I began writing this chapter right before Eddie died, so there is a misplaced attempt at a tribute at the first part spoken by Dean. I also realized that this is my first upload since his passing. I need to get cracking.

Date Uploaded: 26 January 2006

Chapter 03: Dial 555-Mama

'Few misfortunes can befall a boy which bring worse consequences than to have a really affectionate mother.' - W. Somerset Maugham

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As far as Ryan could remember, he had only seen Dean cry twice. The first was when they were both around eleven or twelve, and Dean had been goofing off on top of the playground monkey bars. He had slipped and slammed crotch-first into the metal bar and ended up cringing in pain the ground, his face red and tears leaking from his eyes, although his pride had kept him from crying out loud. The second was when his girlfriend dumped him during his senior year in high school. It wasn't because of the fact that she had dumped him per se, but because she also piled all his porn (including his computer) into one place and took a sledgehammer to it. It had taken him years a lot of ingenuity that would have been best reserved for other things to collect all that crap.

But here he was now, bawling like a baby. Ryan stood at the end of the couch, looking in mild concern at his roommate. "Dean, did you get out of the apartment at all today?"

Dean's response was to give him the finger and not take his eyes off the TV screen. "I could care less."

"You know, it's really not healthy to be watching those taped RAW and Smackdown! tribute shows to Eddie Guerrero over and over again like that. It has been two weeks."

"Fuck you, jackass, this is Eddie Guerrero! He was an inspiration, a legend! I adored the shit out of this man! If I were a chick I'd call him my papi!" Dean was practically wailing at him at this point. "And you call yourself a fan! You're a dickhole, that's what!"

"I see you also forewent your daily dose of Valium."

At that three sofa cushions were flung at him in rapid succession, wherein Ryan somehow dodged the first two but was then creamed by the third, causing him to fall over and knock an rickety card table down along the way. "Take, that, bitch," Dean said to him sorely. "Wait a minute, what're you doing here anyway? I thought you were taking a double shift at the gas station."

"Technically I was," Ryan groaned, unearthing himself and crawling to an armchair. "But then I got fired."

"You probably deserved it."

"Yeah, I did," Ryan conceded.

They watched Chavo Guerrero take on JBL for a while, hitting Eddie's patented Three Amigos move in honor of his uncle. Then Ryan cleared his throat and spoke again. "I need a loan. A big one."

"You do realize that this isn't the best time to ask me this, right?" Dean growled at him, blowing into a tissue and then balling and tossing it over his shoulder.

"Yes, but frankly there's no other time for it," Ryan said. He then proceeded to tell Dean what Bernie had offered him. He watched as Dean's expression turned from curious to incredulous and then to just plain cynical.

"Ryan, this is Bernie, the same guy who sold us our microwave for a 'dirt cheap price', only he neglected to mention that the appliance is a piece of shit too," Dean said, pointing to where the microwave sat on a counter at their small kitchen. Said object emitted blue and orange flashes now and then, and currently seemed to be smoking too. "He's also been bugging us to pool in our life savings and 'invest' in some horse down at the track by the name of 'He's Not Slow, I Swear It!'"

"So his owner always seems to say."

"My point is you're an idiot for even thinking about trusting this guy. He'll probably end up giving you a seat in the back row, behind the column to a 'Nutcracker' ballet," Dean said, getting up to fix himself something to eat.

"So is that a 'no' on the loan?" Ryan asked, turning around in his seat to look at him.

Dean, unwrapping a plate of leftovers from the fridge, groaned and shook his head, popping the food into the microwave. He keyed in the time and turned his back, signaling that the discussion was over. Ten seconds later a small explosion emitted from inside the electric appliance, causing both boys to take cover. The door to the microwave popped open and the leftovers were showcased in a smoking heap.

Ryan and Dean both cautiously lifted their heads to examine the damage.

"Yes, Ryan, I would say that's a definite 'no' on the loan," Dean said finally.

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After Dean's initial rejection, Ryan decided to try a few others who might have been able to loan him the money. As a result he was subsequently turned down by Gabby, his still-enraged former boss, his ex-girlfriend, the junkie who now slept with his ex-girlfriend, the man at the Chinese eatery down the street who took his orders, his former high school vice-principal who detested him anyway and a gay guy named Fitzy who once felt him up during a party.

