Post by Raphael Dallins on Aug 22, 2021 2:35:22 GMT -5
The phone vibrated on the nightstand. Every shudder of hard plastic against the wood surface was a harsh, guttural sound cut through everything else in the bedroom. The white noise provided by the table fan, the dull hum of the fan motor, Gwen’s breathing near his ear. Everything that made for fitful rest was cut through. His eyes squinted while an arm reached over to the nightstand. He had to squint from the piercing light of the screen showing a Caller ID.
His jaw set.
She called this late on purpose, he convinced himself. Not just because it was midday afternoon where she was. He made the slow, painstaking effort of pulling himself from the comfort of where he lay. That meant untangling himself from Gwen's grip, vice-like in sleep just like on the mat. He heard something faint from her.
“What’s going on?” she asked, just barely cracking an eyelid.
“Just a phone call, go back to sleep.” It came gently enough from his lips, reassuring as he swung his legs to sit on the edge of the bed. His hand rested on the blanket that covered her hip. He half-hoped that by the time he answered they would have hung up. Not such the case with this caller.
“Took you long enough to answer.” The voice was feminine and spoke of shared origin to him, but simply his countrywoman she was not. Like life, it was more complicated than that.
“It’s 3 A.M. in the morning.” His tone was expectant of an apology.
“You’ll be up in a couple hours.” Her’s brokered none.
There was shared silence on both ends of the line. The only noises left to him were the fan and his girlfriend’s movement under the covers. His mouth twitched but the voice on the other end of the phone was quicker. For a time there was nothing but silence on both ends of the communication.
She finally spoke up again. “Have you considered my offer, Raphael?”
“I hate that name.” He could not make that clearer. Every syllable wrapped in disgust. He wanted to add that she could not call him that name, but instead, he left it there.
“I think it would do you some good.” She continued as though he hadn’t said a word.
Nothing but muted exhales came from his side of the phone line. She took it as an invitation to simply keep speaking. “I see you out there and so much of it reminds me of him. At first, I think it gave me nostalgia. I was feeling like I was watching his career come alive again. The more I thought about it though, I realized how little I liked the idea. We should not be those who came before us. Not when we can be better. I can help you be better.”
He waited for more, and more came from her. Sometimes he wondered if these calls were ever actually for his benefit, or just for the benefit of some washed-up wrestler. So desperate to put her unresolved issues out into the universe, as if he was her second try at a family’s worth of personal failings. It more and more felt like the second than the first.
“You know that doesn’t get you anywhere, shucking and jivin’ for fans. Who are you impressing with that shit? Whose benefit is that for? I mean because first off fuck these fairweather motherfuckers. You don’t know. You don’t see it but the time will come. You gonna give everything you are and never see any of the bottom line. You gonna die for their approval. How you gonna put it all out there and get nothing but dopamine from their cheers. How? How Sway?”
He held himself from interrupting. He was awake enough at this point to just listen to delusion in real-time. Just as he had a few times before. It was almost over, he had to remind himself. Just like the time before. Just like the time before that and the time before that.
“All this fool ever wanted to do was people please. Settle. All those moral wins for being a fuckin’ boy scout. Something I’m sure you’re familiar with. I was too, shit. Let me not even play pretend like it isn’t a whole genetic disposition. Maybe Victoria could convince you, man has she got stories. You should be careful with that you know, Raphael. Sometimes trying to please everyone just makes things worse. His marriage could’ve probably attested to tha--”
“Like I would know right?” His whisper was belligerent, and suddenly he wanted to apologize out of habit. She made a derisive noise in her throat in response. “I just mean I don’t know. Sorry. I don’t keep up y’all, it ain’t my business. His life ain’t ever apply to me, y’know.”
It was her turn to be silent. A single ‘hmm’ on the other end sounded disappointed. She had been hoping he would bite back maybe? His turn to continue unabated.
