Post by Deleted on Apr 1, 2006 17:42:19 GMT -5
Auburn; the color of my hair and my middle name. My hair was long, for a guy's anyway, but not nearly the length of my father's in his college days. He'd cut it a few years before he died when I was ten. My sister Laura said he cut it because the roots of his jet black hair were finally turning gray, but my brother Sean, the eldest of us, told me that when I beam growing it out, my father envied the looks my hair would draw, even from the women his age. I never noticed, as the only girl I spoke to until I was twelve years old was my Laura. Had I known my mother, who died when I was two, I probably would've talked to her as well.
"Why is your middle name Auburn?" the innocent, black-haired girl beside me asked. She flashed the irresistible puppy eyes, and even though I'd told the story many times, I didn't mind.
"My mother's favorite color was auburn. Both she and my father wished they could have a girl with auburn hair and green eyes.. After Sean and Laura inherited my father's black hair, they decided before I was born that if I didn't have the hair, I'd at least have the name. Turns out my hair was naturally auburn, to the surprise of everyone, and my father often told me my mother's keen fascination with it before she passed away."
Melissa had the familiar glint in her eyes, like she did every time I told her that story. "I love hearing you tell me that story. You never exaggerate it; it always stays the same." Then, a new look appeared on her face; one of curiosity. "Why did you dye your hair black?"
I'd dyed my hair after my father died, and continued to do so for the six years that followed. "I don't have much left of my father," I explained, "but when I dye my hair the color his was, I'm almost a splitting image of him when he was in college. Seeing how passionate and honorable my father was, I would gladly aspire to lead myself the way he did."
"I swear," she began, "you're the most nostalgic person I've ever met."
"I take that as a compliment."
"As it was meant," she added with a smile.
The day's get-together was like most; conversation on the front porch. Even off the busy Harrisburg street, it was the most peaceful place I knew at the time. Since my dad died, I hadn't left the house much outside of going to school. I knew that my trust issues could quickly get the better of me. Bliss though, had this innocence about her. Barely over five feet tall and no more than a hundred pounds, the way her eyes gleamed through the thick lenses of her glasses was enough to entrance even the coldest of souls. She'd been with me since the day I turned twelve, and I never once found myself wanting to be away from her. She gave me the feeling of being loved, something I would strive desperately to find again in years to come.
The night before my sixteenth birthday, I began walking. I had no precise destination, but as I continued my journey, I was soon out of the city in unfamiliar territory. An endless trail lead me through the woods as the sun began to fade on the horizon. The incline began steadily increasing, leading me to a flat clearing. The short length of the newer trees allowed me to peer into the valley from which I came. Alone with the stars, I laid down with my hands supporting my head. The endless sea of the universe cleared my head of thought for the first time in my life.
In what seemed like minutes, but turned out to be hours, I blinked out of my gaze, and the sun shone above me. Wearily, I rose to a sitting position, my back completely covered in dirt and blades of grass. Wondering what came over me the entire night, I walked down the mountain, following the trail that led me there. A short time later, the streets became familiar again. My front porch awaited me as always, but Melissa wasn't there, like she usually was at this time of day. Sitting in my favorite chair, I stared into the streets, but I didn't look at anything. In my mind, I saw the stars, and my mind became infinite. It was only after a hard shake of the shoulder that I realized my sister was hysterically trying to get me on the phone.
So many silhouettes of gravestones lined my view of the sunrise that morning. It was the third morning in a row I'd slept next to my dear Bliss. The cold marble supported my head, as with the emerging light, I could read the headstone that marked my friend's place of rest. Melissa Onastasio, at the age of nineteen, met a concrete sidewalk head on from a speeding car. I didn't know the driver, at least at the time, and I assumed she was getting a ride to my front porch. Melissa never broke her word.
"Alexander Auburn Laiman!" The unmistakable cry of my sister's voice snapped me out of my state. ."Where the hell have you been?"
"Right here, Laura."
"Aren't you coming home?"
"Home? The place which I've resided my entire life may be my house, but my home I have yet to find. The only thing this supposed home has brought me is loss." Laura's expression negated the need for a reply.
"I need to go away," I stated.
"Where could you possibly need to go," Laura demanded.
"I don't know, but you'll be second to know."
"Who's gonna be first?"
"Bliss."
