It's 11:58 in the evening on this quiet Baltimore evening. Sitting on his front stairs, nursing a bottle of Stewart's Root Beer, he sits, pondering his future. The rain outside falls, but Ken Davison is oblivious to it. In his mind, it is just him and his thoughts. It had been a long time since he had been anywhere near Matt Knox, directly, at least. The last time they shared a company together, Ken was the World Champion and Matt Knox was leaving the company in a fit of frustration after amassing an impressive 4-6 record.
Ken looks up, his introspection is broken by the creaking of a screen door. His fiancee, Kyra, steps through the door, carrying another couple of bottles of root beer for Ken and herself. Ken originally came from a train wreck of a family. His father disappeared and his mother was abusive. He learned to handle himself on the streets, but eventually fell into a good home. Staring off into the streets of Baltimore, his past was haunting him. With how good his life has been, there has been a continual series of ‘what ifs’ in his head.
“Thanks,” Ken utters, still staring off into space.
"What are you doing?"
"Just thinking."
"Lay it on me."
"I am just sitting here and thinking about how I got to this point. Ya' know?"
"What do you mean?”
“I mean, everything. For some reason, I got to thinking about us. I started thinking about my father, my fuck ups, and how I am doing everything I can to make this life work. I guess my meeting got me thinking about my journey.”That meeting was Alcoholics Anonymous. Over the years, Ken had attended on and off for the last 25 or so years. He got a lot of love and support from those meetings. They were his safe space. But this wasn't just a regular meeting for Ken. He just got his twenty five year chip. Ken was proud of that. Not the type to brag, or open up about his feelings, he had kept that to himself. Still, he knew Kyra was going to press him, so before she can ask, he reaches into his pocket and tosses the coin over to her.
“OH MY GOD! I'M SO PROUD OF YOU!!!” Kyra says before practically pouncing on Ken. She places both hands and his cheeks and kisses him. Ken is trapped. His only recourse is to smile and kiss Kyra back. The thing about the two of them is that they coped with things very differently. Even though Kyra drank, she knew and respected the reasons why Ken chose not to.
“It's been a ton of work, but worth it. I just can't help but think of everything that has happened along the way.” Kyra stands up straight. Ken looks at her with a gleam in his eyes.
“You ready for Vegas?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“You gonna be there for Sin City?"
“Might as well. We’ve got the Denzel thing.” Kyra puts her head on Ken’s shoulder.
“So… Knox, huh?”
“Yup,” Ken says and he rubs his hands together.
“It’s kind of weird to think that he’s out here in the city somewhere. Too bad I never got a hold of him back in Carnage.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve just wanted to get my hands on him for a long, long time. Why? What do you think of him?”
“He’s kind of insufferable, to be honest. Ego all over the place.”
“EXACTLY! I can’t stand the way he constantly runs his mouth.”
“Um… babe… have you met yourself?”
“I suppose.”
“Suppose? It’s literally your entire gimmick.”
“Kendammit!”
“Way to prove my point.”
“Seriously, though. Every time he ran his mouth, I said I’d face him. Then he ran off to one of his million other companies he’s working for and disappears. For all of my faults, I always stand and fight.”
“True.”
“I mean, we’ve got a couple of days. I think I need to head up to the city tomorrow.”
“We’re in the city, dumbass,” Kyra says as she playfully punches Ken in the arm.
“New York City.”
“What in the hell do you have to go there for?”
“I just have to make something right.”
“Want me to come with?”
“Yeah, but no. I have to do this one on my own.” Ken takes another sip of his root beer, finishing it off.
“With all the driving, I don’t want to be up too late.”"
Speaking of not wanting to go to bed late, think we should head to bed?"
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Hope you don’t mind if I keep you up a little later,” Kyra says with a sly smile. Ken grabs his unopened bottle of root beer with his left hand and Kyra's hand with the other. He pulls the screen door open with his foot and holds it open for Kyra, slapping her ass on the way in.