“You keep throwin’ him out there like it’s supposed to mean something to me. There’s not some grand destiny just because I’m like him, even on the surface. My life is my own. Not his. Not anyone else’s.” The implication was laid bare he hoped.
“You found yourself in wrestling, didn’t you?” She pointed out.
“Yes but--”
“No one put the gun to your head. It wasn’t decided for you like the rest of us. You came to this of your own volition. You were the kid no one wanted Raphael, and somehow you still found yourself in the very thing that put bread on this family’s table. You ain’t think that says something? That doesn’t scream destiny to you? That doesn’t hit on some level?”
“I only know what I’m connected to because of you and even with the truth as you tell it, I woulda been better off never knowin’ any of you. I’m...Not some last line of the legacy. As far as I know I wasn’t planned for anyway, ain’t? It ain’t done nothing for me for the last twenty-some years of my life, what would it do for me now?”
She didn’t answer him. For a moment all he could hear was the gentle breaths of Gwen next to him and the ceiling fan droning endlessly. He hesitated to say more. There was a part of him that desperately wanted to know everything about a family he had never met. The other part of him wanted to block this number and every possible method of contact after.
“I see you in that ring and you move like he did in his prime and you aren’t even at your peak. All the moves you make, all your choices, even down to the way you handle yourself all make me think of him and I know I’m not fuckin’ crazy or alone in that opinion. You wanna know what it would do now, linking up with me? It would save you, Raphael. That’s what it would do. It would save you from getting in your own way. I could save you from yourself.”
“I am not him.” He rasped.
“Yes, you are. Now you can go ahead and go on and end up just like him; alone, penniless, nothing to show for a life of sacrifice besides barely mobile. On the other hand? You can come to me. When you have no one else? When there’s no one left, when no one will hold you down or prop you up and this run of success fades? You know I’ll be there, little brother.”
She hung up before he got to, as if she knew. There on the edge of the bed, he sat with his thoughts. Them and the warm body next to him under the covers. He was far too awake to get back to sleep. He let himself get lost in the same white noise the table fan had been making all this time. His posture slumped forward and he stared into the unabating darkness.
He felt cold just then. The way his skin prickled, so much so that he had to rub his arm offhandedly to get some warmth by friction. It had to be the ceiling fan overhead or the table fan blowing the occasional gusts of air across his naked chest. His eyes had long since adjusted to the murk, making out the door and frame. He wanted to walk out to his balcony, sit in the chair and stare out into the infinite.
“I hate that name,” He whispered. To who? To Gwen asleep behind him, the darkness around him, or someone else, he could not say. ‘Raphael. What a stupid name’.
Less stupid than Sparrow, far and away.
He didn’t believe that.
‘No one put that name to me. They gave me up without even having the decency to give me a name. Did my adopted family name me? ‘Course not. It was just a name the caretaker did come up with and they ran with it. Just some random name. I could have been Akeel, or Iain, or Jerome. No one put any thought into it. No one said, ‘what if we name him this or that. Maybe we should name him this. No, I like this better’.
“They ain’t even have the decency to change my name once they got me. You want a kid that badly, you should have a name ready ain’t?” His question went unanswered, heard by him and answered by himself.
A nameless child.
An unwanted, unwelcome bastard child only sought out after the fact, only when he could serve some grand destiny the way she told it. There was nothing grand about this. How strange it sounded, grand destiny. Grand destiny for the family who had never wanted him in the first place. He could hardly blame her though. She was ten years old when he was born. She had only just learned of him a few years ago. It wasn’t as if she could have done anything for him then.
He moved slowly, finding clothes discarded on the carpet that would serve. They had escaped him in the sudden rush of doing laundry, at some point between grabbing detergent and quarters. He needed to do something. Something to put him at ease. It couldn’t be cooking, somehow soured in his thoughts just then. Maybe he could just walk. Maybe he could just walk and just keep walking until he lost track of time and distance. There in the night he could keep walking until he forgot where he began and the darkness ended.