Ryan sighed. It had come down to this. He now had to ring up the person who came dead last on his list.

The phone was picked up on the third ring and a pleasant voice answered. "Hello?"

"Hi, mom," Ryan greeted.

"Ryan!" his mother immediately cried, her warm tone now rising to the soprano-like shriek that he was so familiar with. "It's been three months since you last called! I was beginning to think that you were doing drugs, or dead, or had run away to Calgary!"

Ryan sighed. Constance Masters was an overprotective worrywart who constantly fretted over her three grown children. Ryan and his older brother Nolan had moved out years ago, but their third sibling, Patrick, still a minor and resigned to sticking around the parents, often bitched loudly about having to endure their mother all by himself. Needless to say Ryan didn't envy him one bit, and he didn't feel sorry for him either.

"Mom, I'm fine," he said, employing the sibling's tried and trusted method of speaking calmly and elongating syllables for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. It usually served as a good way to cut into their mother's tirade and placate her long enough to get a word in.

Fortunately it worked. "Is that so? Any chance of you telling me what you've been up to?"

"Mom, I do tell you what I'm up to. I send you emails regularly." It was a blatant lie, as the last one he had forwarded was a half-assed chain letter about two months back. Of course his mother was hardly computer-savvy, and like much of her shortcomings she chose to ignore it. "You do check your mail now, don't you?"

"When I get around to it," came the defensive answer, obviously lying.

Ryan sighed, but he had succeeded in finding an opening. "Listen, mom, I called to see how you were doing… and to ask for a little favor."

"How much do you want, Ryan?"

He blinked and then had the decency to turn red. Constance was more than aware in that the last four times Ryan had called that year, two was to ask for money. "Uh, well, four hundred dollars, in fact."

"Four hundred? What for? And please don't tell me it's because you've drained your bank account on video games again. The last time you did that, you didn't even have five dollars for gas money! Speaking of which, don't you work at the gas station?"

"Uh, right, I do," Ryan said, too much in a hurry to explain to his mother how he had gotten canned. "But I've just used most of my recent salary to pay for the rent and my half of the bills and groceries. I just need four hundred to tide me over until next fortnight. That's all, mom, I promise, and I'll pay you back by then." Another blatant lie, and this time both of them knew it.

Constance sighed. After a pause she relented. "All right, I'll have the money transferred to your bank account tomorrow morning."

Tomorrow? Crap. Ryan thought quickly. "Uh, I really wanted to have it by tonight, mom."

"Well what do you expect me to do? The banks are closed by now."

"Right, right… can you have Patrick come over then? He can bunk here for the night too; he's been wanting to get out of the house for sometime now." That was mostly true, as Patrick begged his brothers on every opportunity to spend a few days over with them.

Constance gave another sigh. Sooner or later she always caved in to her sons. "All right, all right. I'll send Patrick over by bus; he should be there in an hour or so."

"Thanks mom, you're the best. I love you."

And those three words always melted her. "I know I know. You better hope your father doesn't find out about this."

Ryan smiled in relief as he put down the phone. Well, it had taken him a lot of pains, but now he was secured for that beatbox competition down the warehouse tonight. Now he could sit back and relax for a couple of hours.

"You asked your MOM? Jesus Christ, you're such a douchebag," Dean said, passing by and stuffing potato chips in his mouth.

"Do you get off listening to my phone calls?" Ryan demanded.

"Sometimes. Hey, your mom is hot."

"You're sick."

"Whatever. So, what time are we leaving?" Dean asked, plopping down onto the couch.

"We? I don't believe I asked you to come with me."

"We're friends, the invitation is always implied. Besides, would I miss the chance to see what other screw-ups you attempt? I don't think so!" he laughed.

"Tough luck. You're going to stay and baby-sit Patrick," Ryan said, getting up and moving towards his room.

"Oh, so it's going to be like that now?" Dean said, looking at him.

"Yeah," Ryan said, going into his room and shutting the door behind him.

Dean turned back to the TV set and stuffed another handful of chips into his mouth. "That's what he thinks."

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Useless (Or Not So Useless) Tidbit: I happily call Eddie Guerrero my papi. This is dedicated to you, man, wherever you are.