Ever Forward

[Notorious B.O.B.]

This was one of those instances when you wished with every fiber of your being, that you could just wake up. He’d experienced lucid dreams before, but never had he experienced one so heartbreaking. Every so often he would pinch the skin on his left hand in the hopes that he would wake up, that all of this around him would fade away into a confusing cloud of afterthoughts; the byproducts of too much pizza and Netflix. 

But with every pinch, the sharp pain shot through his nerve endings and seared the finality, the truth of this all, into his mind.

Xander …

Spike …

He had tried to come early, to see Spike before but … but he wasn’t there. So as he stood there, a soft and hazy rain falling about his shoulders, he couldn’t help but notice the faces of the men and women around him. 

Even though he’d been one of the first, he stood back from the crowd. He allowed them their opportunity, their right to grieve. 

He stood and watched as they carried the casket past the house, stopping for a heartbeat, before walking it towards its final resting place. 

Too small; they should never make caskets that size.

He heard Rob mutter, It’ll all be okay,” and he knew, that it wasn’t the first time he’d lied to his little girl. 

He’d never seen Rob look so … so … human. 

Rob had always been larger than life, the walking epitome of ‘personality’ with an ego forged in the fires of Mount Whogivesafuck. 

It was almost uncomfortable to see Rob like this; his walls down, vulnerable and hurting.

Balking under the pressure of seeing Diamond in this light, his gaze fell upon the Conway’s. A ‘power couple’ in every sense of the word; but in the here and now they looked so fragile. From where he stood he could just make out their hands clasped together, as though trying desperately to hold the other up – both trying to be the rock for the other; a fitting sight for a pair who had been through so much themselves. 

The eulogy was short, but the priest’s words were heartfelt. Each one, though, felt like the stab of a knife as it was thrust into his belly.

”There is nothing more heartbreaking,” he began, ”than the death of a child.” 

It was true; while he had no children, himself, he couldn’t imagine the unbearable pain that those around him must have been feeling themselves. 

”Xander brought a smile and joy to all those around him.” 

”Wise beyond his years,” 

”A wonderful son and brother,” 

I was then that he’d noticed Warren. He wasn’t the only one either, in fact it had been because of Rob’s turning head that he’d spotted him. 

He hadn’t seen Warren in what felt like months. There’s been stories going around that he’d been kidnapped, that he’d just peaced out after the beating he took at the hands of his father and the man who was now searching him for some semblance of acknowledgement. He didn’t know what the truth was, maybe it fell somewhere in the middle. All that mattered, though, was that he was here now – Warren had come back.

But then things went south. Warren to his place next to the priest, and the words that seemed to flow from his mouth were not thanking everyone for coming. Instead, the were dripping with bile, damming and vilifying his father. 

Grief can take many forms; but this form was difficult to watch … to hear.

After the priest had thanked everyone again, reminded those in attendance that there was no easy way to say goodbye but to think of Xander fondly as the bright, happy boy that he was and focus on the love in our hearts instead of the hole, the crowd began to make their way back up to the house. 

He followed, always at a distance. He wasn’t sure if he still belonged, if he was ever going to be welcomed here again. So he held back, slipping in after the majority of the crowd had entered. He could see River hugging someone up ahead in the kitchen, her tear streaked face pulsing as she tried her best to hold it together. 

Almost tripping over a pair of kids that could only have been Conway’s, he backed himself into a corner and just stood there sipping at a can of something that he’d found on the table of snacks. 

He just sipped and watched. Watched people mingle, their conversations drifting around the room like a soft breeze.

”I just can’t believe it …” someone had said, to which he heard the reply, ”I don’t know why he even had one in the house. What was he thinking?” 

He closed his eyes, trying to block out the sound and focus on his breathing.

Opening his eyes, he spotted Rob walking through the crowd, most likely in search for Spike. He wanted to see him as well, to pay his respects … to say … something; so he followed.

Rob came to a stop at a door off the kitchen, the paint peeling and chipped, but unlocked just the same. There was a small creak as it opened and Diamond disappeared behind it. As he reached the door himself he recognized it as what must have been the doorway to the basement. His hand rested on the knob for a moment as he battled with whether he should open it, march down those stairs and confront Spike and Rob whether invited or not.

One heartbeat …

Two heartbeats …

Three …

In the end, though, he thought better of it and, instead, reached his hand into his suit jacket and pulled out a, slightly crumpled, envelope. He clutched it in his hand for a moment before squatting down and sliding it beneath the small crack under the door. He heard it hit the stairs, skidding down a few before coming to a stop somewhere in the middle where, hopefully, it would be found and read. 

