There were no friendships deeper or more loyal than that of me and the guys. I can't remember a time when I wasn't friends with them or when I was involved in a scam without at least one of them. Each of us had our qualities that contributed to the group and each of us had a unique bond with the others. Heero and I connected because we simply understood each other. Heero and Trowa had a silent communication. Heero and Wufei both had the drive to protect those that needed it. Heero and Quatre were both smart and enjoyed - what the rest of us called boring - education based conversations.
I connected with Trowa through our religion. Quatre and I both loved to read and loved the same books. Wufei and I loved to debate and most often with each other.
Trowa and Wufei both hated baseball and it was the main topic for most of their conversations. Trowa and Quatre simply had a connection, like Heero and I… they understood each other.
Wufei and Quatre both had many of the same political views.
The bond that we all had with each other, though, was the enjoyment of each other's company. We were happiest when we were together and even happier when we were together unsupervised. No supervision meant we could do whatever the hell caught our fancy. We loved causing trouble, but we loved watching wrestling more.
It was a Thursday night and Quatre had invited us all over to watch the Thursday night wrestling show. It started at seven, so I left my apartment at six thirty and began my walk down 36th Street. I met up with Wufei a few blocks from my apartment. We were then joined by Quatre and Heero further down the road. Around six forty-five, we arrived at Quatre's small house on Maralyn Avenue.
The living room looked as it always did when we went over to his house. The large couch sat no more than eight feet from the TV with a small coffee table in between them. A reclining chair sat next to the coffee table, slanted towards the television. A bowl of popcorn rested on the wooden side table next to the couch along with ten bottles of Fitze's Root Beer - two for each of us.
"So what's planned for tonight?" Wufei asked as he plopped down on the couch and reached for a bottle of soda.
"Um… I think they said that Adam Cobra is going to take on both Jerry Firestone and Mystic in a handicap match," Quatre replied, "At least that was what he said on Monday night."
"What happened?" I asked.
"Firestone and Mystic were talkin' shit about Eddie Marran and Cobra got pissed - he interrupted 'em and started talkin shit back," Quatre told us, "Then he challenged 'em to a handicap match for tonight, but they haven't answered yet."
"Pussies," Heero retorted.
"Mystic is *not* a pussy," Wufei stated firmly, "He beat Magnum last month, remember? And not even Cobra would *attempt* to fight Magnum."
"Yeah, but you don't see Cobra cowerin' like a pansy when it comes to the GM."
"No, you see him cowerin' like a pansy when it comes to Accori."
"Now there's a real pussy," I said.
"Yeah, like Volcano's a tough guy," Trowa said.
"Volcano never lost a match," I pointed out.
"Never won one by himself either."
"Fuck off, Trowa."
"Back atcha, love." He winked a blew a little kiss in my direction. I flipped him off.
Quatre laughed and turned on the TV as he settled onto the floor in front of the couch. Popping open a bottle of soda, he took a deep drink of it before grabbing a handful of popcorn.
The room was silent for a while save for the noise of the television. Commercials flashed across the screen: Pepsi, new action movie, Hot Pockets, McDonald's, Sam's. The commercials continued for a few minutes, the five of us singing along if the jingle was memorable, when finally the show started. The rock music started up as computer effects filled the TV screen with lights and firework-like formations. The stars we knew well were shown with their names below them and then the camera flashed to view thousands of people sitting in stands surrounding the ring.
Jerry Lawson and Matt "The Prince" Gordon appeared on the screen, sitting behind a large desk at ringside with microphones attached to their ears. They announced the nights coming fights and the main event; Adam Cobra vs. Jerry Firestone and Mystic.
The camera then focused on the center ring where Amanda McMahan, WWE general manager and great great great great granddaughter of Vince McMahan, the one time owner of the company and famous asshole, stood with a microphone in her hand. She wore a nice and tight short skirt with a matching blazer over a white, cleavage exposing tank top. The crowd continued to roar until she lifted the mic to her mouth.
"Tonight," she began in her husky voice, "is a special night. Not only are the two *toughest* men in the WWE going up against each other, but they are going to fight in a handicap match with Mystic fighting in Firestone's corner." The crowd erupted with cheers and jeers at the names mentioned. "Now," she continued as the crowd shushed again, "there are a few things that still need to be known about Adam Cobra before we can have this match…"
And the backstage soap opera that was wrestling entertainment began. Scenes from outside the building and behind the curtains flashed in between the matches while Jerry Lawson and The Prince dictated it all people who were listening.
