Post by Stace Matthews on Jan 29, 2018 11:16:31 GMT -5
“There's someone out there,” Stace Matthews shook her husband's arm, frantically trying to wake him up.
He didn't budge.
The thumps and bumps echoed clearly over the pasture in the still Texas night.
They were jolted up her spine.
“Johnny,” she shouted, “there is someone in the barn!”
And there was.
A loud THUMP, three quick bumps, two even quicker, three more like before and the loud THUMP restarted the sequence in succession, repeatedly.
There was definitely someone in the storied Matthews’ Barn.
“I am going to flush your cigarettes,” she threatened.
From a dead sleep, he rolled up onto his side, frantically searched the top of the nightstand, finding his leather case and Zippo. He laid back down and grunted at her.
“What is that sound?”
“There is someone in the barn,” she snapped, “I have been trying to wake you for ten minutes!”
He was immediately at the side of the bed, kicking and tripping his feet down the legs of his pants. He stumbled into the hallway, fighting his arms up into the sleeves of his shirt. He fell down the stairs and out the back door. Crossing the yard, ducking through the fence rails and running across the pasture, he quickly fumbled his way to The Barn.
He wiped the sleep from his eyes, recognized the rusty old Ford parked outside The Barn and stopped his rush.
“Fuck,” the back pocket of his jeans, empty, disappointing. No cigarettes. All of his pockets were empty. No cellular and he was unarmed. “This better be damned important. Big fucker.”
Continuing on his way, he entered and made his way to the source of the bumps, under the wooden bleachers and over the steel-rail crowd barrier.
There, in the very ring where Matthews had trained him, was a very large, young man running the ropes.
All six-and-a-half feet, two-hundred and sixty-five pounds of Matthew Gamble rebounds from the ropes, takes three steps and drops to the mat. Rolls to his elbow, up to his knee, back to his feet, and then, three more steps and he's coming back again.
The bump was varied, he was going through the cadence; they were intense, like thunder when he landed; he was focused, a little furious and, he was letting the ring know it.
“Oty,” Matthews slapped the apron, “son, it is two…”
“Two,” Gamble repeated, then hit the ropes and returned with a polished face-plant bump. “Two in’a morn’,” he said, getting up, then rushed the ropes, “I’ma v’ry sorry.”
“Got something on your mind?”
“Nah,” Gamble rocketed faster and the ropes snapped him back, he shook the steel chairs on the hardwood floor, “I jus’ do not un’erstan’ how ya’all done this,” he stopped momentarily, shook it off and went back to the drill.
“How who has done what?”
“Ol’ Vivacious an’ Stormm,” Gamble answered half of the question, found his feet, then went to the ropes as he finished, “ya’all make it look so darn easy.”
“Easy?” Matthews laughs, “Let me tell you about easy, Kid. I have a tag team match coming up,” he stopped, the right rear pocket of his jeans remained empty, “I’m not a fucking tag team wrestler.”
“Ya gots a darned good partner tho’.”
“Half the reason I am even going to show up,” Matthews returned, “they need to fucking understand though, we are Notorious.” He stopped again, “I really wish I had a cigarette.”
“Gots sum Reds in that bag,” Gamble answered, pointing to a duffel, between bumps.
“Thank you.”
Matthews rifled through the duffel and, after finding a fifth of Jack Daniels and a Ziplock snack sack full of sticky, Tennessee-grown Hogsbreath nuggets, he finally found the cigarettes and a Bic lighter. He drew a cigarette from the pack, returned the pack to the duffel and then, he lit up. The coffin nail glowed bright, cherry-red and he enjoyed the brief rush of that first hit flavor.
“Is that the new stuff?”
“Yeah, Buddy,” Gamble gasped, following a back bump.
“Is it,” Matthews asked, rubbing his thumb on the inside of his other fingers.
“Big time,” Gamble remained on his back, sweating into the canvas and trying to catch his breath. From within his giant chest, his heart beat hard against his white, cotton A-shirt.
“What was I saying?”
