Post by James Gilmore on Apr 15, 2018 11:04:24 GMT
JOURNAL ENTRY #13: April 14, 2018
“Where The Heart Is...”
”When I was a kid, I used to think that angels, ghosts, spooks, or demons were nothin’ more than a bunch of mumbo-jumbo. Yet the funny thing is...as a grown-up I’ve found myself wonderin’ why things happen, why life gives people certain good or crappy cards, and all that mess. As I sat on a plane, I started to realize that, perhaps, the things people usually DON’T see are true.
The vision I had...it meant somethin’ to me.
It meant that the journey I’m takin’ wasn’t over--not by a long shot.
I’ve had days when I’d be cool, when everything would be goin’ as well as I expected. Yet I’ve also had days when I’d find myself bein’ angry, when I say somethin’ that hurts people and gets ‘em all trigger-happy. It’s durin’ those moments when I find myself bein’ outta control, as if some random force is tryin’ to hinder me from doin’ what’s right. As I saw that vision, I started to think that, perhaps, I wasn’t at peace with myself after dealin’ with somethin’ that I wasn’t strong enough to avoid.
Demons, angels, ghosts...they’re true. They’re all true.
I dunno what triggers ‘em in my soul...but they’re all there.
It was at that point in time, when I awoke from my nap the other day, when I began to understand just how nuts I was gettin’. The Palace of ost Souls, Fiona’s ranch...they’re all great places to be in their own right, but I didn’t BELONG at them places. Come to think of it, nothin’ will compare to the one place I hold near and dear to my heart:
The place where I truly belong.
The place called ’Home.’
People tend to think about the word in different ways. Where they were born, where their families live, where they grew up or graduated high school…’home’ is whatever their minds can describe a place of familiarity--where everybody around you knows your name, where old friends can reunite and share stories of days gone by, or where old enemies can show up to renew old grudges. It’s a place where people want to dream of leavin’ at a certain stage of their lives, yet they come back to it when the times get rough.
For me, ‘home’ is Corpus Christi. I don’t presume to live nowhere else except in a city where I made myself known in the community while spendin’ countless hours takin’ in the waves and sunshine--all the while gettin’ a history degree. It’s the one place where my life made any sort of sense, where I can seek counsel and feel good about myself as a person. I’ve missed my friends, I’ve missed the people I called ‘my family,” but more importantly...I’ve missed just lyin’ in my own bed, watchin’ The Price is Right every day.
Yet at the same time, I’ve dreaded comin’ back home for months--‘cuz Corpus was the scene of where my darkest hours began.
Despite my reservations, I needed to return to the one place where my heart truly belonged...if only for the cause of findin’ that elusive thing called ‘peace.’”
Buildings shimmer in the radiant sunlight that is cast all throughout the city, and the waves roll up to its shores as sunny skies greet locals and tourists from all over the planet.
Nine kilometers to the west of downtown, on a cool and comfortable Saturday afternoon in mid-April, a Southwest Airlines Boeing 737 MAX-8 made its final descent onto the runway of Corpus Christi International Airport, touching down smoothly on the concrete and asphalt surface. After a few minutes of taxiing, the newest jet in the fleet makes its way towards its berth in Gate #2.
Inside the Hayden W. Head Terminal Building, the action heats as people from all walks of life are seen waiting for their respective flights at one of the six gates. Sure, it was a small facility in most respects, but it was also quite intimate with its restaurant and souvenir shop. The entrance door to the jetway of Gate #2 opened, and we see quite a large group of around 120 passengers snake their way out of the narrow corridor and onto the concourse, the sound of rolling suitcases making for an incredible din.
The last of these passengers strolled out of the gate with a wide smile on his face, noting the nautical-themed decor throughout the facility.
”God it’s good to be home,” James Gilmore muttered to himself as he passed by the restaurant and headed towards the escalator to the main lobby and baggage area. As soon as he stepped off, he caught a glimpse of his old buddy and bodyguard Mikhail Federov milling about, hitting on some off-duty flight attendants. “YO MIKHAIL!,” Gilmore’s voice beckoned the Russian giant to stop what he was doing and turn around.
