The Patient Man

“ I climbed the mountain to see the world, not so the world could see me. ”

“ That’s the line that I usually roll out, with lots of metaphors about new mountains to climb, and whether the mountain I’d already climbed was just a foothill in a much larger cluster of mountains. ”

“ But it is a line. A line aimed at framing myself as a person with perspective and humility. ”

“ I’ll be completely honest with you, I already know that I can each and every name on this roster, it isn’t a question of if, only when. And I know how that sounds, like every other carbon copy cookie cutter big-mouth that ever laced up a pair of boots. ”

“ But I don’t wear normal fucking boots. ”

—————————————

The Protagonist’s Doc Marten boot pressed against the wall, his heel rocking toward his toes and back again, rhythmically. Sort of like a nervous tick, you could say. His soft, slender digits traced along the chrome railing of the empty and dishevelled hospital bed that was adjacent to him.

Tap tap tap his ebony nailed tinkled over the cool metal-plated cylinder.

It was unlike him to seem anxious, but there wouldn’t be a more fitting adjective to describe his body language. In fact, it even seemed to unsettle Mia Giovanni, who was pacing back and forth on the opposite side of the hospital room.

Almost as though one’s anxiety was feeding the other, they’d glance across at each other when the other wasn’t looking, trying to get a read on how bad this was going to be. Would this derail wedding plans? World title shots?

Neither spoke.

A diminutive and angry looking lady rushed past the window. It’s difficult to make out anymore more than a shape and a mess of black hair with a white streak through it, which could’ve possibly been a bow, or ribbon. But the commotion captures both of their attention as this person shoves past what appears to be an orderly and then curses at them to be more careful.

The orderly, who is in fact an intern, seems perturbed, and a little frustrated. But they are a professional, so they bite their tongue and don’t tell the insolent and rude moron that they are, in fact, an insolent and rude moron. One deep breath follows another, before they gather the papers that had flown out of the chart they were carrying.

The portly intern’s face left no trace of his prior interaction, as he beamed a wide smile into the room and gently tapped the knuckle of his right hand onto the beechwood coated hollow wooden door that was already partly ajar.

“ Oh, the patient is not back yet. Okay. ” The intern looks to the hallway beyond the room, awkwardly unsure of what to do next. The occupants of the room look on expectantly, wondering what news he had to bring. Despite being deemed responsible enough to carry out this task independently, this person was entirely unsure on what to do in this circumstance.

“ Well, uhm, hello, my name is Doctor Chris. Are you Miss, ” he looks down at the chart, trying to visualise how to pronounce the name, “ Monterrey? ”

“ It’s Montuori. ” quips The Protagonist. “ It’s Italian. Like Francesca. ”

The last part of the sentence is dripping with derision, which nobody in the room understands. Mia looks behind her, puzzled by the reference, and pauses momentarily before concluding that she doesn’t have the answer and doesn’t care enough to enquire further.

Turning back to the orderly to answer his question, a gush of excitement fills her voice. “ Not yet at least, but by the end of the year I will be! ”

Half a beat later, she thinks to temper her tone. It might not be good news, her glee could be inappropriate.

“ Hi Doctor Chris. Did you bring good news? ” The Protagonist interjects, not allowing the focus of conversation to drift. His emphasis on the word ‘doctor’ seems condescending, as though he doesn’t believe that this person before him is a trained medical professional.

Dr Chris, the intern, begins to run his clammy gloved finger down the brown cover of the files in his hand, something inside of him keen to demonstrate to the dishevelled wannabe rock’n’roller just how knowledgeable he is in the field of medicine, and in particular, in the field of orthopedics.

He is, however, interrupted by the approaching noise of an angry Italian-American being rolled down the hallway in a wheelchair by an orderly. Dr Chris is shuffled into the room in order to make room for Joe Montuori to be pushed in.

“ No, no, give me that. ” Joe snaps at Dr Chris, reaching out for the notes.

“ I was just about to go through the results of your scans, Mr Monterrey. ” Stammers Dr Chris, but the unapologetic Montuori doesn’t want to hear of it.

“ It’s Montuori. MON-TOR-EE. ” The Protagonist repeats from the far side of the room.

“ I’m sorry. You did say. I forgot. I’m sorry. ” Dr Chris says as quickly as he can flush the words through his mouth.

“ Don’t be sorry. Just be better. ”

“ Shut up, Stratford. Jeez. Give the kid a break. It’s probably his first day or something. ” Joe laughs as he reaches up and takes the medical file from Dr Chris.