“Said ol’ Stormm’s half the reason,” Gamble reminded, “an’ the twos of ya are Notorious, yadda, yadda.”
“Yes,” Matthews remembered, “and so he is. Was that it?”
“Ya never gots ‘round to the oth’r half,” Gamble shook his head.
“Other half of what?”
“The oth’r half o’ the reason ya gonna wrassle in a tag’up,” Gamble raised his head to check on his mentor, a man in black pajamas leaning on the apron of the ring.
“Dominator,” Matthews answered.
“So,” Gamble shrugged, “ya in’a six man tag or sumptin?”
“No,” Matthews shook his head, “Dominator is on one of the other teams.”
“I’ma not ev’n gonna try an’ figure that out,” Gamble panted as he spoke, the thirty minute run and bump drill had exhausted him.
“It's some match that some clown who travels in a purple cloud of smoke probably made up.”
“Seriously,” Gamble struggled to breathe while laughing uncontrollably. “So,” he laughed out, “who else is in the match?”
“I have no clue,” Matthews shrugged, “they are Justin's problem. See,” he smirked, “half the reason.”
“Because, on’a other hand,” Gamble played along, “Dominator’s the only cat yer worryin’ ‘bout.”
“Exactly,” Matthews slaps the apron. “I have no doubt that Dom remembers me cleaning his clock,” he laughs, “I bet, even as woosie as he was, he could even tell you the exact time.”
“Ya went an’ whacked ‘im,” Gamble demonstrated, “right in’a head wit’-is belt!”
“Yeah,” Matthews nodded, “I bet he remembers that too.”
“M’kay,” Gamble belittled, “he gots a memory an’ he's good wit’ time.”
“And,” Matthews puffed, “likely a huge problem getting sixteen pounds of gold and leather across his forehead.”
Gamble sat up in the ring, shaking his head, clearly frustrated with something. He pushed himself back up to his feet, his body was heavy, but he fully intended to go right back at it.
“You're exhausted,” Matthews encouraged the young man to exit the ring and follow him.
Drenched in sweat, panting heavily, Gamble didn't have the energy to begin again so, he gave into Matthews’ offer and dropped back down to the canvas and rolled out of the ring under the bottom rope. He grabbed his duffel and met up with Matthews at the entrance.
“Why are you so angry at my ring,” Matthews asked. “That bump drill was intense.”
“I reckon I’ma lil’ confused,” Gamble answered, “I’ma really doubtin’ I might’a made the right d’cision, ya kno’?”
“Last I had heard,” Matthews slapped Gamble on his shoulder, “you were in a big tournament for a World championship.”
“I pulled my name,” Gamble hung his head. “Ya always told me to stan’by my commitments.”
“I'm still unsure about why you would pull yourself from a World Championship tournament.”
“I told a sweet lil’ thing I was gonna show her…”
“For a girl,” Matthews shook his head, “it isn't my silly little cousin, right?”
“Nah,” Gamble laughed, “she gots Bacon.”
Matthews shut off the overhead lighting and they exited The Barn. Gamble used his trainee key to lock up while Matthews lit up another cigarette. Far in the distance, coming from near the road in front of the house, reds and blues were coming up the driveway.
“Trixie?”
“Nah,” Gamble laughed, “she the most fun than any gal I ev’r done met, but she intimidatin’.”
“Oty,” Matthews flipped ashes about as he asked, “tell me, you did not give up this huge opportunity to chase after Celeste.” Gamble cast a look of guilt and Matthews just shook his head, “Wait until I tell Justin this shit.”
“Looks like we gonna have sum ‘xplainin’ to do,” Gamble zipped his bag up tight and pushed the duffel as far behind his shoulder as he could.
“I'll handle them,” Matthews tossed the cigarette down, “you go on up to the house and get some sleep in the guest room.”
“Ya think ol’ Stormm…”
“Yes,” Matthews answered before Gamble could finish, “he is going to kick your ass for that kind of thinking.”
Gamble went up across the yard as Matthews approached the sheriff deputies pulling in front of The Barn. He explained that a former trainee, with a key, had went into the gym to run drills because he was frustrated. Matthews and the deputies talked wrestling for awhile before he sent them on their way and headed back to his home.
