Post by John Weyland on Apr 5, 2016 13:17:56 GMT -5
PROLOGUE
"Cats in the Cradle"
My meaningless work.
My life and my name disgraced.
Potential squandered.
Outside of shared family holidays, I haven’t been home for a prolonged amount of time in four years. Even during the summer time; I stayed in Pennsylvania for work and team activities. It was not for a lack of yearning to return home, though.
Until now.
When everything fell through at ESU I fell into a period of denial. I don’t think I was alone. Several of my teammates thought the issues would blow over and that the punishment would be much lighter. We all thought, thanks to our talent, that we would be forgiven and allowed another opportunity to step out onto the field and be successful.
We would never walk that field again.
Denial turned to anger when many of us, myself included, were expelled. I was carrying a 4.0 grade average which I earned legitimately, but once I was looped in with cheating teammates around me, it was decided that I likely did not earn my grades.
My anger resulted in a broken window, a door torn from its hinges, and security removing me from school grounds.
As soon as humanly possible, I was on a plane heading back to my home in Louisiana. I hoped I would momentarily escape the shadow of the scandal, but social media made sure it would follow me all the way down to the tarmac.
Everyone knew.
Small time reporters waited for me as I stepped off the plane. They badgered me while I waited for my luggage to come down the carousel. I repeated, over and over again, “No comment.”
I went for lunch and wasn’t even half way through my meal before I realized that people I once knew and had friendly accointance with were now staring and whispering about me. I heard “John the cheater.”
“John the fraud.”
When I returned to my home, my mother looked at me as if I were not that same boy she sent to school those few years ago. She told me that she and my sisters would need some “time” to consider what to do and she wouldn’t hear me when I kept telling her that I was wrongfully accused. She needed time and all I needed was her.
She told me to go see my father.
William Weyland’s Office
Present
The clock ticks away seconds as I shift in the slippery leather seat. I check my phone and see that twenty minutes have passed since Dad’s secretary sent me in. No messages. I put my phone in my lap and lean back in the seat, trying to find a position where I won’t constantly slide. It’s impossible.
Behind my Dad’s desk, on the wall, are all of his accolades. I see University diplomas I’ll probably never have. I see awards and medals all representing his years of stellar service. I see pictures of my mom and all of my sisters, but a vacancy where there should be a picture of me.
I swallow hard, knowing how angry he will be. I think outloud, “I should just get out of here.”
I can’t. He has something I need. The keys to my car. I know he grabbed them up to ensure he would see me. He wouldn’t just allow me to slip away.
The door finally opens and I can’t help myself, I let out an audible sigh. My father walks up behind me and stops by me and puts his hand on the back of my chair, our eyes meet, but as soon as mine find his, he looks away. He rounds his desk and takes his seat. He looks down on me as if he’s a king in a throne. Still, every time my eyes find his, he rejects the eye contact.
“I’m sure your mother has explained that...we will need some time.”
I can’t find words, I only nod.
“Your mother and sisters are still in shock, John. I am as well. The level of disappointment is beyond imagination. You’ve embarrassed your family, your friends, and yourself.” He slowly shakes his head, “I did not raise you to become this...person.”
I interrupt, “I didn’t do anything wrong. I earned my grades, I earned my stats, and I supported my team.”
He scoffs, “Your grades were purchased, your stats were aided by drugs, and your team? A chain gang. It’s a miracle that you’re not in jail.”
Maybe I’d be better off in an orange jumpsuit. I try to avoid it, but my eyes roll, “You didn’t help me once.”
“Oh I didn’t? Then you’re ignorant to all the work I had to do in addition to running this town, to help you. My phone rang off of the hook.”
“Fine.” I shrug, “I’m still innocent. The grades, the games, were results of my hard work.”
His tone showcases his growing spite, “Everything you’ve worked for is meaningless, now.”
I feel a knot growing in my throat. My father has never talked to me like this before. He was always in my corner, always pushing me and rooting for me. Now it’s as if he doesn’t even know, or want to know me.
He sighs hard, “What will you do now?”
I shouldn’t bother telling him, but I do anyway, “Wrestling.”
“Collegiate wrestling? No college will touch you now. I meant a job. You need to find a job.”
“No. I mean,” here it comes, “Professional wrestling.”
He just looks at me dumbfounded. Our eyes make contact again, but only for a moment. When his eyes shift away from mine I see they’re glassy from sadness.
“My friend, Dontevius. He…”
He interrupts, “The thug? I suggest you stop associating with him--you’d be much better off.”
I show my teeth now, “He is not a thug. He’s the same guy you cheered for when we were scoring touchdowns. He’s the same guy you said would help me get into the NFL.”
“That was then. Look. Forget about professional wrestling. I’ll make some calls. I’ll find something for you. You’ll just have to find somewhere to stay until…”
“No,” I stand up, “You’ve made enough calls. I just need the keys to my car.”
My dad stands up and his eyes finally lock onto to mine, “You mean, my car?”
I feel the knot in my throat near a breaking point, “Dad.”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the keys. He jangles them before pitching them at me. I catch them in an outstretched hand. I collect my phone and jacket and turn to him, “How do I prove that I did nothing wrong?”
He shakes his head, “I don’t know,” he sighs, “All I do know, is that all of your talent, intelligence, and potential have been squandered.”
No matter how hard I try to fight it, I finally feel a tear roll out of my eye. It trails down my cheek, “You don’t really mean that.”
Choked, he lets out, “I need you to leave.”
Loved your only boy.
Pushed away your only man.
Vanished from your eyes.