With that, he turned and took one more look at the crowd of people in the house. While many still wore the expression of sadness, others were smiling … laughing; the words of the priest resounded in his ears, ”his smiling face, his loving heart, the spirit that made Xander Kane who he was – will live on in us, forever.” 

Spike,

If you’re reading this, then that means I chickened out and didn’t say it to your face.

I just want you to know that I’m sorry.

This sucks.

I’m so sorry. I wish I could take your pain away; I wish I could wave a magic wand around and make it all go and leave you with the life you want. But I can’t.

All I can do is humbly offer you a few thoughts. Maybe you’ll find something helpful here, I don’t know.
First, you’re not alone. Right now I know you’re probably shutting yourself away from the world, but you’re not alone.

Not even close.

Your pain lies to you, it wants to isolate you like a lion pulling a baby antelope from the herd. It wants to have you to itself because it knows you’re much more vulnerable that way. Don’t let it. There are people out there who understand your pain, but there are way more people who just understand pain enough to care and listen and love (like me).

Find them, take a risk, let them in. The funny thing about pain is that it always feels less painful when someone is feeling it with you. It’s almost magic.

I know you’ll probably want to deaden this pain … to distract from it, to deaden it, or to try to fix it once and for all. But it can’t be fixed, and I think you know that deep down.

Pain as a tool. Most people see it as a mistake, as a flaw, as something to be gotten rid of or deadened or at least hidden. But maybe that’s not the way to do it. Maybe the proper way to have pain is to sit with it, to feel it, to let it hurt a little, to let it work its way through us and become part of us.

I don’t know if any of this helps.


Probably not right now, but maybe later.

Anyway, I’m here for you, just like I should have been before … and again, I’m so, so sorry.

~ Bob

“Redemption …”

The feed starts with only a torso shot of the man behind the keyboard. He leans forward, fiddling with the camera, as he continues to speak.

“Wasn’t too long ago that I made my way back here to IWF, looking to redeem myself for …” he trails off, “well, you’ve all heard it before so I won’t bother doin’ it again.” He unzips the gray, faded sweatshirt and pulls it off slowly. He tosses it behind him over the top of his DXracer chair, covering the custom logo.

“A journey like this,” he continues, face still out of frame, “it’s a hell of a thing and definitely not something you just,” he pauses with a small chuckle, “well, it’s not something you just say you’re gonna do.”

He steps completely out of the frame for a moment, the camera picking up sound of him moving about the room but showing nothing more than his microphone and green screen set up behind his chair.

“Sure,” he continues from somewhere behind the camera, “we’ve all seen guys make these great big comebacks, full of piss and vinegar and promising that they’re going to BE the change that they want to see in the company.” His face suddenly fills the screen as he leans in from the opposite side of the monitor, “We all know how that’s worked out for ‘em too, eh?”

With a laugh he disappears once more, only to reappear beside his chair where he grabs the sweatshirt and tosses it off to the side before taking a seat.

“How many times now have we watched a grizzled veteran show up promising to ‘make things right’,” he says sarcastically with some half-assed air quotes, “but as soon as they’re presented with a chance to stab someone in the back to get ahead again …” he doesn’t finish the statement, but the shrug and scowl on his face seem to do it for him.

He rubs a hand across his chest, smoothing out the creases on the distressed TBP logo. “Once upon a time,” he says with a laugh, “that was me; might as well have been the poster child for the ‘Redemption Tour’ model. I mean,” he starts ticking them off on his fingers, “I made that mediocre comeback in nCw that if you sneezed you missed it. I’d promised to set things right for flaking my last go of it, but in the end was presented with a chance to join up with a pair of guys promising power and glory by overthrowing the powers-that-be.”

Eyebrow arched, he says with a snark, “Who would those two individuals be? Well, a young and slightly less powerful Roberto Verona and Doc,” he says with a small smirk, “anybody here remember Doc? Yeah,” he sighs, “me either.”

He fires up his green screen program, transforming the background behind him into a transparency of the Twitch website as he puts maximizes the chat box so it appears on the right side of the screen, opposite his image.

“So, while we wait to queue,” he smiles, his eyes scanning the ever scrolling chat window, “why don’t we take a few …” he scrolls up with his mouse to highlight a question, “questions. Okay, so, let’s see,” he bites on his bottom lip as he scans the question, “Odddawg asks if there was anybody that I would like to face, present roster or not, who would it be? So,” he smiles, “this is kinda like that ‘if you could share a meal’ thing, right?” he asks, rhetorically. “Man,” he continues, looking off into the distance, giving the question serious thought for a minute, “the problem is that I’ve already faced off against some of the best that this sport has to offer through the years. I mean, I spent the first five or six years battle guys that have gone on to light up the Indy scene in New York,” he leans towards the camera, “shout out to Trent Jacobs and the boys at Tier One, eh! Anyway, I’ve faced off against some pretty tough opponents over the years, but there’s still a few that I’ve never had an opportunity to face one-on-one to see how I really measure up.”