“Welcome back home JJ!,” the big guy in the blue TAMUCC Islander “Waves of Welcome 2018” T-shirt and blue jeans, equally boomed. The two men, their lives forever intertwined by one fateful six months ago in October, stepped towards each other and embraced in a manner consistent with most “bro-mance” or “buddy cop” movies. They separated, noting the teeming life all around them, as James checked his iPhone’s clock. “Ya ran a l’il late old buddy...by about 47 seconds,” he said with a chuckle.
“I had to print out a paper for my history class that is due on Monday and the printer jammed,” Mikhail responded with a laugh as he and his buddy headed towards the exit. “History class, what the eff?! Ya didn’t tell me ya was goin’ to school!,” James asked, perking his left brow as they walked outside and into the crisp, cool breeze.
“I was going to tell you after Thanksgiving last year...did not know that your were going to be gone for this long. I am attending Texas A&M University-Corpus Christi--my first semester,” Mikhail replied, grateful to see that his old friend had, indeed, come back after finding that note in his living room last November.
“Well look at you, Mr. College Dude!,” James said as they approached a 1982 model Datsun 720-XE king cab with a distinctive white-and-red two-tone paint job along with leather bucket seats, chrome bumpers, and Sirius-XM satellite radio. “'Ey did ya steal that truck?!,” Gilmore joked as Federov unlocked the passenger side door. “A little-bitty Datsun ain’t somethin’ I’d think you’d be drivin’!”
“Our dear lovely friend Fiona sent this truck to you as a belated birthday present. Of course, since you cannot drive, I will...be your personal chauffeur,” Mikhail said after getting into the driver’s seat and putting on his seat belt. He then reached for the driver’s visor and handed James a colorful envelope that was addressed to him from Fiona McFly herself. “After all, on the day she sent it down I simply told her...that I would do anything for you because I owed you my life for saving it on that awful day.”
James, still holding onto the letter, sighed, then calmly shook his head as Mikhail started the old truck and put it into first gear. He never, EVER intended on killing anyone on that October afternoon on his own backyard beach. Yet he realized that, perhaps, something needed to happen to him to make him learn that "the journey" wasn't what it was all cracked out to be. The truck slowly turned out onto the highway heading eastbound towards the center of town. The ride to the villa was felt cheerful on the surface, but it was actually quiet and solemn beneath, as the friends reflected with each other.
Truly, it felt like old times.
“I must tell you, my new Triad classmates are very nice...but the professors are demanding,” Mikhail said as he checked his navigation system. “I kept the villa clean as you wished, but...it was not the same without you.”
“Makes me smile, knowin’ that I could trust ya to respect my wishes. Truth is, my own life hasn’t been the same since the accident and after I left town...,” James spoke softly, recounting his subsequent torture and endless violent battles on the Kumite runway. “I needed this Mikhail,” he would later add, knowing that he truly needed to be with his friends and not some bloodsport. “I needed to come back to the one place where my life made any sort of sense, where I can confront the demons that have poisoned my soul. And...I can’t do it alone, dude. I just can’t….I’ve missed ya, very much.”
“You will never be alone. Miss Abby and Miss Aggie still speak highly of you every day, about how they have missed you,” Mikhail said as the Datsun continued its trip. “I have missed you too. You sacrificed your own reputation to save my life from that intruder, and any man who could manage to go through Hell in defence of others...I will not DARE disappoint,” he added, patting his former employer on the shoulder like a brother. “You will find your peace, JJ...I truly believe that.”
James, with tears in his eyes, opened the birthday-themed envelope Fiona had sent him. While the truck continued onward, he slowly revealed a letter written to him, which read like this:
--------
“Dear James,
I hope this letter finds you well. I didn’t realise that the charity concert was actually on your birthday, so I’ll apologise in advance. Since I had no record of your mailing address whilst you were staying at the Palace, I decided that the most logical course of action would be to send this gift to your villa in Corpus Christi.
You stole the show at the concert. Nobody realised that you had the talent to get on stage and do what you did, but many have acclaimed your performance in a variety of different superatives. You light up people by just being you, by being such a passionate person who only wants to show the world that you truly love the crafts you ply.