He didn't budge.
The thumps and bumps echoed clearly over the pasture in the still Texas night.
They were jolted up her spine.
“Johnny,” she shouted, “there is someone in the barn!”
And there was.
A loud THUMP, three quick bumps, two even quicker, three more like before and the loud THUMP restarted the sequence in succession, repeatedly.
There was definitely someone in the storied Matthews’ Barn.
“I am going to flush your cigarettes,” she threatened.
From a dead sleep, he rolled up onto his side, frantically searched the top of the nightstand, finding his leather case and Zippo. He laid back down and grunted at her.
“What is that sound?”
“There is someone in the barn,” she snapped, “I have been trying to wake you for ten minutes!”
He was immediately at the side of the bed, kicking and tripping his feet down the legs of his pants. He stumbled into the hallway, fighting his arms up into the sleeves of his shirt. He fell down the stairs and out the back door. Crossing the yard, ducking through the fence rails and running across the pasture, he quickly fumbled his way to The Barn.
He wiped the sleep from his eyes, recognized the rusty old Ford parked outside The Barn and stopped his rush.
“Fuck,” the back pocket of his jeans, empty, disappointing. No cigarettes. All of his pockets were empty. No cellular and he was unarmed. “This better be damned important. Big fucker.”
Continuing on his way, he entered and made his way to the source of the bumps, under the wooden bleachers and over the steel-rail crowd barrier.
There, in the very ring where Matthews had trained him, was a very large, young man running the ropes.
All six-and-a-half feet, two-hundred and sixty-five pounds of Matthew Gamble rebounds from the ropes, takes three steps and drops to the mat. Rolls to his elbow, up to his knee, back to his feet, and then, three more steps and he's coming back again.
The bump was varied, he was going through the cadence; they were intense, like thunder when he landed; he was focused, a little furious and, he was letting the ring know it.
“Oty,” Matthews slapped the apron, “son, it is two…”
“Two,” Gamble repeated, then hit the ropes and returned with a polished face-plant bump. “Two in’a morn’,” he said, getting up, then rushed the ropes, “I’ma v’ry sorry.”
“Got something on your mind?”
“Nah,” Gamble rocketed faster and the ropes snapped him back, he shook the steel chairs on the hardwood floor, “I jus’ do not un’erstan’ how ya’all done this,” he stopped momentarily, shook it off and went back to the drill.
“How who has done what?”
“Ol’ Vivacious an’ Stormm,” Gamble answered half of the question, found his feet, then went to the ropes as he finished, “ya’all make it look so darn easy.”
“Easy?” Matthews laughs, “Let me tell you about easy, Kid. I have a tag team match coming up,” he stopped, the right rear pocket of his jeans remained empty, “I’m not a fucking tag team wrestler.”
“Ya gots a darned good partner tho’.”
“Half the reason I am even going to show up,” Matthews returned, “they need to fucking understand though, we are Notorious.” He stopped again, “I really wish I had a cigarette.”
“Gots sum Reds in that bag,” Gamble answered, pointing to a duffel, between bumps.
“Thank you.”
Matthews rifled through the duffel and, after finding a fifth of Jack Daniels and a Ziplock snack sack full of sticky, Tennessee-grown Hogsbreath nuggets, he finally found the cigarettes and a Bic lighter. He drew a cigarette from the pack, returned the pack to the duffel and then, he lit up. The coffin nail glowed bright, cherry-red and he enjoyed the brief rush of that first hit flavor.
“Is that the new stuff?”
“Yeah, Buddy,” Gamble gasped, following a back bump.
“Is it,” Matthews asked, rubbing his thumb on the inside of his other fingers.
“Big time,” Gamble remained on his back, sweating into the canvas and trying to catch his breath. From within his giant chest, his heart beat hard against his white, cotton A-shirt.
“What was I saying?”
“Said ol’ Stormm’s half the reason,” Gamble reminded, “an’ the twos of ya are Notorious, yadda, yadda.”
