Post by Awesome Stick Labor on Mar 21, 2017 6:57:28 GMT
Chapter XIV
"EPILOGUE, PART III ~ THE OTHER SIDE"
"EPILOGUE, PART III ~ THE OTHER SIDE"
October 9, 2016 - 11:30 AM (Day 14)
Back in Port Everglades, in front of the Royal Caribbean terminal building...
...we find Johnny Gillmen, carrying a large white plastic bag along with his TAMUCC backpack and black rolling suitcase, sitting on a bench, watching as his fellow passengers from the MS Harmony of the Seas disembark and head back to their normal lives. It was a cloudy and somewhat somber Sunday morning, appropriate considering the Islander alum's state of mind. It was the last official day of a two-week vacation, that was a given; yet more importantly...he was faced with the growing realization that he had a choice to make, following the untimely deaths of his friends Diego and Aurelly.
It was real simple: quit wrestling and run Cowabunga Corner, or step back into the ring and partake in the gig he loved more than anything else.
Sighing to himself, Johnny closed his eyes. He tried to reflect upon the good memories he made while on the world's largest passenger ship--from his many talks with his engineering pal Patrick Scott, to his unlikely romance with an angelic Chechan that spanned several different island nations, taking them to new and exotic places far and wide. Through it all...a tune began to creep into his mind, a fitting epilogue to a roller-coaster of a journey.
What you all mean to me...
It's so hard for me to put in words.
When you fly away,
Please recall what I say.
I believe in you and all you'll do.
Don't say "goodbye,"
Say "We'll meet on the other side."
It's so hard for me to put in words.
When you fly away,
Please recall what I say.
I believe in you and all you'll do.
Don't say "goodbye,"
Say "We'll meet on the other side."
JJ's thoughts began to settle in, and we begin to see black-and-white images from the past two weeks. In his mind, he imagines himself gazing outside the rear passenger window of his private limo, looking on with wonder as he saw the mighty cruise ship for the very first time. We then transition to a point later in the day, when he found himself in his stateroom overlooking the Boardwalk, looking down upon the life that was teeming below.
The pictures in his head began to change; this time, we see Johnny getting his butt kicked in "Street Fighter II" by a 13-year-old gamer, followed by the anger on his face when he was dumped his ex Helena. We then see a snippet of the moment Yulia appeared to JJ for the very first time, followed by several moments of comfort and openness between the two. More mental images came to pass, including his spirited meetings with Scotty, culminating in the infamous bar fight and so much more.
Yet the everlasting point in time that would forever change Johnny soon entered into his consciousness--when he and Yulia danced on the Royal Promenade floor.
And through it all--sadness, hurt, happiness and joy--Johnny Gillmen couldn't help but eke out a slight smile as he opened his eyes, gazing with pride as his fellow passengers celebrated the end of a journey.
I knew this day would come.
I knew that our time here was so short.
But all that you taught me
all you believed I could be,
that will stay inside.
So please don't say "goodbye,"
Say, "We'll meet on the other side..."
I knew that our time here was so short.
But all that you taught me
all you believed I could be,
that will stay inside.
So please don't say "goodbye,"
Say, "We'll meet on the other side..."
JJ chuckled to himself as he continued to meditate...that was, until he saw Scotty walking out of the exit and towards a waiting taxicab.
JOHNNY GILLMEN: Yo Scotty, hold up!
The kilt-clad man happily turned around and approached his friend.
SCOTTY: JJ! How's it?
JJ took a deep breath.
JOHNNY: A wee bit better, but still...I dunno if I wanna go back to my work tomorrow.
Scotty mustered a prideful smirk as he nodded his head.
SCOTTY: Ya gotta do what 'tis best for ya, bub...what your heart says.
Johnny nodded his head affirmatively before handing the white bag to the engineer, who gushed with delight at the gift.
JOHNNY: I've got a l'il somethin' I wanna give ya.