The night carried on and an hour and a half later found Trowa lying on the floor in front of the TV with Quatre at his side. Wufei was sprawled out on the only reclining chair in the room and Heero and I lay on the couch. We had finished the sodas and popcorn within the first half hour of the show and were now only waiting for the main event to unfold. We'd taken bets on the winner with Heero, Wufei and I betting on another loss for Firestone while Trowa and Quatre were convinced that while Cobra had power, Firestone had Mystic, a short, acrobatic wrestler that was known for his last minute tricks that often won him a victory.
The show was just returning from a commercial when the door slammed and I clearly saw Quatre jump. A bulky man, no shorter than six foot five, with a clear face and messy hair walked into the living room. His business clothes were ruffled and he smelled of beer and smoke.
"What the fuck are you doin' in here?" he asked in a thunderous voice. I now understood why Quatre had jumped.
My blonde friend rose from his spot on the floor and stood to face the man. "It's Thursday," he said in the steadiest voice he could muster, "Mom said we could be here."
The man looked as if he was processing Quatre's words before he walked with heavy feet between the couch and coffee table and proceeded into the kitchen, probably looking for Quatre's mother. He knocked over the bowl of popcorn kernels, spilling them across the carpet.
There were some loud but muffled voices from the other room. I looked over at Quatre and saw him looking rather intently at his feet. His eyes, which had been wide and happy moments ago, were now slender, pensive and full of anxiety.
The shouts grew louder and Quatre seemed to shrink with every strident word. Curse words poured out from the hallway and a shrill voice raised against him. Quatre's mother, though a little woman, could defend herself against the men she dated. Quatre, however, was another story. She neither cared to stop the men from beating her son nor said a word about it.
"Let's get outta here," Quatre said, grabbing his shoes and leaving the house without bothering to turn off the TV.
We never spoke about our home lives. They were separate worlds that we gladly kept away from our free outside lives on the streets. We all knew about Heero's loneliness. We all knew about my violent father. We all knew about Trowa's step-father and his temper. We all knew about Quatre's beatings and we all knew about Wufei's sibling situation. But we never spoke of it. It was a silent pact we had all made and rarely was it broken. We didn't bother speaking of things that couldn't be changed.
We never did see that match between Cobra, Firestone and Mystic, but through the chain of friends and contacts, we discovered that it had been Firestone and Mystic that had come out victorious. Heero, Wufei and I had been obligated to hand over ten dollars each to Trowa and Quatre.
I connected with Trowa through our religion. Quatre and I both loved to read and loved the same books. Wufei and I loved to debate and most often with each other.
Trowa and Wufei both hated baseball and it was the main topic for most of their conversations. Trowa and Quatre simply had a connection, like Heero and I… they understood each other.
Wufei and Quatre both had many of the same political views.
The bond that we all had with each other, though, was the enjoyment of each other's company. We were happiest when we were together and even happier when we were together unsupervised. No supervision meant we could do whatever the hell caught our fancy. We loved causing trouble, but we loved watching wrestling more.
It was a Thursday night and Quatre had invited us all over to watch the Thursday night wrestling show. It started at seven, so I left my apartment at six thirty and began my walk down 36th Street. I met up with Wufei a few blocks from my apartment. We were then joined by Quatre and Heero further down the road. Around six forty-five, we arrived at Quatre's small house on Maralyn Avenue.
The living room looked as it always did when we went over to his house. The large couch sat no more than eight feet from the TV with a small coffee table in between them. A reclining chair sat next to the coffee table, slanted towards the television. A bowl of popcorn rested on the wooden side table next to the couch along with ten bottles of Fitze's Root Beer - two for each of us.
"So what's planned for tonight?" Wufei asked as he plopped down on the couch and reached for a bottle of soda.
"Um… I think they said that Adam Cobra is going to take on both Jerry Firestone and Mystic in a handicap match," Quatre replied, "At least that was what he said on Monday night."
"What happened?" I asked.
"Firestone and Mystic were talkin' shit about Eddie Marran and Cobra got pissed - he interrupted 'em and started talkin shit back," Quatre told us, "Then he challenged 'em to a handicap match for tonight, but they haven't answered yet."
"Pussies," Heero retorted.
"Mystic is *not* a pussy," Wufei stated firmly, "He beat Magnum last month, remember? And not even Cobra would *attempt* to fight Magnum."
"Yeah, but you don't see Cobra cowerin' like a pansy when it comes to the GM."
