[Valentina]

 

G.ritty R.ealists I.n M.acabre E.xistence
Somewhere in Transylvania, Romania - Friday March 13th, 2020

The next day, you always feel worse than the night of the fight.  Sometimes it can take three days to get to the worst of it.  Some fine herba and it’s all good, mang.  You live to fight another day.  And that’s exactly what I’m hoping for.  I walk up to a caravan of bikes, cars, and campers, even a repurposed school bus.  It just feels like the right place to be, even though it ain’t my posse.  My family ain’t in this one.  It’s more peaceful than my crew’s caravan.  Not by much, but there’s a lot less bottle throwing and the fire is contained to the middle of the dusty lot, where all of the bottles wind up.

I look around and see a woman selling handmade twine jewelry, candles, and little brown glass bottles.  A few spots down, there is a man whose eyes are as white as the moon as he speaks a language I just don’t understand to a young man with long dark and wavy hair who looks like he could probably kick my ass with little to no effort.  The wind howls by as the giant stands up and speaks the same language back to the man.  He gives his hand a shake and then he turns around to show off his Party Horde t-shirt.  I knew I knew him from somewhere… And he knew me.  I look around and then I walk over to the man whose eyes are now as blue as the brightest sky.  His skin an olive complexion, and his hair as dark as the night sky.  I see a jar with cash of many different lands piled into it.  I reach into my pocket and place a couple wrinkled bills in it.

Me:  You a brujo or something?

The man looks at me all confused and shit.  I stop and think about it for a second.  Looking around I can see what I just walked in to.  It’s a gypsy caravan.  Wasted money?  Nah, it’s a chance to get a good show out of this one.

Man: Vino, ai loc. Ce cauți un copil? (Come, have a seat. What is it that you seek child?)

I got no idea what he’s saying, but I can only assume he wants to know what I want to know.  And he says it in such a rich and hearty voice that I can’t help but just go with the flow.  I lean back in my seat and put a cigarette in my mouth and light it up.

Me:  Gimme the winning lottery numbers in the United States, vato. Plain and simple.

The man looks down into his crystal ball.  Like he flipped on a switch, it begins to smoke up and a light comes from within.  I clap my hands for the show and I shout out, because this is already starting to be worth the money now.

Me:  Cool trick.

Man:  It is not a trick, child.  You came to me.

Me:  Oh, so suddenly you know English?  Convenient.

The man looks at me with a no nonsense attitude about him.  He runs his fingers over the ball and the smoke becomes heavier inside of the clear ball when he does so.

Man:  I speak the language of all fathers.  I am not bound by the tongue one tribe speaks.  Only by the capabilities of the vessel.

Me:  So like, is there a hidden camera somewhere?  Are my people tryna fuck with me right now?

The man doesn’t say anything right away.  Instead, he continues to look into the ball that’s glowing a silver color.  I see his eyes turning that same color as the ball before he looks up to me.  I seriously wanna know where this guy bought his contacts.

Man:  You’re a found soul.  Your cycle is coming to an end.

Me:  Well that fuckin’ sucks, mang.

Man:  It is a good thing.  It means that your journey is no longer filled with misery and strife.  But rather, it will be filled with purpose and stability.  It took you many lifetimes to get here.

Me:  Oh, well that’s a relief.

The sarcasm is classic Javi right there.  If this guy wasn’t a gypsy medium, then I would’ve gotten away with it, too.  It doesn’t break his stride though.  He just keeps on going.

Man:  You tried for so long to get by with sarcasm and a pearly white smile.  While you skated through life, you didn’t feel gratified.  You recently started a new endeavor and it has made you a fully realized human being.  Even if people don’t agree with what you’re doing, it fulfills you.

I crack my knuckles and get ready to stand up from the table.

Me:  I can’t even see you opening up them fortune cookies, dawg.  You’s a pro.  Let me gone and get up outta here so you can hit up your next hustle.

The man’s eyes turn a dark black and his face twists into a face that I recognize very clearly.  It makes me jump back a little when I feel the chill of the wind coming at me.  The man’s hair blows around suddenly and it’s like it gets longer.  His lips turn black and the shadow around the eyes is more intense.

Me:  Filth?  What the hell, mami?  How…?  Where…?

Filth, or the man? … steps from around the table and grabs onto my hand.  He kneels down beside me and gets to my eye level.  He stretches out in a completely Filth sort of way and makes himself comfortable as he plays with the dusty dirt by his feet.

Filth:  I told you I would find a way out of this One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest hellhole, didn’t I?  Even if it is through a lowly carnival fortune teller, I knew I needed to speak with you.

Me:  Yeah?  What’s so important that it couldn’t wait for an actual face to face meeting?  If it’s about last night, then it went well.  SCU did exactly what we wanted them to do.  We kicked the hornet’s nest and they came to sting.

