PHRQ - Where to Start

“ ..where do I start?”

“ Why don’t you start with what’s bothering you currently?”

“ Ok.”

I’m in my house and I’m sitting in my living room, on my couch, looking at my sizable and fancy tv and honestly, I was angry. I was very angry. I am very angry. It is not the couch, it’s possibly the height of comfort in terms of an apparatus for sitting. It’s not the living room as the temperature is perfect and the small breeze I feel from the open patio door to the right of me is just cold enough without being bothersome. The tv with it’s 4k what have you and other such high end features looks as pretty as one would imagine a tv in this price range would. It is not the fault of any of these things. It is what is playing ON the TV I am watching IN my living room that is bothering me. It is proof that of what I feared, and it’s far worse than I imagined. And I paid for it.

A Focus group set up to tell me exactly what I wanted to know about exactly who was still paying attention to me and why. And to say the least, it was not positive. I was processing it when from behind me, I heard my wife emerging from the bathroom. Vhodka Black, You probably follow her on twitter. Everyone does. She has just gotten out of a bath and I can smell the difference in the room already. I can feel it, too. I sit forward and try to relax myself so as not to clue her in to just how exasperated I am. I drop my shoulders, take a deep breath, and unclench my hands. She curls up next to me, and I already know my performance has failed.

Vhodka Black
“ Big mad? ”

Vincent Black
“ Not at all. You smell wonderful. What is that? ”

Vhodka Black
“ Peppa the pig bubble bath. Don’t lie to your wife. ”

Vincent Black
“ I am not lying. It smells wonderful. ”

Vhodka Black
“ How bad was it? ”

Vincent Black
“ Pretty bad. ”

I showed her the footage. I showed her the first gentleman, who was decked out entirely in New York Knicks gear, and waving his hand around as if he was Italian, but clearly was not, and when asked about me, Vincent Black, went on a rant about how I left Voodoo for Vhodka. And how I should have just kept his side piece on the side like ‘errybody else.’ I start to fast forward past him as soon as I realize Vhodka is memorizing his face for a later conversation. I stop at the sight of the face that has more rings to their lip than lip. It’s as if someone had decided to recast The Craft with a pin cushion not nearly as attractive as Fairuza. She talks about how she loved my first album, but considers me a sellout now, having done a cover album. I keep going and find a guy who speaks favorably about my role in Killing Floor, the show on Netflix where I play the demon/zombie things. It’s getting quite the bit of press despite the fact that Netflix decided to trickle the episodes, a rarity for the streaming network, as we’ve been instructed to refer.

She was excited, her hair pulled back into a wet ponytail of sorts, and her face free and clear of the makeup she usually dons. At this moment neither of us are performers, We’re just a couple. Watching Tv. And it was nice. Anyway, she was supportive, which she usually is.

Vhodka Black
“ See, This is what I was saying. You’re known, just not for…”

Vincent Black
“ For the one thing I want to be known for? ”

Vhodka Black
“ …yes. Which, yes…sounds bad when you hear it. But…At least you’re known for something? ”

Vincent Black
“ There’s another thing. Not one of those people who knew me was under the age of 30. I have an hour of over 30’s talking about my books, my art, my music, my marriage.. ”

Vhodka Black
“ …gonna find that guy…” she whispered this, and I ignored it.

Vincent Black
“ ..But when it comes to the under 30’s, you know what they say? ”

Vhodka Black
“ …handsome man? ”

Vincent Black
“ 1. Vhodka’s husband. 2. Xavier’s brother. And the one that crossed me the most, The guy who cried at that funeral. I didn't cry! I yawned and my eyes teared up. ”

Vhodka Black
“ …it was a boring funeral. ”

Vincent Black
“ No one puts the fun in funerals anymore. ”

Vhodka Black
“ Not one clown! ”

Vincent Black
I want to tell her how I’ve already switched out my theme music, how I’ve been in touch with branding agents and social media coaches to put myself in the forefront of the fans' minds once more in all the ways I was never really good at to begin with. It’s work. And I’ve never minded work. But it’s work I have to do twice, and I’ve never suffered that before. I want to tell her all of it. But instead… “ I’ve got my work cut out for me. ”

Vhodka Black
“ You've never minded work. ”

She kisses me gently and the rest of the night is spent watching a focus group made of people my wife would like to focus her rage on, and I’d like to change the hearts and minds of. It does not help in any way at all. I am left with feeling worse than I felt prior, but now I had the weight of the time wasted, and the guilt over what my wife would do to that one man should she ever find him.

