Thankful

“I’m feelin’ like a bad boy
Hmm, just like a bad boy
I’m rippin’ up a rag doll
Like throwin’ away an old toy”
– ‘Rag Doll”, Aerosmith

The red sun balances on the highest ramparts of the mountains, and in its waning light, the foothills appear to be ablaze. A cool breeze blows down out of the sun and fans through the tall dry grass, which streams like waves of golden fire along the slopes toward the rich and shadowed valley.  In the knee-high grass, “Godly” Ken Davison stands with his hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket, studying the vineyards below. The vines were pruned for the upcoming winter. The colorful wild mustard that flourished between the rows during the colder months has just started growing in. The earth is dark and fertile.

The vineyards encircle a barn, outbuildings, and a bungalow for the caretaker. Except for the barn, the largest structure is the owner’s Victorian house with it’s gables, dormers, decorative millwork under the eaves and carved pediment over the front porch steps. This could be their house. Davison contemplates a mental image of Kyra’s face, as detailed as a photograph. The thought of her perfect features engender thoughts of succulent, sugar-laden bunches of pinot noir and grenache with translucent purple skin. Davison can almost taste the phantom grapes, imagining them bursting in his teeth.

“To me, this was where I pictured my life right now. Professional wrestling champion, working all over the globe. I never in a million years had pictured doing it on my own. But, that is exactly what I had been doing for the most of the last twenty four years. It has been with the help of men like LA Riotz, Mr. Popular, and my brother Mac Bane, that I have been able to succeed at this level for so long. Though they have not always been there in body, they have been there in spirit.”

As it slowly sinks below the mountains, the sun sprays light so warmly colored and so mordant that, where touched, the darkening land appears to be wet with it and dyed forever. The grass grows red as well, no longer like a fireless burning, but instead, a red tide washing over his knees.

“At one point in time, I thought that this house was my future. At one point in time, this was the dream. That is no longer the case. Now, I’ve set up my life in Baltimore. Now, I have found that I am able to be the man I always wanted to be. This is most fortuitous for the Coalition. This is most unfortunate for Ragdoll.”

Davison watches as the sun continues to sink into the horizon. With each passing moment, the grass seems to grow into a darker, deeper shade of red.

“This year has been a hell of a year. Economic woes. Pandemic. Political infighting. 2021 has been a year of unprecedented challenges. Though things are getting better, many people are struggling with the question “What are you thankful for?” Indeed, there are a lot of things, even in these troubled times, that we should be thankful for.”

“First of all, we should all be thankful to be alive. You’ve got another day above ground. How cool is that?” Ken says sarcastically. “You should be thankful that your parents met. You should be thankful that they liked each other for the five minutes it took your dad to finish. Be grateful for whatever weird, against-all-odds circumstances that came together in the universe for you to be born. Especially Ragdoll. She should be thankful her mother didn’t swallow because I assure you that the rest of the world regrets it. She should be thankful to have been born in the 20th or 21st centuries. Had she not, she could have contracted malaria, pneumonia, even diarrhoea. If we had been lucky, Great Grandpa Pierrot could have contracted measles back in the day and saved us the trouble of having to deal with Ragdoll. Still, at the very least, Ragdoll should be thankful.”

Davison takes a second to stop and breathe. He knows what he needs to say. Every thought, every action he has taken was chosen with meticulous precision. He is not a feral animal. He is a predator. There is no wasted movement. There are no wasted words. The same could be said for Ragdoll. For all the smoke and mirrors, inside is the mind of a mad scientist.

“We should also be thankful that our needs are being met. For most of us, that would include our homes, having food to eat, having shelter from the elements including heat and air conditioning. We should also be thankful for our unmet needs. We should be thankful for the things that motivate us, that light that proverbial fire under our asses. We should be thankful for the things that get us out of bed in the morning. Speaking of beds, the clown should also be thankful for hospitals and the medical care they provide. It is a service that most take for granted. After Synergy, Raggy will be thankful that needs she wasn’t yet aware of are able to be met.”