Only until sunrise, he convinced himself.
He opened the door to the bedroom, gentle steps on plastic tile leading him to the living room and his keys on the table. It wasn’t long before the door to his apartment opened and closed behind him, a solemn echo that announced his disappearance to no one.
His jaw set.
She called this late on purpose, he convinced himself. Not just because it was midday afternoon where she was. He made the slow, painstaking effort of pulling himself from the comfort of where he lay. That meant untangling himself from Gwen's grip, vice-like in sleep just like on the mat. He heard something faint from her.
“What’s going on?” she asked, just barely cracking an eyelid.
“Just a phone call, go back to sleep.” It came gently enough from his lips, reassuring as he swung his legs to sit on the edge of the bed. His hand rested on the blanket that covered her hip. He half-hoped that by the time he answered they would have hung up. Not such the case with this caller.
“Took you long enough to answer.” The voice was feminine and spoke of shared origin to him, but simply his countrywoman she was not. Like life, it was more complicated than that.
“It’s 3 A.M. in the morning.” His tone was expectant of an apology.
“You’ll be up in a couple hours.” Her’s brokered none.
There was shared silence on both ends of the line. The only noises left to him were the fan and his girlfriend’s movement under the covers. His mouth twitched but the voice on the other end of the phone was quicker. For a time there was nothing but silence on both ends of the communication.
She finally spoke up again. “Have you considered my offer, Raphael?”
“I hate that name.” He could not make that clearer. Every syllable wrapped in disgust. He wanted to add that she could not call him that name, but instead, he left it there.
“I think it would do you some good.” She continued as though he hadn’t said a word.
Nothing but muted exhales came from his side of the phone line. She took it as an invitation to simply keep speaking. “I see you out there and so much of it reminds me of him. At first, I think it gave me nostalgia. I was feeling like I was watching his career come alive again. The more I thought about it though, I realized how little I liked the idea. We should not be those who came before us. Not when we can be better. I can help you be better.”
He waited for more, and more came from her. Sometimes he wondered if these calls were ever actually for his benefit, or just for the benefit of some washed-up wrestler. So desperate to put her unresolved issues out into the universe, as if he was her second try at a family’s worth of personal failings. It more and more felt like the second than the first.
“You know that doesn’t get you anywhere, shucking and jivin’ for fans. Who are you impressing with that shit? Whose benefit is that for? I mean because first off fuck these fairweather motherfuckers. You don’t know. You don’t see it but the time will come. You gonna give everything you are and never see any of the bottom line. You gonna die for their approval. How you gonna put it all out there and get nothing but dopamine from their cheers. How? How Sway?”
He held himself from interrupting. He was awake enough at this point to just listen to delusion in real-time. Just as he had a few times before. It was almost over, he had to remind himself. Just like the time before. Just like the time before that and the time before that.
“All this fool ever wanted to do was people please. Settle. All those moral wins for being a fuckin’ boy scout. Something I’m sure you’re familiar with. I was too, shit. Let me not even play pretend like it isn’t a whole genetic disposition. Maybe Victoria could convince you, man has she got stories. You should be careful with that you know, Raphael. Sometimes trying to please everyone just makes things worse. His marriage could’ve probably attested to tha--”
“Like I would know right?” His whisper was belligerent, and suddenly he wanted to apologize out of habit. She made a derisive noise in her throat in response. “I just mean I don’t know. Sorry. I don’t keep up y’all, it ain’t my business. His life ain’t ever apply to me, y’know.”
It was her turn to be silent. A single ‘hmm’ on the other end sounded disappointed. She had been hoping he would bite back maybe? His turn to continue unabated.
“You keep throwin’ him out there like it’s supposed to mean something to me. There’s not some grand destiny just because I’m like him, even on the surface. My life is my own. Not his. Not anyone else’s.” The implication was laid bare he hoped.
“You found yourself in wrestling, didn’t you?” She pointed out.