We went to bed shortly after, and after our usual night time activity, fell asleep. Or she did. I laid there, laid, and thought about how I got here. Not here in the physical sense but in every other. So I got dressed, in my own clothes for once, and went for a walk. I found a bar open that was as lively as any I’d seen in a long time. And there was a sign outside with two words, that if you asked anyone, they would tell you I’d run in the other direction of. But not this time. This time, ‘open mic’ was exactly what I felt I needed.

I stood in the darkest corner I could after signing up, and I waited. I drank a few beers, which as an athlete I don’t usually partake in, but wasn’t in a whiskey mood. I wondered how long it would take before I got up, and when the MC took the stage to announce me, I knew it was about to happen by his body language alone.

“I thought this next sign up was a joke until I took a look around, and let me tell you, I never thought I’d be in the same room as this person, let alone announcing him at an open mic. You know him from his books, his art, his music, and of course, his career as a professional fighter. And now, you’ll know him as the 12:30 act at Dread’s. Ladies, Gentlemen, Vincent Black.”

Every head in the place swivels. Either because they have never thought they’d see me this close or because they have never heard of me before. But that’s okay, I tell myself. It’s the latter I’m here for.

I take the stool that the last 3 people I’ve watched used for their drinks and use it for its intended purpose. Which is ironic as the last thing they needed was more booze and the thing they needed the most was a place to sit their drunk ass. I take a deep breath and do the thing I have never ever done before. I speak.

Vincent Black
“ For those of you who don't know me, My name is Vincent Black. I am an artist, a musician, a writer, and a fighter. But those terms, while they do not define me, I do define them differently. I am an artist because I paint, draw, and tattoo. I am a musician because I play instruments and write sheet music. I call myself a writer because I write. But I call myself a fighter while not having fought in a very long time.”

“ I started in this business out of necessity. I had started in the UFC, and when a referee who would later be found guilty of betting on my opponent, threw the match in his favor, I snapped, and threw him over the top of the cage. Don’t be impressed, he was very small. ”

The crowd laughed and it caught me off guard. I don’t get “laughed” at. Not by anyone in striking range. But it made me feel, I don’t know, understood?

“ After that, I was banned from most MMA organizations, and I thought it was back to seedy bars with cages in the back for me. And then I met him. Kalvin Wolf AKA Calvin Fagan. My older brother that I had never known. He took me under his noxious smelling wing and showed me how that sort of behavior could lead to something greater than those other 3 lettered organizations could. And immediately, I thrived.”

“ And it was the worst possible thing that could have happened. Because for people in our business, much like this, there is a natural progression. Skill levels increase, rewards increase. You go from gyms to fairgrounds, to bigger gyms to clubs, and then one day, maybe you’re in an arena. Maybe you’re the darling of thousands. For me it was immediate. And to this day I regret it. If I had to struggle, to put more time and effort, maybe I’d have enjoyed it more. Maybe, I wouldn’t have moved on so fast. Maybe I’d have stayed at the top. But I can’t ask that question with any real merit. Because leaving the world of fighting gave me what I never thought I’d have. A family.”

“ Two girls and a boy. And while I never knew what a father was, not in a way that wasn’t abusive, I rose to the occasion. I put everything else on a back burner and just became a dad. And I don’t regret it. It was the right choice. But let me tell you if someone hasn’t already; Sometimes you’ll be sad over the right choice. Sometimes you’ll do the right thing for the right reasons and you’ll still be sad for the loss of the wrong choice. I know this because it isn’t an occurrence in my life, but a pattern.”

“ I chose my family over my career. I chose the mother of my children over my mistress. I chose my family over myself, and while I can’t regret any of them, and I can’t change any of them, I can make adjustments now. I can try to make it up to the love of my life for leaving her behind all those years ago. And I can do my best to redirect my career back to where it should be. To where it always should have been.”

“ When I first got into this business, I had what I called a ritual. Normal people would call it ‘fucking crazy.’ I’d watch my opponents previous matches, I’d pay attention to any particularly nasty hits, Anything I felt would cause long term injury or discomfort, and I’d put on these contraptions designed to mimic how they might move due to their injury. Or I’d just beat myself with a bat. And then I’d spar but with their moves. So I could judge how they might move differently. So I could see their moves coming before they could. It’s why I’m here now.”