He shrugs his shoulders, his face looking nonchalant, “I know it means ‘one’ guy, but there’s really two men who I’d still like to square up with – one of ‘em will probably never happen and the other,” he winks, “well, I’m thinking that twenty-seventeen will be the year he and I finally meet up. The ah,” he continues, “the first guy was Angel Blake,” he says, wincing slightly at the name. “Angel, he doesn’t exactly bring up good memories for me or most of the company, but the fact remains that he was one of the most dominant Imperial champions that this, or any, company has ever had, really. I’ve seen what he’s capable of first hand when I was one of his lackeys in the Age of X, but I was never deemed ‘worthy’ to face the man who called himself God. Don’t know if I’d win or lose,” he shrugs, “but it’d sure be a hell of a match, that’s for sure.

The other guy,” he smiles, “well he’s the man who’s walking around calling himself the true Imperial champion … everybody’s favorite man with the plan, Roberto Verona!” Pooler smiles broadly, his arms crossed, “Here’s a guy who, by every right, shouldn’t know I exist. How long has ‘berto walked around IWF fighting his fights against guys like Angel, Spike, hell especially the Ace? In all that time I’ve never been more than a fly on the wall, less than an afterthought when you really look at it. So, that’s why it’s gonna be pretty tough,” he says with a laugh, “but nothing worth while is ever easy, eh? So yeah,” he says, trailing off a bit, “I’m gonna dedicate this year as the year that I put myself where I should have been a long time ago – the main event! Yup,” he smirks, eyes scanning the secondary monitor to his right, “mark it on the calendars now, folks, twenty-seventeen is the year that Bob Pooler holds the Imperial Championship!”

There’s a long pause at this point, the viewers just watching as Pooler stares off into the distance, waiting.

His eyes regain their focus as the look right into the webcam, locking with those of the viewers for a moment, before looking away and back to the chat.

“WeasleTits …” he pauses, unable to choke back the laugh, “okay, first of all you win the nickname-of-the-week competition,” he continues, wiping at the bottom of his eye, “yeah, so Weasle wants to know, which of the Diamonds I think is the hottest.

Well,” he laughs, rubbing a hand down his jawline, “I can probably tell you which Diamonds would kick my ass if I didn’t say their name. Seriously, though, that’s kind of a no-win question since it,” he holds up his index finger, “firstly, makes it seem like no matter how tough, how talented, or how amazing the Diamonds of IWF are – they’ll never be more than eye candy to you.

And secondly,” he continues, his middle finger joining his index, “think about that question for just a second. No matter which name I gave you, from Jess to Paige, Eterinity to Helena; at the end of the day what does my opinion matter? Maybe you have a crush on Sara and want to justify it by seeing if I’d agree. Maybe bossy chicks are what get your mast raised and you’re wondering if you’re the only guy who digs Crystal.

Bro,” he laughs, “every one of the ladies that make up our Diamonds division is an athletic, tough-as-nails wrestler who deserves more than to be thought of as ‘hot’. So …” he continues with a roll of his eyes, “why don’t we move on, eh?

Alright, looks like I’ll do one more …” he scrolls down to the bottom, highlighting a question at random and smiling. “WoWhobbs, hey, nice to see a fellow streamer in here! So Hobbs wants to know, what my plan is going to be this week against Jones.” He smiles, “Ya see, a guy like Alex Jones, he represents a monumental challenge and a proving ground all at the same time.

Sure, go back a few weeks ago when me and Laszlo faced off against Alex and Bane – we came away with the win, but you sure can’t blame that loss on Jones any more than you can attribute the win to me. We played out parts, but this week there’s no partners to hide behind –”

He exhales sharply, the weight of the match already appearing to weigh on him.

“Alex Jones is a lot of things. He’s a hell of an athlete; hell of an athlete” he repeats for emphasis, “Former Imperial champion and always there, right in the thick of it when something major was happening in the company. Needless to say, dude is a future Hall-of-Fame inductee.

But if there’s one thing that I’ve learned about Alex Jones …

He’s not infallible.”

