot interviews they've stayed in constant contact, even though Chris lives in Indiana. Sometimes they Skype and joke about how boring their towns are or how underutilized the mid-carders are.
He sees that his laptop has ejected the last CD. He gingerly takes it, taking care not to smudge its surface with his fingers, and places it in a red sleeve (he chooses different colors for different customers so as not to mix them up). Whisking his keys from the table, he opens his screen door and locks it behind him. The mid-summer heat is a bit dry but manageable. He's only going to the post office so he doesn't bother to put on a new shirt, instead opting for the old sleeveless skull Baron Crusher shirt he's had for a few years. The lawns in his neighborhood are all neatly trimmed. A few cable boxes sit idly by. A neighbor also headed to her car waves at him. He doesn't talk to her much; he thinks she's retired or disabled or something. Usually he just stays inside and keeps up on the backstage news when he's not unloading the truck at the local grocery store. Once he gets in the car he decides to hit Steve back. "I saw. I think it's def his time and they should give him a good run with the belt" he types quickly on his phone's keypad before starting his car, which sputters a bit before he heads off.
As the bell rings Stephen stuffs his folder in his booksack and slinks out of his seat. Several other students have been eagerly watching the clock and so were already prepared to leave the classroom. He figured lunch was almost here since the teacher was getting to the end of her math lesson. His mind mostly wandered during this class, since it was right before noon. He was a natural at math…something about the numbers and adding and subtracting them fascinated him…and so he coasted by on doing homework and getting Bs on tests. But usually he spaced out during school. He was usually thinking about checking the results of last night's PPV online or getting together with a few friends on the weekends so they could bodyslam each other on Trey's trampoline. They'd bought toy belts to parade around. Steve, so far, was the Middleweight champion. He really wanted to be World champion but since they practiced at Trey's house that belonged to Trey. But it wasn't real so Steve didn't stress about it too much.
Steve headed to the vending machine since he ate a big breakfast and so really wasn't too hungry that day. Whisking a dollar bill out of his pocket, he slid it into one of the slots and pushed a button, eagerly awaiting an energy drink to pop out. It hit the bottom with its usual thud and he stooped to recover it, feeling the cold wetness on his fingers. Trey walked up, his class being on the other side of campus. "What's up, man?" he greeted Steve in his usual high-pitched but mellow voice.
"Not much. Ready for this day to be over," Steve replied.
"I'm with you on that, man." He folded his arms across his chest as Steve stood up. "Any word back on that DVD you ordered? Me and everyone else were gonna try to get together and watch it at my place," he said, referring to their crew of friends.
"Yeah, me and that Chris guy just Skyped last night. He said it's in the mail and since it's across state lines or whatever, it should take a week to get in." He popped open the cap and guzzled down a few sips, feeling the carbonated thickness burn his throat.
"Oh, alright. Guess we can hold it off 'till then." The two of them began walking over to their usual spot…a bench near the back of campus where they'd gather and talk about wrestling or music or bitching about everyone else in the school. Most of their peers avoided them and made snickering remarks when they walked nearby. Lately one of their pals, Tommy, had gotten a girlfriend and didn't come around as much.
Steve and Trey discussed that weekend's card. In the back of his mind Steve also knew his mother wanted him to clean up his room, which he thought was stupid, since he had just fixed it a week ago and the only thing that was wrong was that a few socks were on the floor and he had old magazines left over on his bookshelf. They were always breathing down his neck. As he sat on the bench and laughed at his friends' jokes, he noted that he had to finish a group history project in his last class. He lightly kicked at the cement ground with his black sneakers.
The bar inches along to its destination, the blue almost filling it up as it blinks "80%". He's almost finished uploading the pay-per-view that kid Steve ordered from him. Chris downloaded it off a search engine he found a while back. It was enough under the radar to where the big company wouldn't find out and slap him with a lawsuit. He talks to Steve while he does this.
"Yeah, man, I just think it's ridiculous how they're keeping Zukov down. I mean, he's young, he has a great gimmick…" he lets his voice trail off when he sees that he has an IM from his ex-girlfriend.
"I know. He's in excellent shape as well. The crowds always pop when he comes out." Steve lays in his bed, listening to his mother fixing dinner in the kitchen. His dad shuffles about, quiet since he just got off work. For a minute Chris is silent. "You there?" Steve asks him.
"Hmm?" Chris quickly glances over the IM, which says "STAY AWAY FROM ME. YOU HAVE PROBLEMS". He presses on a key, then removes his hand. Stacy didn't like it when he came to see her last week at work. "Yeah. But, everyone's playin' politics backstage. It's how they are." He grits his teeth when he sees photos of her and the new boyfriend pop up in his news feed. "Damnit," he grumbles.
"I know. I'm pissed too that they don't push him."
"Steve!" his mom shouts from the kitchen. "Dinner's ready." For a minute he ignores her because he still wants to talk to Chris. He's never chatted with such an old-school wrestling fan before. Most of his friends are like him and grew up in this new decade, when no one else is into it. But she persists in knocking on his door so he sighs. 'Hey Chris, gotta go. I'll call you tomorrow, man."
