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| Tweet Topic Started: Feb 16 2018, 12:40 PM (14 Views) | |
| Darryl Walker | Feb 16 2018, 12:40 PM Post #1 |
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Newbie
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Sitting in a dingy flat in Pesaro, Italy, I have that overwhelming feeling of “what am I doing?” looming over my head. I’m no stranger to life on the road, living out of dingy flats, nasty apartments, and couch surfing, but I always had a clear purpose, clear goal. I always knew where I was heading, and what I had planned. Now, I’m here, waiting on word from Gaia Vaccaro, on what I’m supposed to be doing. Looking back to the past week and a half, you could say it’s been a whirlwind. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Trying to rekindle a relationship in Tampa Florida, one I foolishly jumped from the moment things felt real, I get a call. A foreign number I’d never seen before flashes across my caller ID, normally I’d let these numbers just go to voicemail. I don’t really know why I carry a cell phone at all. I never answer it. I have some thirty or forty unread text messages. I’ve stopped caring about the people I used to care about. “Hello?” I answer, the intrigue taking over. “Mr. Walker?” The voice on the other line speaks, there’s a heavy accent to her voice, one I can’t quite place. “Speaking, who’s this?” I cut straight through the pleasantries. “My name is Gaia Vaccaro, I was given your number on strong recommendation from your good friend Redd.” “Look lady, Redd is just fucking with you. I don’t buy prostitutes. I’ve never paid for sex in my life. As sexy as your voice sounds, I’m not about to now.” “I think you have me mistaken Mr. Walker, I’m not a prostitute. I am the General Manager of [R]evolution Pro Wrestling out of Pesaro, Italy. Your friend, Redd, seems to think you need a job, and gave me your number, assuring me I’d not be disappointed.” My face burns with redness, “Oh, sorry, look, I appreciate the call, but I don’t really need a job,” I lied, I need the money, but have no way to get to Italy, “Even if I did, I’m not sure I could get to Italy, and afford to stay to work one match, let alone live there.” “What if I told you that your travel expenses were already covered by a Ms. Penny Van Peters?” “Then I’d call you a liar, Penny left my broke ass because I couldn’t help with bills. She was tired of being a sugar mama. She wouldn’t give that money to me.” “Despite what you may think, you haven’t burned all your bridges just yet. Yes, your name holds a stigma in the industry, but your skills speak for themselves.” “Skills? Have you watched anything over the last five years? I’ve been a trainwreck. I was coming to the ring drunk, couldn’t perform sober, and have a back injury that I never really proved to be fully recovered from,” my annoyance growing heavily, “Look, I appreciate the call, it’s sweet of you guys to try to ‘pull me from my funk,’ but I’m fine, I don’t need a pity contract to try to attract a couple fans who maybe want to see a washed out wrestler lace them up for one last hoorah, it’s only going to blow up in both of our faces.” “Mr. Walker, why don’t you come over, watch a show, we can discuss contract details over dinner, and find a middle ground. I assure you, we don’t need a publicity stunt or nostalgia act, we are one of the fastest growing brands under the CWC banner. We want you for the skill and passion you have for the industry. We want to help you recapture that, and to do it for the Italian fans. A fresh start for you, and when you find the spark, a huge name for us. It’s a win, win.” I have to admit she’s good, she can kiss ass better than most, “fine, I’ll fly out, check you guys out and see how I feel.” We exchange salutations, and hang up. I quickly begin packing my bag, and running outside to grab my rental car before Kim gets back from training. The guilt builds up inside me as I peel out of the driveway, and I quickly get a notification stating the money from Penny has been transferred into my bank account. I should call her, but the coward inside of me says she doesn’t want to hear from me. I navigate the twenty minute drive from Kim’s house to the airport in complete silence. I tried turning on the radio, but all the thoughts burning through my brain were drowning everything out. “I need a drink,” I think to myself, before reminding myself I’ve been sober for two months, and want to keep it that way this time. As I drop off the rental car, I begin collecting my things. I look down at my cell phone on the seat, a text message flashes across the screen from Kim. “Shit,” i mutter under my breath. I grab the phone, preparing to message back, when suddenly an urge takes over. I open the glove compartment, and toss the phone in there, and slam it closed. “A fresh start,” I sigh, “A new beginning.” I get out, and set my bag down, walking up to the counter to return the keys, and then walk into the airport. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A mere ten days ago that all went down. I’ve not called Kim, or Penny since, I’ve not talked to anyone. I didn’t buy a new phone, left my laptop at home, left my tablet at home, it’s been ten days of pure radio silence. Nobody even knows I’m here yet. I don’t know WHY I’m here yet. I’ve burned every possible bridge I could when I returned to 4CW, only to again drink myself so stupid I stopped showing up to bookings. I ruined my chances of ever working for HKW again, not that I’d really want to go back, I was just spinning my wheels there. Why would anyone really want to give me a shot at this point. Hell according to the foremost expert on the industry, I don’t even have any friends left. Not that it really bothers me, I never became a wrestler to have a bevy of friends, to have an entourage of ball washers to tell me how amazing I am for doing something so average, but when you can walk into a locker room and feel the gazes, the looks of “What’s he doing here,” it fucks with you. When I arrived in Pesaro, to no fan fair, no one begging for an autograph, nobody even at the airport to pick me up, it felt good. It was nice, to not be recognized, but also quiet, and the quiet has always been my worst enemy. The one fight I could never overcome. Maybe now is my time, maybe this, is the redemption I need. |
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