“ I have two opponents that I have to fight in fucking Illinois. The Armpit state. One is a returning superstar named Holly Rhodes. She’s sort of in the same boat as me. Coming back after a stint away, though mine is 7 years longer than hers. And she too got too much too fast, and walked away. Of course watching her fight against Xaria, I can’t help but think that time away was better for her than it was for me. She may have lost last week, but she did it in the main event. I’ve lost every match I’ve had since coming back, and the main event placement of them was more of a coincidence.”

“ I don’t feel the need to really compare myself to Holly. She’s untested in the eyes of a lot of people, but the best of us are. Who I need to get in the head of is the other one. The “funny” one. Chaney. I saw his show. It was the equivalent of watching a root canal done to a child by another child. The jokes were as cheap as the production values. The jokes would be funny in the locker room, but not to a broader audience who has never stepped foot in one. Not that I blame him for the attempt. He’s a guy who saw a chance and took it. But coming back from that level of failure. That’s something I need to get into the headspace of. Not because I don’t understand failure. I consider myself a failure at almost everything I’ve ever done. I need to understand his mentality because I don’t know how to come back from it. And he apparently does. The failure of a single match. One decision. Yes. But the failure of an entire decade. Of a career. Haunted isn’t the word, but it’s close.”

“ You know, most booking agents in this business, they book what people want to see. In this case, they’ve booked what each of us needs. Three people moving toward a place they once were, who took a risk that may or may not have paid off, and now lament the chance to be there again. I admit the chances of me winning this match are small. Practically non-existent. I don’t know who is even going to be showing up in this match, as far as I go. Is it going to be the mad version of me? The sadist? The guy who likes to fuck around? Good thing is, my opponents won’t know until I get there because I won’t know until I get there.”

“ Ten years ago, I stayed with my best friend, rather than the woman I knew I loved. And it got me a family that I loved, and still left. I changed from UFC, who might have forgiven me eventually, to the sport of wrestling, which would embrace me fully. Until I walked away. I came to PWE rather than stay at my brother's promotion, because I couldn’t do what I needed to do there, without sacrificing the integrity he’s earned. But make no mistake. None of these were choices. I did what was easier, what seemed right and less difficult. I simply moved from what was to what was, and never put in any effort. I did what was easy.”

“ That habit ends now. Today, I choose to strive and work at my profession, and to not simply coast, but to Earn what I want. To prove I deserve it. Today, I choose violence. And what comes next will be anything but easy. But it will be worth it. Thank you.”

I heard them clap and it felt nice, but I knew the truth is they would have clapped for me regardless. As long as I didn’t bring politics into it, they’d stand up and applaud like trained seals. She approached me right after and I have to say, there are not many people I’m happy to see, but Stella is always one of them. You remember Stella, she’s Tommy’s sister? The one who revealed he wasn’t actually dead? She tells me she watches PWE and she’s excited to see me against Rhodes. Being a tall woman herself, she sees Rhodes as who she could have been if she fought. We talk, and she tells me how happy Tommy is to be in my life as much as he is. I’m terrible friend, so that shocks me. And then she shocks me further.

Informed me she was in the old neighborhood. Heard that my ‘mother’ had kicked my sister Marty out of the house for talking to me. Which is odd considering the only thing Marty told me was to go fuck myself. This guy Stella used to date lives across the street. Saw the whole thing. Loving mother even assaulted her while doing so. Made me think. In a world where someone as easily confused as Marty is abused and keeps coming back for more, who is the bigger piece of shit? The person who does the abusing? Or the one who has the power to stop it, yet does nothing? The answer, you’ll agree, is simple, isn’t it?

So I got in my Dorado, and while I listened to some disc jockey, which is an antiquated term now that most media is digital, discussed how Holly Rhodes misstep last week meant that she could easily be back on top. And how even though Chaney never reached the level others have, he was due for an upset. I turned it off before they got to me. I didn’t care to hear their opinions. Either I lost a step due to the decade I spent playing house, or they think I’m right back where I was, and now I’m off my brother's leash, blah blah, yadda yadda. It doesn’t matter what they say. EIther they think I’m still good despite, and I have to show them I got better, or they think I’m shit and I’ll prove that wrong, too.