“That is a perfect segue to my next point. We should be thankful for pain and longing. Surely, you think I am joking, but I am completely serious. There are numerous religious texts that speak of this. The Quran chapter 2, verses 155 through 157 says “Be sure We shall test you with something of fear and hunger, some loss in goods, lives, and the fruits of your toil. But give glad tidings to those who patiently persevere. Those who say, when afflicted with calamity, ‘To Allah we belong, and to Him is our return.’ They are those on whom descend blessings from their Lord, and mercy. They are the ones who receive guidance.” In the Book of Mormon, 3 Nephi, chapter 15, verse 9 says “Few promises made in scripture have the credentials and guarantees of the promise made to those who endure to the end: “Look unto me, and endure to the end, and ye shall live; for unto him that endureth to the end will I give eternal life.” No matter your faith or your belief, you are told to persevere. We must not just persevere, but we must also become stronger, as a blade forged in fire. Obviously, you are not a believer. That is why I stand here before you, to tell you that I have been through many fires, Ragdoll. I have been forged in the fires of hell and THAT is why I stand before you, now a God because I have been unafraid of pain, unafraid of growth.”

He turns his back on the house and the vineyards. In a way, it almost feels like he’s turning his back on the life he had imagined. The scent of grapes still lingers, catching his nostrils, and it triggers the increasingly intense taste of grapes.

“That final thing you should be thankful for is forgiveness. We all mess up. We all have to ask for forgiveness sometimes. We all have reason to be thankful when it’s given. Because you’re human; you’ve been hurt by other people. You’ve probably even been hurt by people you care about. Maybe deeply. What was it? Daddy didn’t love you and Mommy didn’t care? Did your creepy Uncle stuff you at Thanksgiving dinner as I kid? I digress. The fact of the matter is, there is something in your past that causes you to run around like you got gangbanged by Crayolla. Who do you think you are? John Wayne Gacy with tits?.That’s all fine and good, because as I’ve said, you are nothing more than a psycho Twinkie with a rotten filling.”

Davison walks westward into the shadows cast by the high forest ridges. Davison can smell the small animals of the open meadows cowering in their burrows. He hears the whisper of feathers carving the wind as a hunting hawk circles hundreds of feet overhead, and he feels the cold glimmer of stars that are not yet visible. He continues addressing the camera as he walks.

“However, Ragdoll, I have to admit that I have misled you. Not only did I mislead you, I blatantly lied to you. For the average person at home, THEY should be thankful for forgiveness. You, on the other hand, should NOT be thankful for forgiveness. You should not seek forgiveness because you shall find none. You know how I stayed at the top of the business this long, for all these years? Fear. Not just fear, but the sheer spectacle of fearsome acts. Somebody steals from me, I break their hands. They offend me, I will staple their tongue. They rise against me, I cut off their head, stick it on a pike, raise it high up so all on the streets can see. That’s what preserves the order of things. Fear. You can sit there and act like an asshole all you want. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know. My existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, serves to bring others to justice. We use words like honor, code, and loyalty. We use these words as the backbone of a life spent defending something. Then again,in The Satanic Bible, Anton LeVay says “There is nothing inherently sacred about moral codes. Like the wooden idols of long ago, they are the work of human hands, and what man has made, man can destroy!” That leaves only loyalty. I show loyalty to those who deserve it. I show loyalty to men like Mac Bane, Dominic Strife and Supreme Machine. I have no loyalty to you and, as such, I must destroy you.”

“Josephine Angelini said in her work ‘Firewalker’ That “Love is willing to become a villain so that the one who you love can stay a hero.” Ragdoll, at Synergy, I am not coming to simply defeat you. I am coming to make an example out of you. I have sat here and tried to be the nice guy and I am sick and tired of it. I am tired of holding back and allowing people who are beneath me to come out ahead. That includes you, Tempest, and Cervantes.”

Davison stops and smiles.

“Ragdoll, you are a formidable foe. What I want you to do is take this one singular opportunity to strip all your psychosis away. Bring me Jaclyn Pierrot. Leave the doll at home. Leave the facade behind and face me as the strong woman you truly are, not this weak shell of a woman who leans upon bad acting and facepaint for support. I want this match to simply be Ken Davison against Jaclyn Pierrot. No Waffles. No Bunny. No dead friends getting skull fucked by the Mafia. Just you and I. What do you say?”

