December 24th 2021
Placenta California
4:36pm
Lewis sat across the living room from his parents, Richard and Lucia Pinkston. We’ve all “met” Richard once before. The tenured Stanford professor with steely blue eyes and crows feet beginning to form in the corners of his eyes. It’s Lewis’ mother that we are meeting for the first time. Lucia was a well known lawyer in the state of California, mere steps away from running for political office. Her hair was brown with a few spots of grey poking through the high bun that sits atop her head. It had been a few months since the Pinkston’s had been together for any extended amount of time. There was tension between them all but since it was Christmas Lewis was willing to overlook it, but also was prepared not to back down.
Lucia: I’m really glad you’re joining us for Christmas.
Lewis: I wouldn’t miss it for the world.
Richard nervously scoffs, gathering the attention of both Lewis and Lucia. Already agitated at being sober around his parents, Lewis responds.
Lewis: I haven’t missed one yet.
Richard: Actually you have, or are we forgetting the Christmas that your mother and I had to travel to Tijuana and bail you and your friend Ernesto out of a Mexican prison?
Lewis: Right, but technically we still spent Christmas together.
A wide smile from Lewis and an eye roll from his mother.
Lucia: Will Ophelia and… I’m sorry dear, I forgot the other ladies name.
Lewis: Bhourbon, ma. Or Bho.
Lucia: Ah yes, Bhourbon. Will they be joining us this Christmas?
With a quick glance down at his phone Lewis notices a message from Ophelia that simply says. ‘We Landed’.
Lewis: Yeah. They’ll be here in a few hours. Their flight just got in.
Lucia stands up and heads towards the kitchen, leaning over to her husband she whispers something in his ear. Lewis notices but doesn’t pay it any attention and fires off a response to Ophelia. “👍❤️”. Richard clears his throat as Lewis hastily jams his phone back into his pocket.
Richard: Lew can I ask you something?
Lewis: Sure thing. What’s up?
You can tell that Richard is uncomfortable with what he’s about to ask, but Lewis seems rather indifferent. His normal mannerisms aren’t as prevalent as usual. No foot tapping, no drumming of his fingers along the table, just his undivided attention.
Richard: Are you happy?
Thrown off for a second Lewis quickly nods his head. He knew what he meant, but he wanted to see how deep down the rabbit hole his father would go.
Richard: Seriously Lew. Are you happy? Like I know it had to be tough for you to not spend thanksgiving with us, and we haven’t really heard from you…
Lewis: Are you guys still on that? I already told you that it was an honest mistake. It was partially my fault for not taking control of the guests I wanted there.
Richard: It’s just since you’ve…
Lewis: Since I’ve what dad?
Richard: It’s not like that Lew and you know it.
Tensions were rising as Lucia walked in with a few cups of coffee. Setting them on the table in front of them.
Richard: I’m just saying that your mother and I feel like you’re wasting your potential.
Lewis laughs and runs his hand through his hair stopping at the back of his head and feverishly scratches before answering.
Lewis: I’m not. It’s just not the little bucket that YOU placed me in.
Lucia: Honey we just don’t like seeing you struggle is all.
A genuine look of concern from his mother as she continues.
Lucia: We see you galavanting around. Fighting in places where you shouldn’t be. Doing drugs for the world to see. Making a fool of yourself.
Richard: Your mother is right. When you’re out there doing all of this… you’ve got to remember…
A low growl emanates from Lewis before he cuts his father off.
Lewis: I’ve got to remember what exactly? That when I’m out there I’ve got to live up to the Pinkston name? Or watch everything I do or else mommy and daddy's friends will think less of them?
Richard: Exactly! When you’re out there you’re only thinking of yourself!
Richard stands up from the couch and continues, a giant vein pulsating from the side of his head.
Richard: All we’ve ever wanted from you, was to see the best of you. For you to live up to your full potentiality. And you’re throwing it away!
Lewis: Throwing it—-
Lewis stands up and can’t help but smile.
Lewis: You just don’t get it. You never have.
Lucia: Well why don’t you explain it to us then?
A slight head tilt and scoff from Lewis.
Lewis: Explain it to you? Why should I have to? Why can’t you both just understand that this is who I am? That whatever path you laid out for me when I was younger wasn’t the one I wanted, or needed.
Richard: Because we are your parents, and we want what’s best for you. And galavanting around like you are isn’t what we envisioned.
Lewis: What you envisioned? Do you hear yourself right now? This is my life! I did everything you wanted. I went to college at fifteen. I’ve got three PHD’s. I’ve done everything for YOU. I didn’t want to go to college, but as you said Dad, ‘That’s what people do.’ Well guess what family. I don’t fit in your box. I never fit in there. You just wish that I was like Barb.
A spoon rattles on the table as Lucia drops it. Causing both Richard and Lewis to turn towards her.