With that, I turned down the gravel path of the cemetery. Little did I know it would be the last time I'd see Laura before she moved out, got married, had a child, and mostly forgot about me entirely. So be it; it was a calling that I couldn't ignore.
I snuck into my old room when no one was home and packed together a bag of clothes and the bare necessities. The only reminders I had of my family were two photographs, and for some reason, they weren't where I left them. Under my mattress, I pulled the envelope of the money I'd been saving since I was thirteen. With one final glance, I disappeared back into the woods that cleared my mind only one week ago when things still seemed simple.
"You know that your sister's been trying to find you for the past two weeks?"
The words from the girl behind me didn't surprise me in the least, but didn't concern me nonetheless. She was the little annoying chatterbox, and she knew more about people's personal lives than most of the people did. The runt of an Irish family, the dorky blonde girl's eyes were filled with concern while I stood in front of the doors to the gym of Cumberland Valley High School.
After two minutes of staring into the door, pretending to think if anything, I finally turned around. Her eyes stared directly into mine, as if telepathy were kicking in on her side. "Are you ever going home," she asked.
"Funny how the assumption is that the place I once lived in was my home." I felt the pang of redundancy, as repeating myself always annoyed me.
"How could it not be your home?"
"Because it's not where my heart belongs, Charlene. I'm trying to find something, and until my heart takes me there, the only home I know is inside my head."
"If that's the case, what are you doing here?"
Good question. Good question indeed. Here I stood in front of the building, locally known as the Dome. On a Saturday morning, there obviously wasn't school sessions taking place, but instead a small flyer taped to the door that read "EWF TRYOUTS TODAY. IF ACCEPTED, TRAINING IS FREE."
"You're not seriously going to try out for professional wrestling, are you?"
"I wouldn't waste my time coming here if I wasn't," I politely informed her. The truth is, I didn't have a clue what brought me here, or why the flyer had caught my attention. Maybe it was the mere fact that I never thought it would intrigue me to begin with, but I was there, holding everything I owned in a weekender suitcase, trying to convince a stubborn high school girl that I was about to embark on some sort of self- fulfillment.
"I still think you should go home... err.. back to your house."
"It's not gonna work, Char. Give it a rest and find someone else to nag."
"It's genuine concern, Laiman! I'm not gonna stand here and let you throw your life away."
"It's not your responsibility, nor your concern. I appreciate the offer, but it's to the point where I can only trust myself. If this is the last time I see you, then I bid you adieu."
Charlene merely shook her head and meandered back into the unusually empty parking lot. The place that was normally jammed to the brim with teenagers and hotrods was now deserted, with the exception of seven cars and a U-HAUL truck. As I gazed, the back end of the truck suddenly flew open, and a huge guy whose face was covered by his own hair blowing in the wind jumped to the ground. His head turned in my direction, and I froze, wondering if I should even be here.
"Hey fella, can you give me a hand with this?"
I shook off the premonition jitters and jogged back into the parking lot. I peeked into the back of the truck, and boxes labeled "GEAR" were stashed against the side. "You here for the tryouts," he asked as he handed me a fairly heavy box.
"Yes sir," I replied.
"Nevermind the sir shit, son. The name's Danny Zorich, but I'll kick your ass if you call me anything but Z."
Whatever the guy wanted, I thought. Even as I stood at six-five, he looked down at me, and I wasn't about to disagree with him. He grabbed the last of the boxes, and walked in front of me, eventually kicking in the door and holding it open with his back for me to walk through. As I looked into the gym, a wrestling ring stood center, where the half court mark on the basketball court was. The many rows of bleachers were pushed back, except for the very front row, where four young guys sat eagerly, while an older gentleman paced in front of them. When we entered, the elder quickly looked over our way. "Z! Are you done bringing in that fucking gear yet?"
"Shut your mouth and help the kid unload the equipment."
Without a glance, the man grabbed the box from my arms and tore it open. Inside, along with the turnbuckle pads, were tryout applications. I looked closer, and I noticed that the applications only had three questions. The third one caught my eye more than the name and age questions. "Are you ready to get your ass kicked?" Catchy indeed, but seeing as alternatives were something I lacked, I, along with four other hungry guys, would become the first alumni of Danny Zorich's wrestling class.