Filth nods her head but she doesn’t seem exactly thrilled by the news.  She picks a fistful of the dirt up and she gives it a lick, savoring the taste as if it was filet mignon to a starving man.  She then rubs some of it on her legs.

Filth:  I knew they would.  They aren’t exactly the smartest people after all.  It was only a matter of time before they wised up and put together a team.  I’m just surprised that they didn’t do it sooner.

I hear what she’s saying and I can’t argue it.  But then the curiocity came to mind about why she went through the trouble of coming to me.  I should ask, but I want to see how the boss handles it.

Filth:  Things are going well, I see.  You’re not too damaged after your fight with Eric last night.  How do you feel?

Me:  I hate to be a bitch, but that fucker can swing for sure.  I can’t lie.  I’m feelin’ pretty sore today.  Even after rollin’ up a little sumn-sumn, I can still feel the pounding in my head and the throbbing in my knuckles.

Filth:  You’re right.  You’re being a little bitch.  Grow a pair of balls and get over it.  You’re a goddamned hardcore wrestler.  It’s no wonder Lord Raab beat you for your belt.

I’m pissed now.  I stand up and tower over Filth, but Filth just sits there and smiles up at me, giving me full attention for the first time since this little transference started.  I point down at her and begin letting her know.

Me:  Yo, at least I defended my belt instead of getting locked up in a crazy house.  At least I’m out here ready to lead this team of misfits.  It’s more than you can say, no?  Oh, sorry, if I disrespect you then I can expect a mob attack from all the pretty little Colors running around.

Filth:  Oh, Javi.  You and I are past that.  The rules don’t apply to us.  You helped build this team.  There are certain lines you dare not cross, but please do speak your mind.  In return, I was thrown off of the fucking Sin City Tron by a clown.  An actual clown.  You should be happy that I’m not calling off with your head for not being there to stop one man from inflicting that much damage to both brands, let alone the one that matters.

Fair point.  I nod my head.  Almost like a child who stepped outta line to his mama, I take my seat and stay quiet.  Filth sees this obedience and she sneers.

Filth:  You really are a bitch.  But you’re my bitch.  I just wanted to catch up with you to make sure Eric didn’t kill you after what you did to him.  If you didn’t make it to your match on Climax Control, I’d have to kill him, and I literally mean kill him.

I can’t help but laugh at the idea.  Filth doesn’t find it funny at all.  I know she would find a way to kill him for real if he did something that worked against her will so hard.

Me:  Aww, you do care.  I mean, you got to since Hitamashii dropped the ball last Sunday on Climax Control. He got rolled over by a rookie and that fucking Good Shepherd bitch.  I’m our last hope for representing GRIME as a legit wrestling brand.  That’s a lot on my shoulders, ma.

I dust off my shoulders like it ain’t no thing.  I shrug them and then lean over in my chair.  People are starting to look over at us, and while I ain’t give no fucks, Filth don’t wanna be seen right now.  She lowers her voice.

Filth:  I wish I could say that I don’t give a shit if you get kicked out of the tournament, but I can’t help but to care.  Especially this week.  You got Bill Barnhart and Andrea Hernandez. This would be the best time to not get put out.  You hear me?  And if you feel like there is no other option, then you O’Malley the fuck out of this match, do you hear me?  O’Malley it so hard that the match won’t know what to do with itself.  I mean don’t even pull a look of surprise at the end, because I want everyone to know that it was deliberate.

Me:  Daaaaaaamn, chica.  Cálmese, cálmese.  You’re starting to scare me…

I drag out that last word in true vato fashion.  The rasp in my voice, and that exaggerated “eeeee” noise that just lingers in the air.

Me:  Look, I can’t touch Andrea.  That’s all on Kate.  And I hate to talk all nice about Kate, but she did take down Dani Weston last week.  I can’t even lie, I didn’t expect that.  People saw me celebrating like I won that shit on my own, but that’s because I couldn’t fucking believe she pulled it off.  This Andrea chick ain’t bad.  Mostly on the eyes.  As a wrestler, she all poo emoji.  All Kate’s gonna have to worry about is making sure she kicks it off her boots when the match is over.

Filth:  You don’t seem worried at all.  Funny, because you came to a medium for advice.

I wanna say that I ain’t nervous to Filth, but I just can’t.  I can’t lie to her of all people because she would see right through it.  Instead, I just sit back in my seat again.

Me:  Worried about Andrea?  No.  Kate’s got that handled.  I trust her enough to know that.  Bill Barnhart?  Yeah, I’m a little worried about him.

Filth is glad to hear the honesty.  But she looks up at me with utter confusion on her face.  Man, it’s so weird calling it “her face” when it’s on somebody else’s body, that’s got a pene and all.