"Oh, I don't know, dude, I got errands to run." He needed to call Stacy. He knew exactly when she'd take her lunch break.
"Al..alright, then."
"I'll stay in touch. The DVD just finished burning, in fact. Look for it in the mail." They said bye and went on their separate ways.
"You have a package, sweetie," Steve's mom says as she comes into the house. With a bag of groceries in one hand she gingerly places the brown package on the dinner table with her other hand. Steve had just happebed to go into the kitchen to get something to drink when she said this.
"Oh, cool", he says, and walks over to the table to open it. He's pretty sure this is it. Sure enough, it's the PPV he ordered from Chris. It's a purple CD you could pick up in a pack at any supermarket. Scrawled on its surface in smudged black marker is "Wrestlefest '89". Steve smirks and turns it around, dazzled by the way the lights in the house make it shine.
"What's that?" his mom asks him.
"Oh, this is that wrestling DVD I ordered," Steve says.
"Oh yeah, I remember you telling me about that," his mom replies, getting a pan out of the oven as she starts to cook dinner. His dad fumbles through the newspaper, not paying attention. "Isn't it from that guy Chris you talk to sometimes?"
"Yeah," Steve says. "He's a cool guy. He grew up in the 80s."
"Wrestling was popular back then," Steve's dad says, not taking his eyes off the paper. He has some stubble and his glasses almost hang off his face.
His mom begins cutting up some vegetables. "Just be careful talking to people online. I always see reports of kids getting abducted from chat rooms." The sleeves of her pink blouse are rolled up.
"Oh, mom, I'll be fine," Steve grunts. "It's not like that. I'm seventeen. I can handle myself."
"You think," she says. "Are you sure it's safe buying things online?"
"Everyone does it," Steve says.
"Okay." She sounds reassured.
Chris pours himself a cup of soda and goes back into his room where Trey has been waiting. Trey is texting someone on his phone…probably some girl. Trey had been going to parties on the weekends and getting girls' phone numbers. If one of them had a friend they'd double-date with Steve. The two usually avoided mentioning they were wrestling fans.
"Hey man, the DVD came in!" Steve announced.
"Cool. Pop it in," Trey motioned to Steve's DVD player. Steve did so and they start to watch. Steve had read online this was one the best events WCF had put on. Now their product wasn't so good and most of the wrestlers are boring. Trey and Steve are into the first few matches. But after a while the DVD begins skipping. It freezes in the middle of the fourth match. "What the fuck?" Steve growls. He tries to pause and fast-forward it but to no avail.
"Call him," Trey says.
"I will," Steve says. He calls Chris but got his voicemail. Steve's jaw clenches; he curls up his hand and then grabs on the sides of his blue jeans. His veins pop out on is arm.
"Call him out on your report for that," Trey advises. His blue eyes look decisive with his spiked blond hair and black Metallica shirt.
"You think I should?"
"Dude, he ripped you off for this!"
Steve gets up and ejects the DVD. Flicking it in his hand, he looks back at Trey. "Yeah, I should bury that asshole." He places it on his dresser. "What a screwjob."
Chris has been getting word about that kid he sends DVDs to calling him out for supposedly messing up his order. On his Facebook, he writes, "Hey douchebag dont troll me because you have a shitty tv. Maybe instead of having your mom buy it for you should get it yourself nerd". This only increases his annoyance as he goes to visit his ex-girlfriend to talk her into moving back with him. When he pulls up into the parking lot there aren't very many cars around. It's a Thursday afternoon and the weather is a bit dreary, with fog everywhere.
He parks the car, dangling his keys in his hands as he walks over to the small café where she works at. It's in a more upscale side of town, with smooth streets and people that shop at supermarkets in suits, having just gotten off from their day jobs. Chris wears a black baseball cap emblazoned with an ICW logo, which is Insane Championship Wrestling, a local indie league he frequently attends and records. His grey sweatpants swish as he opens the door to talk with Stacy.
When she sees him, her face gets red and she immediately turns away. Her hair is now curled and died a dark red. Her orange apron has a few white powdery stains on it and she wears sparkling silver baby doll shoes. "Hey Stace. You look nice. Can we talk?" Chris asks her. He straightens out his blue polo shirt to look nice for her.
Stacy pretends not to hear him and instead sweeps, trying to head to the back. "Ugh, I', talkin' to you. Don't walk away from me." Chris' voice gets louder. A few patrons look up from their tables at him.
"Chris, not now. I'm at work," Stacy whispers. She only glances up at him with her sullen brown eyes.
"I'm sorry, hun. I've gotten better with my temper." Chris looks at the pastries in the glass counter. "Look, I was thinking, it's silly to keep on being mad at each other like this. We should move back in together. It'd be better for both of us." He folds his arms across his chest.
"You should leave," Stacy says, "before I call the cops." Two of her co-workers approach the counter.
"Fine," Chris grunts, and goes to head back out. "How can you do this to me?" he rushes to the counter and screams. Stacy runs to the back while her two co-workers, one of them a tall guy with long hair, comes to the counter and instructs him to go away. Chris storms out and kicks a trash can before getting in his car and heading home.