I pull my El Dorado up to the house. It’s funny, It’s this tiny little craftsman’s style house, but in my memory, it’s different. It’s this terrifying gothic nightmare that looks more in line with where the Adams family would live, rather than a fixer upper where Tom Hanks would live after a divorce, which is how I’d describe it now, if I must.

She was home. She’s always home.

After he passed away she had no reason to leave, as avoiding him was only slightly more rewarding to her black soul than avoiding the public which she had the same level of contempt for, but for different reasons. She’s the worst person I ever met in my entire life. And I had gone there that night to explain that in detail. I knocked on the door, and when she looked out and saw me, she gasped so hard I thought she vomited.

Vincent Black
“ I’m not going to tell you not to be scared. You should be scared. You should be terrified. You’ve earned that. With every action and inaction that you co-signed his deviant behavior with, with every shrug towards the misery of children you were charged with the care of, you earned that. And now, the wages of your apathy have come due. I’m done putting you in the back of my mind. I let that man die of natural causes, but when you go, when you pass from this earth and decrease the surplus negativity by a staggering amount, naturally that cause will be me. I am going to find Marty, and I’m going to take her from you. I am going to show her who you really are, and what you have always been. And then, I’m going to take everything else. Because while he was the one who did what he did, you could have stopped him and you did nothing. Now you will do nothing but suffer. See you soon, mother.”

I placed a small box on the porch that I had stuffed into the pocket of my leather jacket. It wasn’t a biker jacket either, which is what I would have bought when I started in this business. It was far softer and way more expensive. She’s opened it by now and found what was in it. A bullet. A 22. It goes to the gun I know she has. If she doesn’t get the symbolism, I’m hoping she gets the threat.

Dr. Abigail Tenor
“ Mr. Black, I have to tell you. The threats of violence against your competitors aside, if I feel that you pose a threat to someone outside of the business of wrestling, I have to contact the authorities.”

Vincent Black
“ That’s fine. I understand. But to be clear, I don’t threaten people like Rhodes and Chaney. I tell them my intent so that they’re aware and can make the proper adjustments to their plans. That’s part of it for me. Let them prepare, and do it anyway.”

Dr. Abigail Tenor
“ As long as you understand my position. Let me ask you, your wife, Why keep things from her? Do you not trust her? ”

Vincent Black
“ I trust her with my life. My mind on the other hand. Takes far too much explaining. I don’t want to upset her. ”

Dr. Abigail Tenor
“ Sometimes we need to upset the people we love in order to keep them close. ”

Vincent Black
“ That has not been my experience. ”

Dr. Abigail Tenor
“ I would like to continue next session if you like. That is, as long as you understand I will be telling the authorities about your threats against your mother. ”

Vincent Black
“ Foster mother. ”

Dr. Abigail Tenor
“ I could lose my license if you hurt her and I don’t report it. I realize the implications of the law getting involved could make our journey harder..”

Vincent Black
“ It’s not a concern. Tell them everything. ”

Dr. Abigail Tenor
“ Is it because you don’t mean it?”

Vincent Black
“ No, I mean it. But I have diplomatic immunity, so. Fuck it. See ya next time. ”

So I left and got in my El Dorado and began the adventure that would be finding my foster sister, and doing for her what she tried to do for me. And while thinking of where she could be, and how she was surviving, I realized that it was worse than I imagined. When I left, I had things, and people to fall back on. All she ever had was the very people she’s running from. And I hate myself for being one of them, But now was the time to change. Now if I could only figure out where to start.


_____________________________

She moves into the small grocery store, eyeing the red and white wanted sign in the front window. Her curly blond hair bounces on the top of her head, and she pushes her large and antiquated glasses back to their position on the bridge of her nose. The oversized pink and fluffy coat stiffly hangs off her, rubbing against the doorframe as she enters. She walks up to the register, and with a shaky hand and a shakier voice, asks for an application.

The small black woman behind the counter looks at her a little too long with a little too much in her eyes, and pulls the single piece of paper from beneath the counter. To the left of her, a small and slimy looking boy peers at her from under greasy strands of hair that fall before his eyes and face. She looks how he feels, and it makes him turn away.

She looks down at the application, and the areas required jump out. Name. Social Security. Phone Number. References. Any one of these would make her easy to find by them. All of them would be like sending up a flair that exploded with her face for every pair of eyes to see. She takes a deep breath, and slides it back, placing her gloved hand back into her pocket, and walking out into the cold. Help was wanted by both, but she was beyond any help they could offer.