You never needed to ‘rediscover’ anything ever since you came back to Imperial...because you had the love and passion for the sport of wrestling within you all along. But you can never put passion before things like principle or honour--because even if you win, you will still lose. People want to see you succeed, they’d give away their living souls just to be you. I ask the general public about you, and they don’t see a cultist-looking guy or a politician.
They look past all that--because they see you as their shining light. You went through the pits of Hell and was given a second chance to do great things, to be a beacon of light in a world that needs one really badly! That’s why Jack worked with you all these years ago--you were his first project that he never, EVER forgot about. Longest-reigning tag-team champion before coming to Imperial? All those matches you had? You did everything with your heart and nothing else.
The truth is James...you are such a COOL guy!
As a matter of fact...you’re too cool.
I know you have demons in your soul--I feel them every day when I go train and every night when I go to sleep. They are there to make you blow the gifts that you were given by the Heavenly Father...and you need to learn how to confront them and beat them. Then, only then, will you find the peace you seek.
Happy birthday, lovely. I hope that you enjoy this gift I sent you. More than that...I pray that you will have the strength inside you to overcome anything in your life--even if others say you can’t.
Fi
xoxo”
--------
As Gilmore read the letter, he imagined Mikhail taking him on a long and winding tour of the city itself--from its bustling business district teeming with life, to its arts and entertainment centers where a carnival and festival called “Buc Days” was in full swing, to its cleanly-landscaped neighborhoods with children and their families enjoying the perfect weather conditions. Eventually, the truck pulled up on Ocean Drive and slowly lumbered its way towards the biggest home in that sector, a freshly-painted villa with the all-too-familiar flag of the Texas A&M-Corpus Christi Islanders athletic logo waving proudly in the breeze below the larger American flag.
The Datsun would soon turn into the driveway and come to a complete stop just short of the garage. “How are you feeling?,” Mikhail asked as he shut off the engine.
James looked at the rearview mirror and mustered a sheepish smile, yet still overwrought with emotion after reading his letter. He was simply glad to be back where everything was familiar.
He, indeed, was back at his own home.
“I’m thinkin' I’m in need of a good trim…”
TO BE CONTINUED…
“Where The Heart Is...”
”When I was a kid, I used to think that angels, ghosts, spooks, or demons were nothin’ more than a bunch of mumbo-jumbo. Yet the funny thing is...as a grown-up I’ve found myself wonderin’ why things happen, why life gives people certain good or crappy cards, and all that mess. As I sat on a plane, I started to realize that, perhaps, the things people usually DON’T see are true.
The vision I had...it meant somethin’ to me.
It meant that the journey I’m takin’ wasn’t over--not by a long shot.
I’ve had days when I’d be cool, when everything would be goin’ as well as I expected. Yet I’ve also had days when I’d find myself bein’ angry, when I say somethin’ that hurts people and gets ‘em all trigger-happy. It’s durin’ those moments when I find myself bein’ outta control, as if some random force is tryin’ to hinder me from doin’ what’s right. As I saw that vision, I started to think that, perhaps, I wasn’t at peace with myself after dealin’ with somethin’ that I wasn’t strong enough to avoid.
Demons, angels, ghosts...they’re true. They’re all true.
I dunno what triggers ‘em in my soul...but they’re all there.
It was at that point in time, when I awoke from my nap the other day, when I began to understand just how nuts I was gettin’. The Palace of ost Souls, Fiona’s ranch...they’re all great places to be in their own right, but I didn’t BELONG at them places. Come to think of it, nothin’ will compare to the one place I hold near and dear to my heart:
The place where I truly belong.
The place called ’Home.’
People tend to think about the word in different ways. Where they were born, where their families live, where they grew up or graduated high school…’home’ is whatever their minds can describe a place of familiarity--where everybody around you knows your name, where old friends can reunite and share stories of days gone by, or where old enemies can show up to renew old grudges. It’s a place where people want to dream of leavin’ at a certain stage of their lives, yet they come back to it when the times get rough.
For me, ‘home’ is Corpus Christi. I don’t presume to live nowhere else except in a city where I made myself known in the community while spendin’ countless hours takin’ in the waves and sunshine--all the while gettin’ a history degree. It’s the one place where my life made any sort of sense, where I can seek counsel and feel good about myself as a person. I’ve missed my friends, I’ve missed the people I called ‘my family,” but more importantly...I’ve missed just lyin’ in my own bed, watchin’ The Price is Right every day.