Scotty pulled out a model replica of the Harmony, engraved with the inscription "FOR SCOTTY - A LOYAL FRIEND AND TRUE." He beamed with pure unbridled joy as he read the words on the gold-plated stand.
SCOTTY: Ahhhh...good God, I've always wanted to have one since I was a little rascal. What can I say...except thank you very, very much.
Smiling from ear to ear, the normally tough-as-nails seafarer extended his hand--and Johnny did the same, eliciting a strong, professional handshake.
SCOTTY: 'Til we meet again, laddie...do good things out there, no matter where ye go.
JOHNNY: Aye mate...and take care of yourself.
Johnny watched, with a tinge of finality and closure, as Scotty placed the model into the white bag and proceeded towards his cab. Many of the other cruisers on the 14-day excursion had already left, leaving him alone alone to collect his thoughts...
...that was, until his eyes caught the figure of Yulia slowly walking out of the building, wearing a red dress with matching stiletto heels, and towing along her white rolling luggage bag that had a smaller blue bag attached to it.
She giggled, batting her eyelashes at him as the couple walked towards each other. They locked eyes, their visages smiling at one another with great reverence, even thought they knew that they would be going their separate ways.
Then...Yulia spoke to Johnny in her native tongue.
YULIA: YA lyublyu tebya...
He didn't need to bust out his translator, for his girlfriend's body language did the translation for him.
JOHNNY: I love you...
Gillmen and Malakova blushed at each other, slowly inching together as a ray of sunshine began to peek out from the gray skies above. Their ensuing embrace was tender, enjoying every fleeting moment they had left before their eventual departure.
Their lips got closer...
...and closer...
...and closer.
But just as their kiss was about to come to fruition...
**********
JOHNNY GILLMEN'S LOG
March 17, 2017 - Entry #3
I've been called a LOT of things by the pro wrestlin' establishment over the past couple of years or so, and I've also had to listen to this same bunch tell me the exact same words, over and over, 'til I just couldn't stand it no more.
They've said I was too political. They've said I was untrained. They've said I had no business bein' in wrestlin'.
Hell they've even said that I took my ball and ran home after "gettin' a minor boo-boo."
Ever since I started workin' as a lowly cub reporter in some other promotion six years ago, I've made it my life's work, my vow, to prove that these same, select "superstars" were nothin' but wolves in sheep's clothin', doin' everything to preach inclusiveness and tolerance, yet they've continued to slap identity labels on newer talents like myself that had fresh ideas, tryin' to shut me down and ostracize me from the very craft I LOVED watchin' these superstars ply.
At least...that was my thinkin' at first. Then somethin' happened along the way, that I never thought I'd experience myself...
...death, anguish, sadness.
My story ain't as simple as one might think. In fact, it's deeper than anyone can ever imagine.
Much deeper--and more personal, goin' BEYOND the scope of professional wrestlin' itself.
The day after New Year's, January 2nd, Open Fight Night. Me against Spike Kane, startin' off 2017. It was supposed to be a fun match, win or lose, and a chance for me--as a professional, yet more than that as a former FAN--to show the big dog that I could be fully capable of takin' him head-on. It was stipped that I'd recuse myself from the Twits had I lost...but then, somethin' happen that I didn't even expect, that NOBODY imagined would ever happen to be quite clear.
Spike...lost his son Xander.
On the other hand, I kept my focus on the bout.
I went in there, not knowin' a darn thing about what went down, lookin' to adhere to my end of the contract, a contract I signed in GOOD FAITH by the way. I was ready to go...but it was strange, he wasn't. I kept fightin' and pressin', tellin' him "C'MON MAN!" as I urged him to rumble with me. When ya come to think about it, I was tryin' to do my job, to perform to the best of my ability--an oath I swore long before I joined Imperial.
Then...he lashed out. He tried to kill me.