The Sony Jumbotron looms high overhead standing out even amidst the skyscrapers of New York City. Cabbies fly past in a yellow flurry, cutting each other off with the precision of a NASCAR driver. People hustle and bustle past each other, shoving each other out of the way, not caring one way or the other who or what is blocking their path. On every corner there is some sort of food or craft vender, or some homeless person begging for money. Even Madison Square Garden, the “World’s Most Famous Arena” houses various vagrants and miscreants. Police officers stroll past, seemingly mindless of all the hubris surrounding them.
The streets of New York City have always been, for lack of a better word, a special place. When you look around lower Manhattan, you can see people from all walks of life. The city doesn’t discriminate. It doesn’t care if you are a man, woman, child, black, white, red, green, blue, or purple. There is a lot you could learn from the city. From the dealers selling drugs in Harlem to the Asians selling bootleg DVDs on Canal Street, from the beggars taking whatever money they can to the men and women who endured the tragedy of the Twin Towers, this city will teach you one very important lesson… survival.
Davison stops in front of the entrance to a decent sized brick building. He takes a moment to survey his surroundings before he walks in. This is not his first time here. The room on the inside still looks something like a high school cafeteria. You can see the stains from years of use all along the black and white checkered floor. A few seconds in, people of various ages begin sitting in the wooden seats, mostly older teens and young adults. As they all sit down, they begin introducing themselves. Ken waits outside of the door nervously.
“Welcome to Life Support. We are a group for people living with or dealing with HIV and AIDS. First, let’s begin by introducing ourselves. Shall we?”
“Daren.”
“Um… I’m Jenny.
“Geoff.”
“Pam.”
“Sue.”
“I’m Paul. Let’s begin.
“I’m Ken.” The interruption catches the group off guard.
[color=#80800]
“This is that stupid son of a bitch that showed up here a couple of years back.”[/color]
Daren was right. The last time Ken had “graced” these halls was just over two years ago. He came in and belittled each and every member of the Life Support group.
“Now. Now, Daren. Let’s hear him out.”
“Thank you… Paul, was it?” Paul nods before Ken continues.
“But, he’s right. I don’t deserve any kind of politeness. When I came in here before, I was way out of line.”
“Out of line? You told Gordon that his mother should have swallowed.”Ken visibly winces. That was definitely not one of his finest moments.
“Where is Gordon, anyway?”The somber faces give Ken the answer that he didn’t want to hear.
“Gordon passed away last year.”
“Fuck. Was it…”
“No, it was COVID.”
“He didn’t even let AIDS get him. Damn. Either way, I’m really sorry to hear that.”
“Time waits for no man, as they say.”
“I’ve come to realize that. That’s why I’m here. I do not plan in any way to whitewash my sin. I do not call it a mistake, a mendacity; I call it sin. I’m not a Christian man, but to use any other word would cheapen the severity of my words. I would much rather, if possible, make it worse than it actually is. My words, my intentions, were to come in here and hurt you for no reason other than making for some good television. I was cast as the villain and I lived up to that. I have no one but myself to blame. I do not lay the fault or the blame of the charge at anyone else's feet. For no one is to blame but myself. I take the responsibility. I take the blame. I take the blame.”
“That’s why I came here today. No cameras. No pretense. I came here tonight because I have changed. I know that I hurt you all in ways that if hell were to exist, I would surely be cast to the seventh circle of it. And, yes, I rehearsed this a hundred times in my head because I wanted to say the right thing. But to each and every one of you, I’m sorry.”
“So, like, what happened in your life, man?”
“I met a woman… fell in love. But, that’s not really it. She’s got a five year old daughter and we’re trying to teach her accountability. I have to be one of the people that sets that example.”
“So where’s the damned kid?”
“I didn’t do it for the kid. The way I figure it, I have to set that example all the time, not just when the kiddo’s there.”
“How sentimental.”
“Listen, I’m not expecting you to forgive me. Shit, I’m not even asking you to forgive me. I know how fucked up what I did was. All I could do was come here and offer my apology. Do with it what you will.”
“Well, Ken, we appreciate the gesture. It’s like the song from ‘Rent’ says. “Forget regret or life is yours to miss.” That’s what we’re all about.”
“I appreciate that. Is there… um… anything I can do to help?”
“Well, you can stay for the meeting, if that’s okay with everyone else.”There is a slight murmur amongst the group, but surprisingly no objections.