Yet at the same time, I’ve dreaded comin’ back home for months--‘cuz Corpus was the scene of where my darkest hours began.
Despite my reservations, I needed to return to the one place where my heart truly belonged...if only for the cause of findin’ that elusive thing called ‘peace.’”
Buildings shimmer in the radiant sunlight that is cast all throughout the city, and the waves roll up to its shores as sunny skies greet locals and tourists from all over the planet.
CORPUS CHRISTI, TEXAS
“The Sparkling City By The Sea”
Stardate: 95885.97
“The Sparkling City By The Sea”
Stardate: 95885.97
Nine kilometers to the west of downtown, on a cool and comfortable Saturday afternoon in mid-April, a Southwest Airlines Boeing 737 MAX-8 made its final descent onto the runway of Corpus Christi International Airport, touching down smoothly on the concrete and asphalt surface. After a few minutes of taxiing, the newest jet in the fleet makes its way towards its berth in Gate #2.
Inside the Hayden W. Head Terminal Building, the action heats as people from all walks of life are seen waiting for their respective flights at one of the six gates. Sure, it was a small facility in most respects, but it was also quite intimate with its restaurant and souvenir shop. The entrance door to the jetway of Gate #2 opened, and we see quite a large group of around 120 passengers snake their way out of the narrow corridor and onto the concourse, the sound of rolling suitcases making for an incredible din.
The last of these passengers strolled out of the gate with a wide smile on his face, noting the nautical-themed decor throughout the facility.
”God it’s good to be home,” James Gilmore muttered to himself as he passed by the restaurant and headed towards the escalator to the main lobby and baggage area. As soon as he stepped off, he caught a glimpse of his old buddy and bodyguard Mikhail Federov milling about, hitting on some off-duty flight attendants. “YO MIKHAIL!,” Gilmore’s voice beckoned the Russian giant to stop what he was doing and turn around.
“Welcome back home JJ!,” the big guy in the blue TAMUCC Islander “Waves of Welcome 2018” T-shirt and blue jeans, equally boomed. The two men, their lives forever intertwined by one fateful six months ago in October, stepped towards each other and embraced in a manner consistent with most “bro-mance” or “buddy cop” movies. They separated, noting the teeming life all around them, as James checked his iPhone’s clock. “Ya ran a l’il late old buddy...by about 47 seconds,” he said with a chuckle.
“I had to print out a paper for my history class that is due on Monday and the printer jammed,” Mikhail responded with a laugh as he and his buddy headed towards the exit. “History class, what the eff?! Ya didn’t tell me ya was goin’ to school!,” James asked, perking his left brow as they walked outside and into the crisp, cool breeze.
“I was going to tell you after Thanksgiving last year...did not know that your were going to be gone for this long. I am attending Texas A&M University-Corpus Christi--my first semester,” Mikhail replied, grateful to see that his old friend had, indeed, come back after finding that note in his living room last November.
“Well look at you, Mr. College Dude!,” James said as they approached a 1982 model Datsun 720-XE king cab with a distinctive white-and-red two-tone paint job along with leather bucket seats, chrome bumpers, and Sirius-XM satellite radio. “'Ey did ya steal that truck?!,” Gilmore joked as Federov unlocked the passenger side door. “A little-bitty Datsun ain’t somethin’ I’d think you’d be drivin’!”
“Our dear lovely friend Fiona sent this truck to you as a belated birthday present. Of course, since you cannot drive, I will...be your personal chauffeur,” Mikhail said after getting into the driver’s seat and putting on his seat belt. He then reached for the driver’s visor and handed James a colorful envelope that was addressed to him from Fiona McFly herself. “After all, on the day she sent it down I simply told her...that I would do anything for you because I owed you my life for saving it on that awful day.”
James, still holding onto the letter, sighed, then calmly shook his head as Mikhail started the old truck and put it into first gear. He never, EVER intended on killing anyone on that October afternoon on his own backyard beach. Yet he realized that, perhaps, something needed to happen to him to make him learn that "the journey" wasn't what it was all cracked out to be. The truck slowly turned out onto the highway heading eastbound towards the center of town. The ride to the villa was felt cheerful on the surface, but it was actually quiet and solemn beneath, as the friends reflected with each other.
