and i don't go to sleep to dream
a fall from grace
It was Eric on the phone. I knew it. I picked up the receiver, my hands shaking, thinking, please, let it be someone else, please, God in Heaven, just don't let it be Eric. I put it to my ear. "Jeff." His voice is cold, so hard. My heart sinks. It's him. I glance at the clock. I should have been there half an hour ago. How screwed I am. How utterly screwed.
"Eric…" I stammered. How pathetic I feel. How much like the younger idiot Hardy I must sound to him. Is he smiling at my misery? Or is he frowning, angry, does he truly despise me? "I was just leaving." What a lame attempt of escaping punishment. I hate this. "I was walking out the door. Really!" Oh, now that sounds convincing, that desperateness in my voice.
"I need you here, now," he says, without feeling. God, this is it. I know it. I close my eyes and gently put the phone down, I know he has nothing more to say to me. I'm really going to get fired this time. Really. I know it. My lower lip is trembling, I bite it fiercely and it starts to bleed, but it doesn't stop trembling. I'm scared. I don't want this to happen! Why is it! I pull my hair, I put my hands over my face, dig my nails into my cheeks, but that nervousness, it won't go away!
And I look like shit. My faded blue hair is clumpy, frizzy, unkempt, unwashed, dirty, oily, I could go on for hours about how crappy my hair looks alone! My eyes are all bloodshot, I look so tired, I look something preternatural, I don't look human, my God, how dead I look. My skin is so white. And these clothes I'm wearing, I've been wearing them for the past three days. Change. Yes, that's the first thing I'll do. Quickly, instinctively, I pull out my canvas bag and tear out all of its contents, spread them over the bed. Everything is so flashy, so uncomfortable looking, they hurt my eyes, holy crap, what was I thinking when I bought this? Leopard and zebra print everywhere, neon colors, the strangest socks you'd ever seen, like Beetlejuice, do I have anything that looks normal, that wouldn't enhance my abnormal appearance?
Ah, this! Some black. Yes, black is fine, it makes me blend in, it makes the whiteness of my skin look natural. A black plain shirt, a small logo on the back, I'll wear a sweater to cover it. And black pants, my old favorite pants, I slipped them on, threw the shirt over my head, put the sweater on and zipped it up to my neck. I looked back at the mirror. Better. Much better. Fix my hair a bit, pull it back, a ponytail, perfect. And my eyes, what about them? They're so red. I washed my face, careful not to get soap in them to make them more irritated, ran cool water under my lids. Again, much better. I was ready.
I didn't bother packing my wrestling attire. I already missed my match. What was the point? I just grabbed my car keys, my wallet, and my good luck guitar pick and I was done.
The car was cluttered and messy. How funny. It used to be so neat to the point that some people would say to me after I took them for a ride, "Your car, how nice it is, so clean, I wish my car was like yours." Not any more you wouldn't. Not when it's like this. Piece of junk, full of uneaten food, coffee that will never be drunk, little tiny figurines of Buddha everywhere you look, papers scattered on the floor, black nail polish stains on the dashboard, and much much more that would take more hours of your day to tell you all about. The radio is still good though. I turned it on.
Immediately some song that I had never head before came on. Quite nice it was, actually. Pretty guitar riffs. As I drove towards my doom, it soothed me just the tiniest bit, which matters to me a lot. When the song was over, I sighed, I wish it wasn't done yet. I wish it could last forever. Just the pretty guitar riffs and the barely scratching by's and the fear the most's and the perfect posture's. Just bits of lyrics I caught.
It was a beautiful night, really. The stars were bright against the black sky, a cool breeze came in through my window, caressed my face and my hair lovingly. I opened my mouth, just a little bit, and let the wind fill my senses entirely, wishing, like that breeze, I could just fly, very far from here. Maybe I'd go into oblivion. Maybe I'd go to the ocean and forever be at peace at watching the waves I so dearly love. Of maybe I'd just freeze in time and float for all eternity, happy, blissfully, no worries, no pains, no hate. My grip on the steering wheel tightened, my knuckles turned white. I was almost there. My heart pounded wildly in my chest, suddenly, no, this can't be happening, I can't almost be there!
And then I am there, getting out of my car, my breaths coming in short gasps, turning cold all over, my heart thumping louder than ever. The Skydome. And inside, Eric, about to kick my ass out of the WWE. And me, so afraid, frightened beyond all reason. My knees are stiff as I walk in, there is no will in my body to keep walking, but I do anyway, hard as it was. And very suddenly I'm standing right outside the Raw general manager's office, just staring at the door, at the silver handle, my stomach convulsing again. All I could see is Eric's angry face, that pink note I know that is waiting for me. I open the door.
Four police officers are scattered around the desk. I blinked in confusion. Eric is talking to one, the highest ranking looking one, seemingly frustrated, black eyes flashing. Shock. What had happened? The officers, how grim they looked. Nobody had even noticed I walked in. Several other wrestlers were off to the side, watching Eric and the officers, their eyes wide. I'm about to hyperventilate. Was there anybody I could ask what was happening? What was going on?
Then I saw Lita.
She was standing off to one corner of the room, looking silently at the floor, her flaming red hair shadowing her face and the expression on it. Her shoulders were slumped, her arms limp at her sides. She alone noticed the door opening. She alone noticed who had walked into the room.
"Jeff!" she gasped, and all the noise around me stopped.
Eric and the police officer stopped snapping at each other. My co-workers; their quiet and voiceless talking ceased, and everyone turned and looked right at me. Blood rushed to my face, grew hot at the unwanted attention. What did their faces show? I saw confusion. I saw stares of bewilderment and shock. Lita had tears in her eyes. And those officers, gazes of sympathy. Eric was a mask of stone. And I was mortified beyond belief. My vision was blurring.
"What's happening?" I whispered.