“Yes but--”
“No one put the gun to your head. It wasn’t decided for you like the rest of us. You came to this of your own volition. You were the kid no one wanted Raphael, and somehow you still found yourself in the very thing that put bread on this family’s table. You ain’t think that says something? That doesn’t scream destiny to you? That doesn’t hit on some level?”
“I only know what I’m connected to because of you and even with the truth as you tell it, I woulda been better off never knowin’ any of you. I’m...Not some last line of the legacy. As far as I know I wasn’t planned for anyway, ain’t? It ain’t done nothing for me for the last twenty-some years of my life, what would it do for me now?”
She didn’t answer him. For a moment all he could hear was the gentle breaths of Gwen next to him and the ceiling fan droning endlessly. He hesitated to say more. There was a part of him that desperately wanted to know everything about a family he had never met. The other part of him wanted to block this number and every possible method of contact after.
“I see you in that ring and you move like he did in his prime and you aren’t even at your peak. All the moves you make, all your choices, even down to the way you handle yourself all make me think of him and I know I’m not fuckin’ crazy or alone in that opinion. You wanna know what it would do now, linking up with me? It would save you, Raphael. That’s what it would do. It would save you from getting in your own way. I could save you from yourself.”
“I am not him.” He rasped.
“Yes, you are. Now you can go ahead and go on and end up just like him; alone, penniless, nothing to show for a life of sacrifice besides barely mobile. On the other hand? You can come to me. When you have no one else? When there’s no one left, when no one will hold you down or prop you up and this run of success fades? You know I’ll be there, little brother.”
She hung up before he got to, as if she knew. There on the edge of the bed, he sat with his thoughts. Them and the warm body next to him under the covers. He was far too awake to get back to sleep. He let himself get lost in the same white noise the table fan had been making all this time. His posture slumped forward and he stared into the unabating darkness.
He felt cold just then. The way his skin prickled, so much so that he had to rub his arm offhandedly to get some warmth by friction. It had to be the ceiling fan overhead or the table fan blowing the occasional gusts of air across his naked chest. His eyes had long since adjusted to the murk, making out the door and frame. He wanted to walk out to his balcony, sit in the chair and stare out into the infinite.
“I hate that name,” He whispered. To who? To Gwen asleep behind him, the darkness around him, or someone else, he could not say. ‘Raphael. What a stupid name’.
Less stupid than Sparrow, far and away.
He didn’t believe that.
‘No one put that name to me. They gave me up without even having the decency to give me a name. Did my adopted family name me? ‘Course not. It was just a name the caretaker did come up with and they ran with it. Just some random name. I could have been Akeel, or Iain, or Jerome. No one put any thought into it. No one said, ‘what if we name him this or that. Maybe we should name him this. No, I like this better’.
“They ain’t even have the decency to change my name once they got me. You want a kid that badly, you should have a name ready ain’t?” His question went unanswered, heard by him and answered by himself.
A nameless child.
An unwanted, unwelcome bastard child only sought out after the fact, only when he could serve some grand destiny the way she told it. There was nothing grand about this. How strange it sounded, grand destiny. Grand destiny for the family who had never wanted him in the first place. He could hardly blame her though. She was ten years old when he was born. She had only just learned of him a few years ago. It wasn’t as if she could have done anything for him then.
He moved slowly, finding clothes discarded on the carpet that would serve. They had escaped him in the sudden rush of doing laundry, at some point between grabbing detergent and quarters. He needed to do something. Something to put him at ease. It couldn’t be cooking, somehow soured in his thoughts just then. Maybe he could just walk. Maybe he could just walk and just keep walking until he lost track of time and distance. There in the night he could keep walking until he forgot where he began and the darkness ended.
Only until sunrise, he convinced himself.
He opened the door to the bedroom, gentle steps on plastic tile leading him to the living room and his keys on the table. It wasn’t long before the door to his apartment opened and closed behind him, a solemn echo that announced his disappearance to no one.