Truly, it felt like old times.
“I must tell you, my new Triad classmates are very nice...but the professors are demanding,” Mikhail said as he checked his navigation system. “I kept the villa clean as you wished, but...it was not the same without you.”
“Makes me smile, knowin’ that I could trust ya to respect my wishes. Truth is, my own life hasn’t been the same since the accident and after I left town...,” James spoke softly, recounting his subsequent torture and endless violent battles on the Kumite runway. “I needed this Mikhail,” he would later add, knowing that he truly needed to be with his friends and not some bloodsport. “I needed to come back to the one place where my life made any sort of sense, where I can confront the demons that have poisoned my soul. And...I can’t do it alone, dude. I just can’t….I’ve missed ya, very much.”
“You will never be alone. Miss Abby and Miss Aggie still speak highly of you every day, about how they have missed you,” Mikhail said as the Datsun continued its trip. “I have missed you too. You sacrificed your own reputation to save my life from that intruder, and any man who could manage to go through Hell in defence of others...I will not DARE disappoint,” he added, patting his former employer on the shoulder like a brother. “You will find your peace, JJ...I truly believe that.”
James, with tears in his eyes, opened the birthday-themed envelope Fiona had sent him. While the truck continued onward, he slowly revealed a letter written to him, which read like this:
--------
“Dear James,
I hope this letter finds you well. I didn’t realise that the charity concert was actually on your birthday, so I’ll apologise in advance. Since I had no record of your mailing address whilst you were staying at the Palace, I decided that the most logical course of action would be to send this gift to your villa in Corpus Christi.
You stole the show at the concert. Nobody realised that you had the talent to get on stage and do what you did, but many have acclaimed your performance in a variety of different superatives. You light up people by just being you, by being such a passionate person who only wants to show the world that you truly love the crafts you ply.
You never needed to ‘rediscover’ anything ever since you came back to Imperial...because you had the love and passion for the sport of wrestling within you all along. But you can never put passion before things like principle or honour--because even if you win, you will still lose. People want to see you succeed, they’d give away their living souls just to be you. I ask the general public about you, and they don’t see a cultist-looking guy or a politician.
They look past all that--because they see you as their shining light. You went through the pits of Hell and was given a second chance to do great things, to be a beacon of light in a world that needs one really badly! That’s why Jack worked with you all these years ago--you were his first project that he never, EVER forgot about. Longest-reigning tag-team champion before coming to Imperial? All those matches you had? You did everything with your heart and nothing else.
The truth is James...you are such a COOL guy!
As a matter of fact...you’re too cool.
I know you have demons in your soul--I feel them every day when I go train and every night when I go to sleep. They are there to make you blow the gifts that you were given by the Heavenly Father...and you need to learn how to confront them and beat them. Then, only then, will you find the peace you seek.
Happy birthday, lovely. I hope that you enjoy this gift I sent you. More than that...I pray that you will have the strength inside you to overcome anything in your life--even if others say you can’t.
Fi
xoxo”
--------
As Gilmore read the letter, he imagined Mikhail taking him on a long and winding tour of the city itself--from its bustling business district teeming with life, to its arts and entertainment centers where a carnival and festival called “Buc Days” was in full swing, to its cleanly-landscaped neighborhoods with children and their families enjoying the perfect weather conditions. Eventually, the truck pulled up on Ocean Drive and slowly lumbered its way towards the biggest home in that sector, a freshly-painted villa with the all-too-familiar flag of the Texas A&M-Corpus Christi Islanders athletic logo waving proudly in the breeze below the larger American flag.
The Datsun would soon turn into the driveway and come to a complete stop just short of the garage. “How are you feeling?,” Mikhail asked as he shut off the engine.
James looked at the rearview mirror and mustered a sheepish smile, yet still overwrought with emotion after reading his letter. He was simply glad to be back where everything was familiar.
He, indeed, was back at his own home.
“I’m thinkin' I’m in need of a good trim…”
TO BE CONTINUED…
Well howdy there pardner.