"No, you see him cowerin' like a pansy when it comes to Accori."
"Now there's a real pussy," I said.
"Yeah, like Volcano's a tough guy," Trowa said.
"Volcano never lost a match," I pointed out.
"Never won one by himself either."
"Fuck off, Trowa."
"Back atcha, love." He winked a blew a little kiss in my direction. I flipped him off.
Quatre laughed and turned on the TV as he settled onto the floor in front of the couch. Popping open a bottle of soda, he took a deep drink of it before grabbing a handful of popcorn.
The room was silent for a while save for the noise of the television. Commercials flashed across the screen: Pepsi, new action movie, Hot Pockets, McDonald's, Sam's. The commercials continued for a few minutes, the five of us singing along if the jingle was memorable, when finally the show started. The rock music started up as computer effects filled the TV screen with lights and firework-like formations. The stars we knew well were shown with their names below them and then the camera flashed to view thousands of people sitting in stands surrounding the ring.
Jerry Lawson and Matt "The Prince" Gordon appeared on the screen, sitting behind a large desk at ringside with microphones attached to their ears. They announced the nights coming fights and the main event; Adam Cobra vs. Jerry Firestone and Mystic.
The camera then focused on the center ring where Amanda McMahan, WWE general manager and great great great great granddaughter of Vince McMahan, the one time owner of the company and famous asshole, stood with a microphone in her hand. She wore a nice and tight short skirt with a matching blazer over a white, cleavage exposing tank top. The crowd continued to roar until she lifted the mic to her mouth.
"Tonight," she began in her husky voice, "is a special night. Not only are the two *toughest* men in the WWE going up against each other, but they are going to fight in a handicap match with Mystic fighting in Firestone's corner." The crowd erupted with cheers and jeers at the names mentioned. "Now," she continued as the crowd shushed again, "there are a few things that still need to be known about Adam Cobra before we can have this match…"
And the backstage soap opera that was wrestling entertainment began. Scenes from outside the building and behind the curtains flashed in between the matches while Jerry Lawson and The Prince dictated it all people who were listening.
The night carried on and an hour and a half later found Trowa lying on the floor in front of the TV with Quatre at his side. Wufei was sprawled out on the only reclining chair in the room and Heero and I lay on the couch. We had finished the sodas and popcorn within the first half hour of the show and were now only waiting for the main event to unfold. We'd taken bets on the winner with Heero, Wufei and I betting on another loss for Firestone while Trowa and Quatre were convinced that while Cobra had power, Firestone had Mystic, a short, acrobatic wrestler that was known for his last minute tricks that often won him a victory.
The show was just returning from a commercial when the door slammed and I clearly saw Quatre jump. A bulky man, no shorter than six foot five, with a clear face and messy hair walked into the living room. His business clothes were ruffled and he smelled of beer and smoke.
"What the fuck are you doin' in here?" he asked in a thunderous voice. I now understood why Quatre had jumped.
My blonde friend rose from his spot on the floor and stood to face the man. "It's Thursday," he said in the steadiest voice he could muster, "Mom said we could be here."
The man looked as if he was processing Quatre's words before he walked with heavy feet between the couch and coffee table and proceeded into the kitchen, probably looking for Quatre's mother. He knocked over the bowl of popcorn kernels, spilling them across the carpet.
There were some loud but muffled voices from the other room. I looked over at Quatre and saw him looking rather intently at his feet. His eyes, which had been wide and happy moments ago, were now slender, pensive and full of anxiety.
The shouts grew louder and Quatre seemed to shrink with every strident word. Curse words poured out from the hallway and a shrill voice raised against him. Quatre's mother, though a little woman, could defend herself against the men she dated. Quatre, however, was another story. She neither cared to stop the men from beating her son nor said a word about it.
"Let's get outta here," Quatre said, grabbing his shoes and leaving the house without bothering to turn off the TV.
We never spoke about our home lives. They were separate worlds that we gladly kept away from our free outside lives on the streets. We all knew about Heero's loneliness. We all knew about my violent father. We all knew about Trowa's step-father and his temper. We all knew about Quatre's beatings and we all knew about Wufei's sibling situation. But we never spoke of it. It was a silent pact we had all made and rarely was it broken. We didn't bother speaking of things that couldn't be changed.
We never did see that match between Cobra, Firestone and Mystic, but through the chain of friends and contacts, we discovered that it had been Firestone and Mystic that had come out victorious. Heero, Wufei and I had been obligated to hand over ten dollars each to Trowa and Quatre.