I could've gone to Twitter after I got out of the doc's, tellin' the whole world that it wasn't a fair and honest match...but I didn't. I fulfilled MY END of the contract, stayed away from tweetin' for the prescribed 30 days. I served my time, started workin' out with the hopes of comin' back at a future date--another Open Fight Night against Derek Brooks...
...but I hurt myself liftin' weights one day. It was a pain in my back that I've never felt before yet had to get it checked...but I didn't.
I came back too soon, reaggroed my back, and landed on the D.L.--disabled list for you baseball fans out there.
I've suffered through the worst two months' I ever had since decided to make the switch from wrestlin' columnist to actual in-ring worker. What did I miss when I was out of action? Well...I missed the fact that Spike triple homicideED a pay-per-view, despite bein' legally contracted to be there by the Board, and try to end the careers of Falcon and Ryan Shane. In a perfect world--based upon his actions against me, against Falcon, against the very company I joined--IWF shoulda fired his keyster, left him kickin' on the side of the road to hitch a ride back home on a Greyhound bus...
...but you peeps know it, and I know it--they wouldn't dare fire Spike. He's too valuable, a Hall of Famer, and it'll only make things worse on ALL fronts, myself included.
But here's the deal: I wanna be straight and narrow with you--the people who either support me or don't--on a l'il somethin' that I've held back 'til now.
I considered quittin' wrestlin' long before my match with Spike on New Year's. It was this past September, while I was on a two-week cruise to help me deal with some personal problems I've been havin', when I got a telegram informin' me that two of my best buddies in the whole, wide world--one of whom was my collegiate soulmate--were killed by a drunk. They were helpin' to take care of a side venture I was runnin' while away from the camera called "Cowabunga Corner," a cornball tourist trap in the roughest patches of St. Louis, Missouri...
...and it left me with a choice to make.
I could've stayed behind, overseein' the Galaga tournaments that frequently took place in the arcade, but I asked myself where would the fun be if I just sat on my laurels and WATCHED video games all day, when I could be a player myself? I could've given up on somethin' special, somethin' I ALWAYS, ALWAYS wanted to do ever since I was a seven-year-old, attendin' my first-ever live card in the ol' Dallas Sportatorium.
I just couldn't stay away from pro wrestlin'. It was somethin' I loved more than ANYTHING else on the planet...so I decided to come back. I took my lumps, served my detentions...'cuz, and I want ya to understand, I'm more than just a loyal company guy. I'm a dude who's done SO MUCH just to get to this point in my life, overcomin' blindness yet makin' hard sacrifices along the way. I've lived my entire life, losin' friends and family 'til the thought of givin' up had crept into my mind...
...but with you people, I've got a reason to keep goin' strong.
'Cuz you people are the best fans I could ever have--no matter if ya love OR hate me, youse deserve BETTER than what you've been gettin' from me. Now that I'm back in the ring where I TRULY belong, now that I'm in the Roulette...lemme just say one thing, to the man that tried to put me six feet under, yet in his anger FAILED miserably.
My 35th birthday's this comin' Friday, two days before High Stakes, and I've got one wish in mind. Spike Kane owes me a debt, an keyster-kickin' that's two months overdue...
...and I'm comin' to collect it. I'm takin' this here Roulette AWAY from him! After all...he ain't one of Howlett's boys no more--he's all by his lonesome.
Speakin' of which...
**********
[HONK-HOOOOONK!! HONK-HONK-HONK-HONK-HONK-HONK-HOOOOOOONK!!!!!!!!]
[HONK-HOOOOONK!! HONK-HONK-HONK-HONK-HONK-HONK-HOOOOOOONK!!!!!!!!]
Johnny and Yulia quickly slinked away, looking quite sheepish as a black 2016 Lincoln MKZ pulled up to the curb; the driver's side door opened up, revealing the very same limo driver, albeit clad in a charcoal-gray business suit with green bowtie, who had picked JJ up from Miami International Airport just two weeks ago.
For the man in the Dak Prescott jersey, things had truly come full-circle.