He makes the cut signal with his hand at the camera crew as his serious look starts to fade into a smile as he walks over to his black 1989 Pontiac Grand Am. It is not so much the vehicle causing the smile, but the driver. He walks over and opens the door, and smiles at his fiance Kyra, who has been waiting patiently in the car.

“Hey, babe,” Ken says as he leans in to kiss Kyra.

“Are you ready for your match with Ragdoll?”

“I’d better be.”

Ken climbs into the passenger’s side, and Kyra throws the car into gear. She has a lead foot, to say the least. In the strange sea of shimmering red light, the black shadows of overhanging trees flickered shark-swift across the windshield. On the winding two lane blacktop, Ken sits uncomfortably as Kyra handles his Mustang for the first time. She drives with an expertise that he admired, but still, this was his pride and joy, and the fact that she opened it up made him feel a little uncomfortable, even though she’d been driving it for months.

“You have a heavy foot.”

Kyra smiled at Ken, her brown hair flying in the wind. The air was brisk, but refreshing.

“Better than a big, fat, bald head.”

“You’re gonna get us killed.”

“Better than being dead for dinner. Besides, with all the things you and I have done to each other in the ring, you think I’m worried about rules?”

“You know who is worried about the rules? The State Troopers.”

Ken braced himself as Kyra took a curve just a little too fast.

“Well, one of us has to be a responsible adult.”

“Easy there, grandpa.”

She began to laugh as Ken shot her a look of mock anger.

“Yeah, I’m ancient.”

The back and forth between the two is an interesting juxtaposition between the Mr. Hyde portrayed in the ring.

“Man, I love speed,” Kyra says to no one in particular.

“I hate it.”

“I love to move, streak, fly. Hey, maybe I was a gazelle in a past life.”

“Maybe you were a mad woman locked away in Bedlam.”

“Or a cheetah. Cheetahs are really fast.”

“Yeah, a cheetah, and one day you were chasing your prey and ran straight off a cliff at full tilt. You were the Wile E. Coyote of cheetahs.”

The both of them shared a laugh as Kyra sped along. It was a nice change of pace to see Kyra genuinely having fun. The stress at home was a lot, so having this moment was nice.

“Ken?”

“Yeah, babe?” Ken could sense the concern in Kyra’s voice.

“Just do me a favor? Don’t get killed,” she says in a slightly hushed tone.

“I won’t, mama. I promise.”

“And you can’t break a promise, KenKen!” comes the small voice of Adina from the backseat. Kyra once again comes up on a turn too fast, causing Ken to instinctively grab his ‘Oh Shit’ handle.

“I’m a good driver.”

“I know.”

“Then relax.”

‘Relax,’ Ken thinks to himself. Like either of the two of them were ever able to relax. Especially with all the tension they’ve had between them lately.

“Sorry, just a little on edge. Ragdoll creates a large shadow, in a manner of speaking. I just don’t want to blow it.”

“Gonna be hard to blow it, especially against that particular brand of crazy.”  Kyra replies, shrugging her shoulders.

“That brand of crazy has a damned good track record. Maybe I can trick her into getting disqualified…” Ken muses. “Why don’t I think that would work?”

“Don’t worry, Ken. You’ll be fine.”

“Thanks. What if a tire blows?”

“The tires won’t blow. And I thought you were worried about blowing it.”

“I’m a multi-channel worrier. What if one does?”

“Then we’re just jelly in a can. They won’t even be able to separate the remains into two distinct bodies. It will be a total amorphous mess. They won’t even need coffins for us. They’ll just pour our remains in a jug and put us in one grave, and the headstone will read “Kyra Kenneth Johnson Davison. Only a Cuisinart would have been more thorough.”

There is a momentary pause.

“You know what I worry about?” Kyra says as Ken shrugs. “You, asshole.”

Ken took a moment to appreciate her concern, before placing his hand on the gear shift. Kyra smiled back and took Ken’s hand. Their romance language was a strange one.

“I love you, too.”

They rode on in silence, just feeling the moment. There wasn’t much else to say. They were late for dinner.