Call It In The Ring

1

Pierre

I knew I shouldn't have come here. It's a shit-hole dive bar filled with low-life townies who have nothing better to do and nowhere else to be. Where else better to spend your time than at a bar whose regulars include World Champion wrestlers who have more snow parties than anyone you ever met? I've only been to the bathroom twice since I've been here which is unusual for me. Normally, I would have gone about ten times now. Five to tinkle a tiny bit, and the other five to relieve my anxiety. The two times I did go tonight, men were everywhere, disbursed and leaning over the sink with rolled-up dollar bills. I walked in and they barely noticed. They're all so in their own little worlds here, that it's easy to blend in and not get noticed. Must be the snow. Or they really just don't care.

"In honour of Dad!" Trevor said, trying to convince me to get out and let loose for a night. It sounded fun, it sounded like maybe everything I needed, and I was in town so why not? So I went along, and then he cancelled as I was driving here. So that's cool too. I guess I could've just turned around but I was lowkey looking forward to it, so I came anyway. I've got to say, it's the most boring fucking thing. Plus, it's bringing back memories I spent too many years throwing into boxes and burying, I have to leave.

Bars like these used to feel like home until they became everything I despised. I remember when Dad first got into wrestling, we spent every one of his celebratory accomplishments hanging around these bars. Mom hated the parties, she never wanted Trevor and me to be around them. We were children in a bar filled with coke, and I'd agree if I knew, Back then, I didn't understand it and I was too young to see what was in front of my eyes. I only saw Dad and his cool, macho wrestling friends. They'd all walk around in racerback tank tops and laugh with drinks in their hands, enjoying their time no matter if they won or lost. I didn't know that it was just the lifestyle. It wasn't long until his long nights ruined our family.
It was bars like these that gave him his identity and swallowed him whole. It was bars like these that changed the course of my life...

For the worse.

"Hey! You!"

I race and duck behind cars and make my way toward my car at the far end of the parking lot. My heels scraping against the gravel underneath me does nothing to help my case.

I haven't checked to see his build but I'm sure I can take him, though, it doesn't mean that I want to. The last thing I want is to show up for my shift tomorrow with a black eye. Who wants to be cared for by a nurse with a black eye?

"I can see you, you know." He laughs. "And hear you too."

I stand up straight and shout in the direction of his voice and ask him what he wants and then there he is, older and shorter than I remember. He rushes toward me, effortlessly sliding over the hood of cars to get to me.

"Peter Slanzowski" He claps his hands clean of dirt and shoves one at me to shake. "Manager at Eastview Wrestling League."

I'm shocked into a daze at his words and memories of my drugged-up father screaming "Fuck EWL!" flood the forefront of my mind.

The countless nights I spent talking him down from bouts of rage after a losing match or the dreary days I spent skipping school to tend to his drug habit, cleaning throw-up from the floor or making him soups. Horrible moments that I'll never forget.

Or the day he finally admitted to me that wrestling is fake and his entire identity was a lie.

The same day I found him dead on the ground foaming from the mouth.

The image haunts me every waking second and burns into the blackness during shut-eye. It's inescapable and no matter how much I run and how often I work to get away, I can't. He's there when I look in the mirror. He's at every gym. In every glass of milk I have.