"Now, please, leave that boy alone. He left a really weird voicemail message." Steve's dad leans his head in the door. His hair is spiked up a bit, which gives away his hairline. "I'm leaving for work. Love you." He waves bye, his light green scrubs a bit baggy as he walks out the door.
"I will," Steve calls after his dad before the front door shuts. Once he hears the car leave from the driveway, Steve hits the record button on his phone and smirks. He's about to deliver an epic shoot promo that will really tear Chris down. Once the beep starts, Steve gets into character. "So, Chris, I heard you're challenging me. Well, boy, you wanna do it, let's do it." He gets up and wanders to the kitchen to get something to eat. "That is, if you're man enough. I wrestle for my high school team and I could put you down in a second." He searches through the freezer. Not much as usual. His parents haven't stocked too many groceries this week. "Just like when Oscar beat up Mr. Titus for double-crossing him, I will make you pay for stabbing me in the back." He finds a frozen burrito and pops that in the microwave. He loves those. "So anytime, anywhere, bring it, big boy. I'll be waiting to put you down with a Indiana Driver." That was a finishing move he came up with while he and Trey were wrestling in their backyard league. Several of their friends were in the audience and said it looked like a cool move. None of their parents knew they did this, so they had to wait late at night and then they'd go in the backyards of their houses and jump around on trampolines.
While Steve sat against the wall waiting for his burrito to cook, he decided to go listen to that voicemail message. He passed up the living room, where magazines were stacked up on a table and where the leather couches were, and hit the red button on the main house phone. The machine said he had two new messages. He skipped one that was from his aunt to get to Chris. "Heya there, Steve," Chris bellowed in a mock friendly tone. "People have been telling me you're challenging me. Well, I ain't someone to mess with. Because when you and I come face-to-face, I will put you down. Now isn't the time to mess with me. Because I can be quite ruthless." He lets out a maniacal laugh. "You stand there and flap your gums any more, it'll be the last time you do so." Steve snorts and turns back around. Chris sounds like a dumbass, Steve figures. Before he was cool when they'd chat or wire him burned PPVs but now he was just being a douche. He figured Trey would love to hear about this. Maybe they could incorporate it into their storylines. They had a big blowoff to their angles next weekend. Some girls from school were coming over so Steve and Trey were training extra hard.
Chris has been driving for three days straight. He's finally in the area of Illinois where he knows Steve is. He looked up his address online and got an idea of where it's at from Google Maps. He's stopped to stay the night at various motels on the side of the road. Glancing at himself in his car mirror, he sees his eyes are red, his cheeks are puffy, his skin pale, and his hair is slightly messy. Some slight facial hair has emerged. None of that bothers Chris. He is here on a mission, to clear his name.
Steve has been awake for an hour. He doesn't feel like going to work tonight. This past week the managers have really been on his ass about busing properly, as if there's some technique to it. All he has to do is cleans up the plates from the tables and sweep the floors. Sometimes he gets a tip. Another thing that's been on his mind is a weird voicemail Chris left on his phone. It had the sound of a girl crying and Chris vaguely claiming it was his ex, promising that "Steve was next". Steve wrote it off as Chris being his usual dramatic and crazy self. He also thought that Chris was copying from T.C. Rock's promo from last week when he leaned into the camera after ambushing his opponent and saying the same thing about the world champion, who he had a title match with at the PPV. Steve was bugging his parents about letting him order it. The Internet was raving about the workrate that was going to be on display.
Chris' GPS tells him to turn a corner and he is nearer to Steve's house. He's never met Steve in person and even as he mentally goes through his plan to fuck him up he's still a little nervous. He knows Steve's still in high school but Chris wonders if he lives on his own? He's not sure; they never got that far into knowing each other. By now Chris has shut down his mail-order business and hasn't shown up to his day job in a few weeks. He really doesn't care anymore. He sees himself as a rebel, like all those wrestlers during the Attitude Era. As he thinks about the baseball bat he made sure to bring in his trunk he smirks at how he's shooting. He's off the script. His heart races.
Steve shuffles to the laundry room, collecting the socks he washed the other day. Even though they started out white they're beginning to fade to a dingier shade now. His eyes are still slightly closed. He picks at some crust in them. "Steve, can you go get the mail for me?" his mom asks. "My leg hurts and I can't walk that far." Steve nods and goes to walk out the front door. "Thank you," his mom calls after him. When he opens the side door to go into the front yard he's blinded by the sunlight. It's especially bright today. He puts his hand up to his face to shield himself. Still dressed in sweatpants, slippers, and a grey muscle shirt he's had for a few years, he slowly heads to the mailbox. A car pulls up on the curb near him. He doesn't recognize it. He opens the mailbox and reaches in, pulling out the usual white envelopes. The guy in the car steps out and hovers near his car for a few seconds.
"You Steve?" he asks, his hands in his pockets. His chin is slightly upward and he rocks back and forth on the hell of his foot.
"Y-yeah," Steve responds, a bit confused. He is frozen in place.
"I'm Chris," Chris says, his brow furrowing. He pops open his trunk without taking his eyes off of Steve.
This all suddenly dawns on Steve, who turns and goes to run back to his house.