“I’m a second year intern, I’m thirty-two years old.” is what Dr Chris wanted to say, but didn’t.

It had been quite the five minutes, for Dr Chris, who took his cue and excused himself.

Joe groaned, finally away from all the medical staff. His leg has been raised and wrapped in a cast as a precautionary measure, and it was aching. He pressed his thumbs into the back of his calf as best as he could through the protective layering and tried to stimulate some feeling in there.

“ Okay, let’s see what the damage is.” Joe smirked to himself all-too-confidently. But over the course of the next couple of minutes, Joe’s smirk grew narrower and narrower until his face resembled a furious, yet toothless, old man who was trying to chew a wasp. You know that poised look of fury, just before it explodes? That. It’s almost like an ‘o’-face. You can’t really control it, it never looks pretty, it just is what it is.

“ Are you fffffucking kidding?” He finally stammers.

Mia Giovanni’s absent expression quickly turns to one of concern. She had been expecting a couple of stitches and an ice pack overnight and back to work tomorrow, so this captured her attention quite quickly.

Over the course of the next five minutes straight, Joe Montuori rants about the repercussions of such an injury. He is to be sidelined for six months with a fully ruptured achilles. Entirely off his feet for three weeks, and in a cast for three months. Only light walking and rehab thereafter.

“ Baby, we will get through. Don’t worry. ” Mia’s hand travels the length of Joe’s spine in a consoling manner, but he isn’t here for it.

“ Mia, sorry. You don’t understand. I have so much at stake over the next few months. I am going to miss out on fighting at the Porter Invitational, defending my belts in IIW and WGWF, fighting for the Excellence Championship against that fucking moron Allen Hot Diggity Chaney. ” Joe Montuori sighs.

“ That piece of shit is never going to let me live it down, either. ” Joe says, deflated. “ In less than five minutes, I’m going to have a torrent of tweets, quote tweets, subtweets from half the fuckin’ industry saying I’m ducking Chaney. I ain’t scared of that fat piece of shit. ”

“ I know, baby. But who cares what they think? You’ve got me, you’ve got Gia. It could be our own little vacation, you’ve been working almost every week since she was born. It could be nice. ”

It takes a moment for Joe to process the words that are coming out of his wife-to-be’s mouth, and there’s perhaps a part of the old Joe Montuori still lurking beneath the surface that wants to tell her she’s a dumb fuck for even suggesting it, but this Joe, the Joe with Mia? It’s like he’s had an epiphany.

“ I have.. a suggestion. ” The Protagonist smiles as the two lovebirds turn their attention to the third person in the hospital room.

“ I’m listening. ”

And as The Protagonist started to unravel his idea, the smirk on Joe’s face grew right back to where it had been and even larger than before he realised his fate.

He couldn’t quite believe this turn of events, and he wouldn’t have, unless they’d have unfolded right in front of his eyes as they had. The man who thought so little of him that he wouldn’t even beat him up three months ago was now stood at his bedside, doting on him, and vowing to make sure he doesn’t miss out on a golden opportunity.

—————————————

“ To stand sixteen feet across a wrestling ring from me, you would not be intimidated. You would see a relatively short man, wearing makeup, with crows feet starting to spider its’ way deeper and deeper into my cheekbones. This man is not built like a Greek God, and you likely believe that one shift shove would send him rolling through the ropes and landing with a broken hip. ”

“ But try sixteen inches. I’ll skip over the joke in reference to Chelsea’s side-hustle, if only to not de-rail my point. Oh, there’s probably another joke in there, too. Apparently, she’s hung like Mary Poppins’ purse. ”

“ Something strange happens to people in my presence. The closer they get, their big tough words start to drift into quietness, the bravado simmers and dissipates into… subservience, almost. ”

“ They break. ”

“ I have witnessed it, countless times. I can pinpoint the precise moment in August of last year when it happened to Chelsea Skye. The first time we fought. The confidence that she could do everything I could do, but better. That she had all of the strengths to her game that she had analysed in mine, plus more. ”

“ It took less than thirty seconds for her to realise that she wasn’t playing with a garden-variety cruiserweight, and whilst she put on her brave face, the fire in her eyes dwindled until it was replaced entirely with resignation. There would be no recourse, no path to victory. She knew that even with every last ounce of ability and heart she could muster, the best she could hope for was to be pitied as she went out on her shield. ”

“ And she did. ”

“ And as I predicted, the same bi-polar rhetoric followed. ”