Lucia: Don’t bring your sister into this!
Lewis: Why not? She’s the perfect child for you. Don’t act like you don’t revere her more than me. You see me as the mistake. As the eccentric to be shunned and unacknowledged. You’d rather I be miserable and following the social norms, than be happy.
Richard: We want you to be happy.
Lewis: Then fucking act like it for one god damn second!
He quickly kicks the coffee table as the glasses rattle and tip over.
Lewis: You just can’t be proud of me. No matter what I do. Go to college. Not good enough. Become a wrestler. Not good enough. Become a household name. Not good enough. Hell when I got married I didn’t even get a congratulations, all I got was, ‘Lewis are you sure you’re doing the right thing?’. In a moment of pure happiness, you just had to make it about yourselves.
Richard: But….
Lewis: Shut up, I’m talking. You’re so worried about what I’m doing to your reputation. Concerned with only where you stand in your fields. Well here’s a newsflash, no one cares about you. Just remember this, when you’re (Lewis points to Richard) working at Stanford, and you’re (He swings his hand towards Lucia) out there on the political trail. That’s MY name you’re trading on. Don’t embarrass me.
As Lewis begins to walk away his father grabs him by the shoulder and spins him around.
Richard: You think you’ve got everything figured out don’t you? Typical of an addict.
Richard was quickly interrupted.
Lewis: Yes. I am addicted. Do you know what it’s like to be the smartest person in any room you walk into? Who am I kidding, of course you don’t, I’m here. Do you know what it felt like having Daddy walk you to your college classes because you weren’t of age to be unsupervised? No. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me? How hard it was to make friends? To seem normal? For me to do anything I see ten, twenty, thirty steps ahead. My brain sees stuff your little head couldn’t quantify.
Richard: Lewis…..
Lewis: Stop. When I first moved out and started using marijuana, do you know what it did? It slowed the world down. I made it so the neurons in my head fired just a half millisecond later. It allowed me to finally find myself, and just because who I found wasn’t what you envisioned, doesn’t mean you get to have a say in it.
Lewis gives his parents a cocky grin before continuing.
Lewis: So here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to go upstairs. When Pheely and Bho get here, we are going to enjoy dinner, exchange presents and then leave. The real shame in all of this, Pheely really wanted you to like her too. Actually since we are all being honest… she’s the only reason I’m here.
Lewis nods resignedly, and walks out of the living room, leaving his parents there to clean up the mess of the liquids left from the glasses that were tipped over.
He walks down the hallway and approaches a door near the end. Walking in he plops down on the bed and stares at the ceiling for a moment before grabbing for his book bag. Tossing a few shirts out onto the floor before grabbing a notebook and tossing it on the desk beside the bed. Still digging he pulls out a blunt, lighter and a pen.
He adjusts himself and sits down at the desk. There is something scribbled across the cover of the notebook but it can’t be made out. He flips through a few pages that are completely filled out and stops on a fresh page. He taps the pen against the desktop while grabbing for the blunt. He swirls the pen around in one hand, while doing the same with the blunt in the other.
Lewis: I’ll save that for later.
He sighs and sets the blunt down to the side and begins to write feverishly in the notebook.
Dear Damiean,
I truly hope that this eventually finds you. I know that you won’t see this until it’s entirely too late, and for that I do truly apologize. I just needed a way to get my real thoughts out without shattering the illusion I’ve carefully built. The visage of the aloof moron stumbling around, seemingly without purpose, we will get to that in a little bit so just allow me a moment to gather my written thoughts.
I guess this is where we are. This is the point. We all know that you stare down at everyone on the roster, and why wouldn’t you? I mean you've been the goddamn Excellence Champion since day one! It’s an impressive feat. It’s something that we all strive for here in PWE. The overwhelming feeling that you are the top of the company. The one everyone flocks to when talking about PWE.
It must really make you think then. Like really look deep within yourself and ponder the question…
Why do they always talk about him? The him in this situation is actually me. Be honest with yourself for a moment. Why me? Why do I garner sooooo much attention, with such little gravitas. When the talking heads speak of PWE, they of course HAVE to talk about you. You are the big dog after all. They have to talk about Zoey and Lachlan. You three are the pinnacle of this company. Then they speak about me. The aloof idiot, who doesn’t know what a suplex actually is, just that he has to do one. The idiot who’s only friend in the company is a cat, who I’m pretty sure doesn’t actually like me.
A man who when he is spoken about is dismissed quicker than the thought it takes to get through is initials. While you’re out there trying to get people to type your name right on Twitter, they only need to remember three letters for me. L. C. P. That’s the difference between you and I, and trust me there are plenty, I’m really good at marketing myself. I like to open my mouth, say dumb shit and get attention. To someone such as yourself, it may seem odd, but the results speak for themselves.