LIMO DRIVER: Mr. Gillmen, my main man! Welcome back, are you rea...?
The 49-year-old African-American's voice trailed off, noticing Yulia. She warmly smiled at him as he opened up the car's expansive trunk.
LIMO DRIVER: Oooooo...my, oh my! Who's this fine lookin' lady you're with?! Hoooooo...WEE, she's smokin'!!
The couple laughed as they peered into each other's eyes once more...only this time, something clicked in the college grad's mind. They nodded at each other before turning their attention towards the older man in the suit.
JOHNNY: This "fine lookin' lady"...is comin' with us.
Yulia gushed with wonder. The driver's jaw dropped in complete shock, knowing ful-well that his wrestler client had understood the meaning of what he was trying to tell him fourteen days ago--that exploration wasn't necessarily about going to different places and meeting new people.
It was about creating friendships, trust, and loyalty--making memories that would last a lifetime.
LIMO DRIVER: Well I'll be...lemme get your things into the car; you two just hop in and buckle up!
Without hesitating, the couple boarded the back seat of the Lincoln as its driver proudly placed both sets of baggages into the trunk before getting back behind the steering wheel. As the limo took off, heading towards the airport, Johnny Gillmen and Yulia Malakova laughed at each other, their eyes locked upon one another, and engaged in the kiss they were about to attempt before the horn sounded.
The limo driver was very thrilled in his heart, for he realized one simple fact...
...two lovers, from entirely different backgrounds, had become inseparable.
LIMO DRIVER: L'amour...l'amour...
~TO BE CONCLUDED~
**********
**********
...some shout-outs need to be made.
It took the help of some folks who follow me on Facebook--great folks by the way--for me to realize that I screwed up in my last entry, not cognizant of the fact that Laura Howlett and her l'il cast fell down like dominoes while I was tryin' to get my shit straight--and I thank youse very much. I really do. Yet I find it hard to listen to anybody sometimes, especially the average Joe and Jessica Plinko whose sole goal in life is to help me understand the haps goin' on in IWF-land. So yeah...while I'm tryin' to grasp the notion that the House is good, dead, and buried...there's just one minor hiccup to contend with.
Like the sayin' goes..."the House always wins," even from beyond the grave.
There will be others just like 'em--believe me, there WILL be. It's like the Energizer bunny--the cycle keeps goin' and goin' and goin' and goin'. Somebody's gonna swoop in there, preach tolerance and inclusion yet sanctimoniously shuns the common folk 'cuz...welp, they don't belong in their Club.
So who's gonna stand tall and keep this vicious cycle in check?!
Think long and hard.
Mike Laszlo? Cable Arcane? I know they haven't won the Roulette in their lifetimes but PFFFFFFFFT...puh-leeze, gimme a beepin' break! They've already been champs holdin' multiple belts, at the top of the mountain before, experienced the highest of highs. Renee Pleasant? Angel Blake? Jake Conway? Now THOSE three won the darn thing but...still, they've also been there before by winnin' titles of varyin' degrees, lookin' down at all youse with evil, contemptible smirks on their faces.
I know what you're all thinkin', "JJ that sounds a l'il imp-ish, like 'Q' on Star Trek: The Next Generation," but...it's the only way I can sum up certain things sometimes--for I talk like a wrestlin' fan and I'm darn proud of it. After all...honesty IS the best policy, especially when it comes to one Mr. Spike Kane...
...#fakecancer. 'Nuff said!
As for someone like Nighthawk? Ya know somethin'...I wish I could say I like the dude on a competitive scheme. I mean, shoot...he's a professional in his wrestlin' abilities, like many others in many different lines of work. He loves the craft to no end and knows what he's doin' inside that squared circle, and while I hypothetically respect him just on those merits...there's a catch, a big one at that.