A quick laugh escapes from him as he shakes his head. “Alex would probably be the first person to admit that he’s made some mistakes in his career; for all his blustering and ego stroking on Twitter, he knows how hard he’s had to work to achieve everything he’s gotten – nothing’s fallen into his lap just by chance,” he says with a smirk.

“Alex Jones is, by definition, one of those guys by which we all should be measuring ourselves.”

He pauses for a heartbeat to let that sink in.

“I’m not just kissing his ass here, either,” he continues, inclining his head in the direction of the chat window, “you guys can call me a brown-noses all you want; anybody who shows up and doesn’t have the sense of mind to pay a guy like Alex the respect he’s earned is a fool and deserves the reality check coming their way.

Now, me and Alex, we’ve already aired a bit of our dirty laundress a few weeks back. Now,” he shrugs, “sounds to me like he’s moved beyond that shit and left it where it belongs, so imma do the same. No sense reopening old wounds for the sake of drama – I’ll leave that shit to …” he smirks, “well, you know who.

But, damn,” he sighs, reaching up and rubbing the back of his neck while looking up at the ceiling, “me and you, Alex,” he says with a half-smile. “You bowed out of IWF a little after I did last year, but unlike me you kept busy – sowed your wild oats elsewhere and continued to build your legacy.

I sat around like a mopey, little bitch.

You went through hell and took it out on your opponents in the ring –

I was forced into court ordered therapy and made to stay away from the business until deemed ‘clear’.”

He waves a finger back and forth between the camera and his chest, “Me and you, buddy, we both went through a mountain of shit – but life dictated that we handle it differently. What I wouldn’t give to go back and do it all over again, to tell your ex to ‘eff off and keep her offers to herself.

Sometimes I like to kid myself and pretend that I’d have been strong enough to say no – but we both know the truth.

I was weak as shit, hell” he scoffs, “I’ve been soft willed for years. Spike,” he smiles, “Spike was right when he said I was always out for myself, something I think you know a bit about as well.

You’ve openly admitted that you’ve always looked out for number one – and, man,” he says, hand clasped to his chest, “I’m not throwing stones here, but look where it got us both.

But nearly a year’s gone by and we’ve both been given this second chance; we’ve got this opportunity to put all that bullshit behind us and create a future of our choosing.

You and I are both after the same thing, and I’m not talking ‘bout the Imperial title –

redemption.

Alex has been a changed man since his return; not as loud, not as in-your-face, but still just as fucking dangerous. That match last week with Jacobsen?”

He exhales, exaggerating the expression.

“The two of you put on a clinic in that ring, but at the end of the night one of you had to lose; and hey,” he says with a quick shrug, “maybe the match would’ve ended differently on any other night – but the record shows that on that night … you. tapped. out.

You’ve behaved yourself, Alex; I’ve noticed that you’ve been trying to tone down the ego – trying to check yourself. But you all but dared Andrew to do that. Calling him to task for his inability to not evolve, to become something greater than what you thought he could be.

I think the real problem here,” he says with a sneer, “is that you still look at the rest of us like we’re beneath you.

Former Imperial champion, Alex Jones – I admit,” he grins, “it’s a hell of an accolade to have. Add to the fact that you’ve been very clear about winning world titles since leaving IWF, just adding to an impressive list that, at the end of the day, is impressive to … who?”

He raises his eyebrows and shakes his head for a moment.

“In a lot of ways, as terrible as it sounds, I’ve looked up to you – wondered what my career in IWF could have been like had I capitalized on just one of the chances that came my way. Would I already be able to have that nice,” he spreads his hands out in front of his face, “ ‘former Imperial champion’ placard too?” He shrugs, “Maybe, but if there’s one thing that I haven’t done, it’s give up.

Most people don’t know,” he laughs, “but I’m a former six time World Champion. I’m a member of three different Hall of Fames, and have a list of accolades just about as long as some of the premier members of this roster.

But you wouldn’t know this, because I don’t talk about it. My past successes don’t necessarily dictate future ones.

So while I’ll agree that I haven’t lived up to the potential that, even I know,” he says with a chuckle, “I should have been; that doesn’t mean that things can’t change.

If there’s one thing that we’ve all learned,” he inclines his head towards the secondary monitor, “is that no game,

no match,

no encounter or raid is EVER impossible – so long as you keep pushing forward …

ever … forward.”

He stops, the muscles in his jaw flexing momentarily, “That’s what gets me out of bed each morning; I gotta keep pushing forward – which means …” his face breaks into a small smile, “that I think we should get this queue popping and get some games in, eh?”

With that, he looks up into the webcam for a brief moment and winks, before turning his gaze once more to the monitor in front of him – immersing himself into a brave new world.