“Thank you. But, I don’t belong here. Besides, I’ve got a three and a half hour drive back to Baltimore.”
“Hold up. You drove all the way up here… from Baltimore… in rush hour traffic… just to apologize?”
“It was something I felt I needed to do.”
“Well, it’s not the best, but you could take a cup of coffee for the road if you like.”
“Thank you and thank you again for listening to me. You could have asked me to leave and I understand that.”
“Get home safe, Ken.”Ken walks over to the makeshift coffee station and pours himself some coffee into a small styrofoam cup. He happens to see an empty coffee can with “coffee fund” written on it in black Sharpie. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, turning to make sure no one is looking. Ken takes a hundred and folds it up as small as he can and puts it in the can. He then slips out the door unnoticed, as the group is sharing their stories with one another.
Hours from Baltimore, “Godly” Ken Davison walks with Kyra Johnson outside of the still strange stomping grounds that are the Sin City Wrestling corporate offices. Ken is decked out in full regalia, while Kyra is dressed more casually in jeans and a t-shirt. They continue walking through the parking lot when Kyra stops to point and laugh as they reach a portion of the brick walls without any cars parked near it.
“Perfect generic brick wall for a wrestling promo.”
“Sometimes I wonder if you were alive in the 90s.”
“Sorry, old man. Just watched a lot of your old GPS tapes.”
“VHS, smartass. Come on, you’re not [i[that[/i] young.”
“But you are that old.”
”For fuck’s sake. Just get your phone ready to record this. Will ya’?”Kyra slaps Ken’s ass before he walks over in front of the wall and gets situated. Kyra hits the button to begin recording and signals to Ken to begin.
“As we all know, people cannot live forever. While many of us thought someone might step forward to defy the odds of humanity… that simply hasn’t happened yet. I can’t remember who said it first, thanks to all those comedians out there recycling each other’s jokes, but someone mentioned the fact that we used to cure illnesses like it was our job. Polio, measles, tuberculosis none of these stood a chance when the greatest minds of the world were put to work. So, explain why we used to have someone wheeling Jerry Lewis out on stage every year for his Jerry’s Kids foundation? With all the money that old racist bastard rakes in you’d think they’d have found a cure for little Billy, right?”Davison puts out his hands in such a way as to emphasize his point.
“Of course, not.”
“The fact remains that this world is run by drug companies all in business to keep us sick … not dying, just enough to stay managed. It’s like putting a band-aid on a bullet wound. At some point that little adhesive bandage isn’t going to cut it and you’ll need another one, and another one … and another one. That’s the thing about you, Knox. You’re a fucking disease. But the wrestling world hasn’t tried to cure you or eliminate you. They’ve simply treated you. They have allowed you to go on and on and on infecting company after company after company. You left the last company we were in before I could put an end to you. Now, I have the opportunity to do the very thing that I, like so many others, have wanted to do… stop the Raven from mindlessly squawking.”
“Even under the best of circumstances, this business isn’t one that’s easy on the body. Chair shots, falls from a great height and listening to the likes of you, Knox, really take their toll after a while. They have drugs for everything these days… managing pain, calming the nerves, helping you feel like a man… anything to keep ignoring that little tap on their shoulder. But I’ve got news for you, boy. That little tap… that’s life, wanting to let you know that it’s time to give up; time to give up on all the frivolity that you’ve probably grown accustomed to; and for Ken’s sake it’s time to give up the spandex wardrobe. “
“Yet, for all the clarity we pretend to be seeing things with on a daily basis, our own mortality continues to be a foggy subject. In this business the possibility of getting hurt is fairly obvious. I take responsibility for the fact that I serve as judge, jury and executioner when I walk into the middle of the ring. Each time we step into that ring we run the risk of sustaining anything from a broken finger to a broken back. We might be out of action for a week, a month or the rest of our lives if we aren’t careful. So, we ignore those little nagging injuries. Bruises fade and fractures mend … but as time marches on, those bruises don’t fade as quickly and those broken bones don’t seem to mend the way they used to.. Bodies begin to fade, begin to become affected by gravity. Simple diet and exercise, the staples of healthy living, don’t cut it anymore and suddenly the panic sets in. “What if someone sees that I’m not the biggest or fastest anymore?”