When your 2016 "Hero of the Year" outright trashes me, tellin' me that I essentially don't know the difference between punchin' and kickin', that I don't deserve to be in the gig period, along with the notion that he thinks he knows EVERYTHING about wrestlin's nooks and crannies...sorry boys and girls, but you're cheerin' for a wrinkly, old retread of Mickey Goldmill. Well-traveled, great all-'rounder, tough-as-nails-on-a-chalkboard, but supremely intolerant of fresh ideas DESPITE claimin' to be a man of the people. Just...ugh! He's too strict--even for my book!
Again, you can call me overtly aggro, say that I'm not actin' like a hero or that my logic ain't sound, and I'll completely understand what you're tryin' to tell me...BUT I want ya to know somethin', from the bottom of my soul. I only know what I'm *capable* of sayin', not what I'm *supposed* to say--like Captain Kirk of the Enterprise.
All jokin' aside...who's gonna pick up the tab and be the face IWF so desperately needs?! Who's gonna be the dude among dudes, that will rise above the rest when all the cards are on the table?! The answer to both queries, as it turns out, is one common denominator:
Us!
Yeah, that's right...us. While the Roulette may be every man for himself, I ain't gonna win the whole darn thing just for my own satisfaction and personal glory...
...nahhhh, I'm gonna do this for you, the guys and gals I watched this gig with, that saw Andy-Jaco, 'Hawk, or Spike in action while growin' up. I'm doin' this for YOU, the dudes and dudettes that dreamed BIG of makin' it in your chosen field, only to be told over and over that ya don't belong. 'Cuz I was once like you--the ultimate outsider, the dude who knew NOTHIN' about wrestlin' trainin', the dude that NOBODY expects to amount to anything in modern human civilization!
It's all about you, not about me. With that in mind, this is my personal contract, my solemn pledge, to you--the Imperial fanbase:
You will no longer be victims of circumstance. You will NO LONGER be shunned by the same people who claim to represent your interests, who claim to wanna show you "the way"...only for them to care about their OWN bottom line. You will no longer have to sit idly by and allow the honchos to tell ya "ANNNT, sorry--ya ain't good enough, ya ain't experienced, ya ain't belongin' nowhere in this here gig or ANY other gig."
'Cuz I will fight FOR YOU--'til my last dyin' breath, 'til I can't go no more!
And I will never, EVER give up on you--for you are my family...and my conscience.
No dream is ever convoluted. No goal is too far-fetched. No challenge is too big to overcome...but all I'm askin' each and every one of you is real simple. As my mother would say to me all the time, somethin' that I still hold near and dear to me to this very day...if ya put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything your heart desires. Believe me...there is nothin' that we can't achieve when we learn to buckle down and follow what are HEARTS tell us!
It ain't gonna be easy, that's a given. We're gonna have to go through Hell and high water...but it CAN be done.
And it WILL be done!
#Dare2Dream
It took the help of some folks who follow me on Facebook--great folks by the way--for me to realize that I screwed up in my last entry, not cognizant of the fact that Laura Howlett and her l'il cast fell down like dominoes while I was tryin' to get my shit straight--and I thank youse very much. I really do. Yet I find it hard to listen to anybody sometimes, especially the average Joe and Jessica Plinko whose sole goal in life is to help me understand the haps goin' on in IWF-land. So yeah...while I'm tryin' to grasp the notion that the House is good, dead, and buried...there's just one minor hiccup to contend with.
Like the sayin' goes..."the House always wins," even from beyond the grave.
There will be others just like 'em--believe me, there WILL be. It's like the Energizer bunny--the cycle keeps goin' and goin' and goin' and goin'. Somebody's gonna swoop in there, preach tolerance and inclusion yet sanctimoniously shuns the common folk 'cuz...welp, they don't belong in their Club.
So who's gonna stand tall and keep this vicious cycle in check?!
Think long and hard.
