You Can Take the Dog Out of the Fight -- Gladiator Wrestling Alliance

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The camera
feed starts, with the view of a modestly sized rambler lying on
the top of a paved hill. It is a bright, sunny day, one that
would seem perfect for a drive. Almost on cue, the serenity of
the shot is interrup ted by the loud rumbling of a car engine,
and a black 1998 Volkswagen Jetta comes screaming up the hill,
easily exceeding the speed limit. The car swings to the left and
then into the driveway of the focused rambler, screeching to a
halt. The driver's side door opens, and the final bars of Styx's
"Blue Collar Man" blare out, as Barry Odessy steps out
of the car, then leans back inside to retrieve his keys from the
ignition. He shuts the car door, though not before reaching into
the back and getting his duffel bag.

He walks up
the cement walkway to his door, giving the car remote button a
double tap to lock the car and set the alarm. It has been a while
since he has been able to come to this out of the way
neighborhood on the outskirts of Toledo, Ohio. And as he m akes
his way to his front porch, he pauses a moment to retrieve his
mail, and realizes just how long he has been gone, and just how
much worthless junk mail businesses can distribute to people in
that amount of time. He does see a few different, if not
interesting pieces. A three week old newsletter, apparently
catering to "Independent Wrestling Stars," due to the
newsletter's identical title. The newsletter is advertising the
opening of Universal Championship Wrestling. Barry leafs through
the stack for a while, and sees the next issue of
"Independent Wrestling Stars" with a headline
advertising the demise of the UCW. Barry shakes his head, giving
a chuckle before tossing both into a plastic tray labeled Mixed
Waste. He tucks the rest of the mail under his arm while he
unlocks his front door, and entering his house. The camera soon
follows, momentarily interrupting the feed.

By the time
the camera feed restarts, Barry is sitting at a small square
table in his living room, reading through the rest of his mail.
This is the first time he has been able to relax in weeks, and is
thusly rewarded with several months worth of thoughts racing
through his head. If we could read his mind, we would know he was
thinking about her. The only one who had ever shown any interest
in him. It was short lived. She left him in the dust. At the
time, he was glad he did not stick around to find out the reason.
But now, even after these months of self-imposed seclusion, he
still thinks about her. He can not help it. She was perfect.
Perfect mind, body and soul. And perfectly out of reach, when she
left him in the night. He had assumed she had moved on to bigger
and better things, leaving him behind, like a pitstop. And now,
Barry realized that he had to move on with his life, too.

"Not so
fast, Barry," the emporer of fate seemed to say. As of on
cue, Barry comes to a smaller envelope in his mail stack, and
judging by the placement, near the top, the letter was mailed
fairly recently. Then he gets a chance to look at the sender.
Christmas Joy. It would seem he had spoke too soon.

But the
question remained. Why was she sending him a letter, after all
this time? What could she possibly want or need from him, that
she only realized she needed now, three months after their last
meeting? The only way Barry could answer these questions would be
to open the letter. And it would only be fair to her if he did,
seeing as how she had gone through the trouble of mailing it to
him. "Fair to her. Right," Barry sighs. He
reaches across the table and grabs a pair of scissors that he had
left there since last time.

Barry gives
a deep breath, as if releasing some of his bodily energy to
combat the phantoms and reminders of the past that will
undoubtedly be unearthed as soon as he unfolds the letter:

bordercolor="#000000" bordercolordark="#000000"
bordercolorlight="#000000">

bordercolorlight="#000000"> face="Formal">Dear Barry-

face="Formal">I guess the return address told you who
this letter is from. If you've opened this letter that
I'd like to ask that you continue reading it, if not and
this letter lay somewhere in a dumpster, all crumpled up,
then I can understand. It's been a few months since we
talked.. Seattle where you expected to wake up and see me
there next to you but I wasn't. The reason why I left was
because I needed to find myself, find out who I was, ya'
know? I was selfish, not caring what happened to SWA. But
each step I took out of that hotel room I a tear ran down
my face.. Barry I remember our late night talks about the
things I'd done in SWA I remember you objecting to the
big pay off I gave to Snatchman to rape Damm. Back then I
chuckled about it, after all, we kicked butt in the
ratings. I assume my father can't be too happy with me
either but he's always understood this business. I'm just
hoping the wrestlers that I'm asking forgiveness from
will do just that, but most of this wouldn't be right if
I didn't ask you too Barry because you're my heart. When
no one else was there to lend me a hand or talk to me,
you were. Barry, thank you. You should be able to find
the next card's location on the GWA website.. I'd like
you to come and visit me here. Use my credit card to get
yourself a flight here. The PIN is 4895 3115 7121
0021, it's a Visa. I'll be at the Hyatt (as always), in
room 230.

Love, Chrissy

Barry just
shook his head at first, instantly registering the flowing,
perfectly written script. The questions he had before he opened
the letter not only remain unanswered, but even more pressing.
Had something gone wrong in her master plan, and she was now
looking for sympathy in the one man she knew she could count on
to give it to her?

He knows,
deep in his soul, that he will find the answer, one way or the
other. And why postpone the enevitable? He sets the rest of the
mail in a stack on the table and goes into his bedroom, neatly
made before he left; a special treat he wanted to leave for
himself when he came back. He remembers that, now. But there's no
time to savor it. He sits on the bed, allowing the springs to
encompass him before he picks up his bedside telephone, the
reciever in one hand, Joy's letter in the other. He reads a small
phone list that he taped to the nightstand, and finds what he was
looking for, and he punches the numbers on the phonepad, and
waits.

Until
finally, someone on the other end picks up, and their garbled
spiel resinates from the phone, barely audible through the
camera's microphone. But Barry's speech is crystal-clear.

We could
listen to Barry's conversation to the very end, but we know what
he'll say. He is being drawn back to her, whether he knows it, or
wants to accept that or not. Such an obiedient pet.