“That’s the thing about you, Knox. You’ve never been the biggest or the fastest or the sharpest. You’ve simply been the loudest. I’ll be the first to admit, you’re good, damned good, but you are not, nor will ever be, the best. You will most certainly never climb to the top at my expense.”
“You see, Knox, this is my rebirth. In one’s life we are rarely gifted with the opportunity for a second chance. Call it what you will, redemption, reincarnation or rebirth; they all mean the same thing. A fresh start, a clean slate, starting in another new company where the sins and tragedies of your past are wiped from your record as you begin life anew. However, in this industry, our pasts have a tendency to follow us. Yes, we have the ability to either make whole new decisions, or damn yourself to another life of wasted opportunity. The idea of reincarnation or rebirth is something widely debated among various theologians. One thing that cannot be debated, Knox, is I know who you were. I know that in my eyes you have already been weighed, you have already been measured, and you have been found wanting. I believe that your merits and your actions in this life affect your transcendence into the hereafter, where your name and reputation shall either live in legend or in infamy.”
“Rarely in life are you given the chance, the opportunity, to start your life over. This doesn’t necessarily mean being reborn as an infant … but falls more under the category of reinventing yourself. I spent my entire life building myself up for the sheer purpose of breaking others down. Little by little the walls I erected to protect myself crumbled down until what and who I truly am was laid bare. I have sat crying for help, unable to fathom how I got to this point. Labels and stigmas mar my body physically as well as emotionally. Rebirth, in my case, truly means being given the gift to reinvent who I am. Whereas the “Godly” Ken Davison you once knew was a false prophet. This incarnation is an avenging angel.”
“I understand that to some people, such as yourself, this sport is a job; a means of making a living doing something you enjoy. For people like myself more than just their livelihood. This job represents something on a much deeper, more profound level. I have stayed with companies, Knox, until the bitter end. This is not because those companies were a paycheck, but because I cared. Before Baltimore, it was Pittsburgh. Before Pittsburgh, it was Boston. I have toured the world, becoming so marketable that I’ve transcended merely entertaining; yet, to be able to look around a locker room and know that each and every one of those men and women respects me because of my legacy. Because I have given everything I have had into a company, their company, those are the moments I live for.”
“I am sure that you understand that the big fish can’t thrive in a small pond forever. That’s why you leave companies at the drop of a hat. That is why you’ve sought out employment with so many companies. At some point, you’ve decided that you need either a bigger, or in your case, smaller pond in order to survive. I was the biggest fish in my pond for a few years; I had the respect, the admiration and the ability to tell management what I wanted knowing I’d get it. Look at where that got me? A reservation on the unemployment line when, what I considered to be, my professional world went belly up. I was faced with the prospect of starting fresh. I started over. I reinvented myself. I experienced a rebirth. There’s that word again. Few men in my position have the ability to learn from the sins of their past and use that knowledge to forge ahead and pave a path to their future. If there’s one thing people have learned about me at the point, it’s that I’m not like most people.”
“So, Knox, I am certain that you are going to try everything you can to get under my skin. Mock me. Threaten me. I wouldn’t be shocked if you went so far as to imitate me. However, I want you to realize the lengths that I will go through to maintain my status in this industry. I believe The Butcher from Gangs of New York sums it up wonderfully. "You know how I stayed alive this long? All these years? Fear. The spectacle of fearsome acts. Somebody steals from me, I cut off his hands. He offends me, I cut out his tongue. He rises against me, I cut off his 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." I have done things in that ring that would make a normal man question his very existence. I have taken men so far past their limit that they have retired. I have endured being crucified in a match. If you are not afraid of the things I can and will do, then there is something very, [i[very[/i] wrong with you.”
“The fact of the matter is that there is nothing you can say or do that I haven’t seen. Your whole generic bad ass number 544,367 is cute, but you are nothing more than an unimaginative man without an original thought in your head. That having been said, I know that you are still more than capable in the ring. But, child, I have forgotten more about wrestling than you ever knew. Regardless, I’d like you to do me one teensy, tiny, little favor.You have your entire life to be an idiot. Why not take Sunday off?”