“ She wallows in her self-pity. But publicly. And then she is filled with empty and meaningless encouragement from anonymous acquaintances who want to be perceived as a positive light in a dark world. They think they are doing something great for her, they are building her confidence and self-esteem. But confidence and esteem do not win you matches. What they are really doing is setting her up for the next fall. They’re complicit, even if they don’t realise it. ”

“ She excuses herself of any fault. It wasn’t her fault. This happened, or that. Maybe next time. All fed to her from the white knights who want nothing more than the same attention from her that she craved from them. Parasitic sycophants, all feeding from one another, not realising that in doing so, they are ultimately draining each other dry. ”

“ It is the same sad story, over and over again. ”

“ She doesn’t take ownership of her shortcomings because she doesn’t have to. ”

“ I was hopeful that her experience against me last year would be a catalyst, a kick in the ass. By demonstrating exactly what is happening, and showing her the consequence, it might finally give her the impetus to reflect. To take stock of her place in the world, and to demand more for herself. ”

“ But that’s the kicker, isn’t it? It’s hard to look in the mirror and accept that you played some part in this. It is much easier to look around the room and think of other reasons why your luck keeps running dry, why you keep betting on black and seemingly beyond all odds the wheel keeps landing on red. ”

“ Surely, if you keep playing black, it’s got to come up black eventually, right? ”

“ Sure. Maybe. If you don’t go broke first. ”

“ I’m not necessarily against the idea of having a second match against Ms. Skye, though I do question the intention by the booking team. ”

“ Last summer, I played with my food. I let her struggle, let her free, and then put her out of her misery, to really drive home the point that there were levels to this, that she was in way over her head. That whole ordeal took less than three minutes. I hoped it would be for the betterment of her career, but she has shown no personal growth and has yet to take responsibility for her part in any of her shortcomings. ”

“ I’m known to be a patient man, some might say ‘calculated’, whatever suits your narrative... But I don’t suffer foolishness. If Chelsea couldn’t take the lesson the last time, I won’t waste my breath again. But I am certain that when she steps through those ropes to stand across me once more, all of the false confidence that has been dutifully regurgitated from the ticks and leeches she calls mates will roll straight out of her clown car cunt and down her leg. ”

“ This time, I have no intentions on benevolence. ”

“ Thirty seconds. ”

“ And I’ll spend twenty-five of them savouring the scent. ”

—————————————

The Protagonist felt quite satisfied as he strolled casually through the corridors of the hospital. His friend would be okay, and he had done a good deed. Now, he could go back to his hotel and relax.

His attention was caught by fast-approaching footsteps. Dainty clicking heels tap-tap-tapping at the tiled floor.

“ Stephen.. ” Mia Giovanni’s voice came softly, quietly, like she didn’t want to be overheard.

The Protagonist turned, and smiled at her. He didn’t say anything, allowing her to close the distance a little more, and to begin speaking.

“ I just wanted to thank you, you know. For this. I know how much Joe respects you, and I know how much it means to him that you’ve got his back. ” She reaches her hand out to his wrist.

“ Absolutely, ” The Protagonist takes her hand into the palm of his and then rests his other hand on top of it, “ Don’t even sweat it. ”

“ He’s been talking about killing you for months, it’s been driving him insane that you refused to fight him, its just... the last thing he would’ve expected. ”

Before allowing Mia too much time to dwell on that thought, The Protagonist lets go of her hand and braces her shoulders.

“ We’re girl dads. We’ve got more in common than even he thinks. ” He pauses, briefly, to emit a compassionate sigh. “ I just want to make sure that beautiful little girl you have gets everything she deserves. ”

“ Oh, well, I know he will appreciate it. And I do, too. Thank you. Take care. ”

Mia begins to turn away from him, making her way back toward Joe Montuori’s hospital room. The Protagonist gives her a step and a half before calling after her.

“ It’s been so long since we saw her, how’s she doing? ”

Mia half-turned, that awkward middle-distance between trying to leave but trying to not be rude. “ Oh, she’s doing absolutely great. You’ll have to come by our hotel or the house, soon. ”

“ I would love to, I will get my calendar up on my laptop later and double check when. ” he pauses briefly, “ She must be getting so big by now, I’m sure you’ve already enrolled her for dance class? She’s a surefire prodigy with all the talent in her genepool. ”

“ Dance class? ” Mia asks curiously, turning her body fully to face The Protagonist.

“ You were such a terrific dancer, Mia. I know Joe’s daughter will grow up to be just like her mother. ”

The Protagonist smiles warmly once again, turning on his heels and leaving Mia a little dumbfounded in his wake.

“ I’ll text Joe later, when I’ve looked at the calendar. Take care.” he said over his shoulder.