Mike Laszlo? Cable Arcane? I know they haven't won the Roulette in their lifetimes but PFFFFFFFFT...puh-leeze, gimme a beepin' break! They've already been champs holdin' multiple belts, at the top of the mountain before, experienced the highest of highs. Renee Pleasant? Angel Blake? Jake Conway? Now THOSE three won the darn thing but...still, they've also been there before by winnin' titles of varyin' degrees, lookin' down at all youse with evil, contemptible smirks on their faces.
I know what you're all thinkin', "JJ that sounds a l'il imp-ish, like 'Q' on Star Trek: The Next Generation," but...it's the only way I can sum up certain things sometimes--for I talk like a wrestlin' fan and I'm darn proud of it. After all...honesty IS the best policy, especially when it comes to one Mr. Spike Kane...
...#fakecancer. 'Nuff said!
As for someone like Nighthawk? Ya know somethin'...I wish I could say I like the dude on a competitive scheme. I mean, shoot...he's a professional in his wrestlin' abilities, like many others in many different lines of work. He loves the craft to no end and knows what he's doin' inside that squared circle, and while I hypothetically respect him just on those merits...there's a catch, a big one at that.
When your 2016 "Hero of the Year" outright trashes me, tellin' me that I essentially don't know the difference between punchin' and kickin', that I don't deserve to be in the gig period, along with the notion that he thinks he knows EVERYTHING about wrestlin's nooks and crannies...sorry boys and girls, but you're cheerin' for a wrinkly, old retread of Mickey Goldmill. Well-traveled, great all-'rounder, tough-as-nails-on-a-chalkboard, but supremely intolerant of fresh ideas DESPITE claimin' to be a man of the people. Just...ugh! He's too strict--even for my book!
Again, you can call me overtly aggro, say that I'm not actin' like a hero or that my logic ain't sound, and I'll completely understand what you're tryin' to tell me...BUT I want ya to know somethin', from the bottom of my soul. I only know what I'm *capable* of sayin', not what I'm *supposed* to say--like Captain Kirk of the Enterprise.
All jokin' aside...who's gonna pick up the tab and be the face IWF so desperately needs?! Who's gonna be the dude among dudes, that will rise above the rest when all the cards are on the table?! The answer to both queries, as it turns out, is one common denominator:
Us!
Yeah, that's right...us. While the Roulette may be every man for himself, I ain't gonna win the whole darn thing just for my own satisfaction and personal glory...
...nahhhh, I'm gonna do this for you, the guys and gals I watched this gig with, that saw Andy-Jaco, 'Hawk, or Spike in action while growin' up. I'm doin' this for YOU, the dudes and dudettes that dreamed BIG of makin' it in your chosen field, only to be told over and over that ya don't belong. 'Cuz I was once like you--the ultimate outsider, the dude who knew NOTHIN' about wrestlin' trainin', the dude that NOBODY expects to amount to anything in modern human civilization!
It's all about you, not about me. With that in mind, this is my personal contract, my solemn pledge, to you--the Imperial fanbase:
You will no longer be victims of circumstance. You will NO LONGER be shunned by the same people who claim to represent your interests, who claim to wanna show you "the way"...only for them to care about their OWN bottom line. You will no longer have to sit idly by and allow the honchos to tell ya "ANNNT, sorry--ya ain't good enough, ya ain't experienced, ya ain't belongin' nowhere in this here gig or ANY other gig."
'Cuz I will fight FOR YOU--'til my last dyin' breath, 'til I can't go no more!
And I will never, EVER give up on you--for you are my family...and my conscience.
No dream is ever convoluted. No goal is too far-fetched. No challenge is too big to overcome...but all I'm askin' each and every one of you is real simple. As my mother would say to me all the time, somethin' that I still hold near and dear to me to this very day...if ya put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything your heart desires. Believe me...there is nothin' that we can't achieve when we learn to buckle down and follow what are HEARTS tell us!
It ain't gonna be easy, that's a given. We're gonna have to go through Hell and high water...but it CAN be done.
And it WILL be done!
#Dare2Dream
Well howdy there pardner.