“Yes,” Matthews remembered, “and so he is. Was that it?”
“Ya never gots ‘round to the oth’r half,” Gamble shook his head.
“Other half of what?”
“The oth’r half o’ the reason ya gonna wrassle in a tag’up,” Gamble raised his head to check on his mentor, a man in black pajamas leaning on the apron of the ring.
“Dominator,” Matthews answered.
“So,” Gamble shrugged, “ya in’a six man tag or sumptin?”
“No,” Matthews shook his head, “Dominator is on one of the other teams.”
“I’ma not ev’n gonna try an’ figure that out,” Gamble panted as he spoke, the thirty minute run and bump drill had exhausted him.
“It's some match that some clown who travels in a purple cloud of smoke probably made up.”
“Seriously,” Gamble struggled to breathe while laughing uncontrollably. “So,” he laughed out, “who else is in the match?”
“I have no clue,” Matthews shrugged, “they are Justin's problem. See,” he smirked, “half the reason.”
“Because, on’a other hand,” Gamble played along, “Dominator’s the only cat yer worryin’ ‘bout.”
“Exactly,” Matthews slaps the apron. “I have no doubt that Dom remembers me cleaning his clock,” he laughs, “I bet, even as woosie as he was, he could even tell you the exact time.”
“Ya went an’ whacked ‘im,” Gamble demonstrated, “right in’a head wit’-is belt!”
“Yeah,” Matthews nodded, “I bet he remembers that too.”
“M’kay,” Gamble belittled, “he gots a memory an’ he's good wit’ time.”
“And,” Matthews puffed, “likely a huge problem getting sixteen pounds of gold and leather across his forehead.”
Gamble sat up in the ring, shaking his head, clearly frustrated with something. He pushed himself back up to his feet, his body was heavy, but he fully intended to go right back at it.
“You're exhausted,” Matthews encouraged the young man to exit the ring and follow him.
Drenched in sweat, panting heavily, Gamble didn't have the energy to begin again so, he gave into Matthews’ offer and dropped back down to the canvas and rolled out of the ring under the bottom rope. He grabbed his duffel and met up with Matthews at the entrance.
“Why are you so angry at my ring,” Matthews asked. “That bump drill was intense.”
“I reckon I’ma lil’ confused,” Gamble answered, “I’ma really doubtin’ I might’a made the right d’cision, ya kno’?”
“Last I had heard,” Matthews slapped Gamble on his shoulder, “you were in a big tournament for a World championship.”
“I pulled my name,” Gamble hung his head. “Ya always told me to stan’by my commitments.”
“I'm still unsure about why you would pull yourself from a World Championship tournament.”
“I told a sweet lil’ thing I was gonna show her…”
“For a girl,” Matthews shook his head, “it isn't my silly little cousin, right?”
“Nah,” Gamble laughed, “she gots Bacon.”
Matthews shut off the overhead lighting and they exited The Barn. Gamble used his trainee key to lock up while Matthews lit up another cigarette. Far in the distance, coming from near the road in front of the house, reds and blues were coming up the driveway.
“Trixie?”
“Nah,” Gamble laughed, “she the most fun than any gal I ev’r done met, but she intimidatin’.”
“Oty,” Matthews flipped ashes about as he asked, “tell me, you did not give up this huge opportunity to chase after Celeste.” Gamble cast a look of guilt and Matthews just shook his head, “Wait until I tell Justin this shit.”
“Looks like we gonna have sum ‘xplainin’ to do,” Gamble zipped his bag up tight and pushed the duffel as far behind his shoulder as he could.
“I'll handle them,” Matthews tossed the cigarette down, “you go on up to the house and get some sleep in the guest room.”
“Ya think ol’ Stormm…”
“Yes,” Matthews answered before Gamble could finish, “he is going to kick your ass for that kind of thinking.”
Gamble went up across the yard as Matthews approached the sheriff deputies pulling in front of The Barn. He explained that a former trainee, with a key, had went into the gym to run drills because he was frustrated. Matthews and the deputies talked wrestling for awhile before he sent them on their way and headed back to his home.