Filth:  Really?  I mean, that’s kind of what I was talking about when I mentioned how it would be embarrassing to get knocked out of the tournament this week.  I mean, I wasn’t unclear or inconspicuous about it at all.

Me:  Nah, you got it all wrong. You looking at his win/loss record.  It’s got nothing to do with that.  See, you wasn’t around when I first started wrestling.  I was wearing a mask, lucha libre style. I lost more times than I can count on my hands and feet.  But one day, I decided I had enough and I pulled the mask off and said I was ready to start fresh.  I turnt it up and blew up my old record. It was like the phoenix story, except no one knew about the old me.

Filth:  You already told me this story.

Me:  Then clearly you ain’t listened.  People know about crazy Bill Barnhart.  They see him as a has-been.  They look at him the same way they looked at Ahuevo, Senor Hell Yeah.  A walking punching bag.  Forget about his past and all the stories I hear backstage about the loco shit he used to do.  That does nothing but make it that much more sad for Bill.  Let’s focus on the fact that he’s kinda up there in age right now.  He’s in the twilight of his career.  The sun is setting on this vato.

Filth just shakes her head.  She doesn’t agree with what I’m saying, and she don’t got the patience to wait for me to get to my point.  She looks off into the distance as the smell of Kraken Rum begins to fill the air and the noise pollution increases, so I get louder too.

Me:  He got one last nostalgia act in him, and now’s the time to go for it.  That ain’t something you just look past.  Look at the state of wrestling right now and you will know what I’m talking about.  It might as well be trending on Twitter.  Mix that wit being tired of being everyone’s Georgian Punching Bag, and you got a recipe for devastation.  He did make it to the second round, same as me.

Filth:  No, not same as you.  You made it past two former World Heavyweight Champions to get here.  There’s a big difference.

Me:  Let me play devil’s advocate right quick for you.  Just because he ain’t faced some tough as nails opponents don’t mean he couldn’t have gotten past Dmitri and Dani.  Even while carrying that fine piece of ass, Andrea, on his back.  He could have, but we will never know because me and Kate took they asses out.  This could be his moment.  Just like I got tired of being everyone’s punching bag once upon a time, and I shattered all expectations they had of me, Bill could be right there, just waiting to make you eat your damn words, chica.

Filth still don’t wanna admit that I just made a valid argument.  She even gives me a look that says “Are you serious” and she gets one back that says “Ahuevo, mamacita”.  She sighs and prepares to give me the biggest speech she can think of to say how I’m a big fucking disappointment to her.  But she has to get verbal confirmation from me.

Filth:  Do you really think that Bill Barnhart is going to reach down deep inside and pull out a second wind to take his final stand to win Blast From the Past 2020?

Me:  Hellllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll naw!  Hahaha, but I had you going, didn’t I?

Filth growls and she stands up from the ground… still kinda inhabiting the body of this gypsy medium guy though.  And he’s rocking a pretty wicked bone you could hang a hat from, which makes it even more weird, but I ain’t gonna let it stop my moment!

Me:  It’s cool.  You ain’t gotta say shit.  I’m gonna introduce Bill Barnhart to all six corners of the ring on Sunday.  His face and his ass is gonna meet every inch of the canvas.  I’m gonna box his beer gut and watch it jiggle like Bill Cosby’s watchin’.  I’m gonna make him my bitch and then I’m gonna put his ass on his back for the one, two, three.  You feel me?  But see, it ain’t gonna be that damn simple.  Like I said, Bill in the twilight of his career.  By the time I’m done wit’ him, Bea better have a nursing degree or enough money to put him in a nursing home, because his career’s gonna be finito and Bea gone need to find her someone else to work her lady parts the way she needs ‘em worked.  Billy boy gone be finding new ways to swallow without moving his jaw.  I hear liquid diets are good for knocking off a few hundred pounds, so it might do his heart some good.  You’re welcome.

I look over to see Filth… not there anymore.  Instead, it is the medium, and that horseshoe dinger poking out his pocket, while admirable and a little intimidating, is enough weird for me tonight.  I look him right in the eye as I stand up.

Me:  You sir…

I pull out a few more bills from my pocket and put them into his “tip” jar.  I raise my arm up and give him a high five.

Me: … are blessed by God himself in the chonies, holmes.  It’s like he broke off his own piece and stuck it to your body.  Well done…

I get the high five before it’s clear what I’m talking about and then I walk off into the night.  The medium looks down and finds his powers had manifested themselves in a rather interesting way, much like the original priest in The Little Mermaid animated series.  He immediately walks behind the table and sits down in his seat and crosses his legs.  I tuck my thumbs in my torn jeans as the caravan becomes but a distant background in the night.