Who was the hottest name in the Margarita Mix? Who was the hottest signing here in PWE? Whose face was the first face you saw on the last PPV’s poster? Me. Damiean, I’m still trying to figure out who you really are in the grand scheme of things. Since night one here, when you threw me over the top rope and ended my night early. It was that exact moment I knew that you were going to be the one I made my name off of.
It wasn’t going to be Betsy. Or Zoey. Or Allen. No. It was always going to be you. I don’t believe in fate. It’s an abstract thought that derails the minds of people who hope and dream without action. The problem with playing the sucker to everyone, is allowing the others to believe they aren’t being played.
Sometimes you have to play the sucker to get the sucker. Allow others to see things with a certain rose colored tint to it. This has all been carefully crafted since I decided you were the sucker. And guess what Damiean. Even if I lose I’ll still generate more than you could ever imagine. More sales. More marketing coverage. More eyes. Something you couldn’t do with offering an open invitational.
Congrats. You were able to wrangle the Whore of Bethlehem to PWE, that’s Chris Page if you were wondering. You brought a geriatric to PWE. For a man who claims to be smart, you’re really fucking dumb as shit. Then again that’s the point I was trying to make wasn’t it?
You’re going to bring up you tossed me over the top rope in a battle royal. You’ll bring up losing a ladder match for the Impulse title. How I lost to Allen with nothing on the line other than pride. And of course how I lost to Betsy in a triple threat match, a woman who you defeated for your very title. Surely you’ll bring up that the people I have beaten haven’t been the… greatest of competition.
And for once in your life, you’d be right.
I would be remiss if I didn’t mention, I still can’t wrestle. Well I am getting better, but there’s no way I could compete with the likes of you…right? I mean how much would it suck for you and your God right?
I mean Violence is your god right? There you go again using the abstract in a vain attempt to conjure some sort of feelings in the people around you. In the people that you deem lesser. Violence isn’t a god. It’s an action. It’s a thought. It’s not something to be prayed to at night. I can see you now Damiean, kneeling at your bedside in your LCP pajamas.
“Dear Violence, please don’t allow the very few fans that I do have, realize that I’m nothing more than a fraud. That I’m incapable of adjusting to what is put before me. That I continue to do the same thing monthly. Amen”
Violence isn’t something to be prayed to and it certainly isn’t some mythological deity in the sky ready to strike vengeance upon people for eating meat on a Sunday during certain months. No. It’s a little boy, who has had troubles in the past, trying to be edgy. When the little boy doesn’t realize that he’s already on the edge and the predator approaches.
So we all know that you’re going to underestimate me. That’s a given. That’s what everyone does. How has that worked out? Right? See Damiean it has always been about Subverting Expectations. You tend to get more when you play the fool. People take it easy on you when they think you’re helpless. It’s funny really, in an industry filled with grifters and conmen that you would so easily fall into the trap.
I thought you said you were good at this? I mean look I’m literally stealing a page from your book, pun fully intended. Yet you would act as if this was something groundbreaking. It’s not. I’ve seen Ash Cassidy write notes. Eden Morgan-Baal writes notes. Shawn Warstein has written notes. This isn’t anything new or ground breaking, yet you treat it as if it’s the end all be all. It’s not.
This is mockery to the highest degree. See when they did it, it was out of necessity. The way you do it is because you’re not entertaining and watching you get a point across without it being carefully crafted is pathetic at best, and a sad cry for help at worst. I mean just look at what I’m doing right now. It’s literally your entire gimmick.
I’ve taken it. Made it more entertaining. More palatable to the mass audience. And showed the world in a few simple pen strokes, that you’re fallible. That despite all your victories, you’re flawed.
You said open the flood gates to the outside. Bring the best the world could offer. You were already looking past me. Shame really. Anyone and everyone could’ve seen it coming. It’s not my fault you’re about to drown in your own arrogance. Until we meet in person Damiean.
Hugs and Kisses,
Lewis Chad Pinkston
Lewis drops the pen on the desk and quickly reads over his note. Going through and making sure it’s just as he wanted. Content with his findings he folds the front cover over. The handwriting on the front is unmistakable.
“The Art Of War: A Practical Application of some of the World’s greatest Military Tactics.
A thesis by Doctoral Candidate Lewis C. Pinkston”The camera fades to black as we hear a familiar voice echo through the black screen.
Narrator: Well it would seem that Lewis has finally let the cat out of the bag. Pretty smart if you ask me. Now only if he would take that brain of his and actually invest it into some wrestling training. Yet that’s not where our story ends, no, this is just the beginning. When your eyes finally view this it will have already been too little too late. Regardless of the outcome against the Excellence Champion, Lewis has shown you that he is ready to take on all comers. Best Improved Wrestler in PWE. Next year? Well 2022 is going to start off with the most unlikely of phrases.
PWE Excellence Champion, Lewis Chad Pinkston.
Happy New Year.