"Why is your middle name Auburn?" the innocent, black-haired girl beside me asked. She flashed the irresistible puppy eyes, and even though I'd told the story many times, I didn't mind.
"My mother's favorite color was auburn. Both she and my father wished they could have a girl with auburn hair and green eyes.. After Sean and Laura inherited my father's black hair, they decided before I was born that if I didn't have the hair, I'd at least have the name. Turns out my hair was naturally auburn, to the surprise of everyone, and my father often told me my mother's keen fascination with it before she passed away."
Melissa had the familiar glint in her eyes, like she did every time I told her that story. "I love hearing you tell me that story. You never exaggerate it; it always stays the same." Then, a new look appeared on her face; one of curiosity. "Why did you dye your hair black?"
I'd dyed my hair after my father died, and continued to do so for the six years that followed. "I don't have much left of my father," I explained, "but when I dye my hair the color his was, I'm almost a splitting image of him when he was in college. Seeing how passionate and honorable my father was, I would gladly aspire to lead myself the way he did."
"I swear," she began, "you're the most nostalgic person I've ever met."
"I take that as a compliment."
"As it was meant," she added with a smile.
The day's get-together was like most; conversation on the front porch. Even off the busy Harrisburg street, it was the most peaceful place I knew at the time. Since my dad died, I hadn't left the house much outside of going to school. I knew that my trust issues could quickly get the better of me. Bliss though, had this innocence about her. Barely over five feet tall and no more than a hundred pounds, the way her eyes gleamed through the thick lenses of her glasses was enough to entrance even the coldest of souls. She'd been with me since the day I turned twelve, and I never once found myself wanting to be away from her. She gave me the feeling of being loved, something I would strive desperately to find again in years to come.
The night before my sixteenth birthday, I began walking. I had no precise destination, but as I continued my journey, I was soon out of the city in unfamiliar territory. An endless trail lead me through the woods as the sun began to fade on the horizon. The incline began steadily increasing, leading me to a flat clearing. The short length of the newer trees allowed me to peer into the valley from which I came. Alone with the stars, I laid down with my hands supporting my head. The endless sea of the universe cleared my head of thought for the first time in my life.
In what seemed like minutes, but turned out to be hours, I blinked out of my gaze, and the sun shone above me. Wearily, I rose to a sitting position, my back completely covered in dirt and blades of grass. Wondering what came over me the entire night, I walked down the mountain, following the trail that led me there. A short time later, the streets became familiar again. My front porch awaited me as always, but Melissa wasn't there, like she usually was at this time of day. Sitting in my favorite chair, I stared into the streets, but I didn't look at anything. In my mind, I saw the stars, and my mind became infinite. It was only after a hard shake of the shoulder that I realized my sister was hysterically trying to get me on the phone.
So many silhouettes of gravestones lined my view of the sunrise that morning. It was the third morning in a row I'd slept next to my dear Bliss. The cold marble supported my head, as with the emerging light, I could read the headstone that marked my friend's place of rest. Melissa Onastasio, at the age of nineteen, met a concrete sidewalk head on from a speeding car. I didn't know the driver, at least at the time, and I assumed she was getting a ride to my front porch. Melissa never broke her word.
"Alexander Auburn Laiman!" The unmistakable cry of my sister's voice snapped me out of my state. ."Where the hell have you been?"
"Right here, Laura."
"Aren't you coming home?"
"Home? The place which I've resided my entire life may be my house, but my home I have yet to find. The only thing this supposed home has brought me is loss." Laura's expression negated the need for a reply.
"I need to go away," I stated.
"Where could you possibly need to go," Laura demanded.
"I don't know, but you'll be second to know."
"Who's gonna be first?"
"Bliss."
With that, I turned down the gravel path of the cemetery. Little did I know it would be the last time I'd see Laura before she moved out, got married, had a child, and mostly forgot about me entirely. So be it; it was a calling that I couldn't ignore.
I snuck into my old room when no one was home and packed together a bag of clothes and the bare necessities. The only reminders I had of my family were two photographs, and for some reason, they weren't where I left them. Under my mattress, I pulled the envelope of the money I'd been saving since I was thirteen. With one final glance, I disappeared back into the woods that cleared my mind only one week ago when things still seemed simple.
"You know that your sister's been trying to find you for the past two weeks?"
The words from the girl behind me didn't surprise me in the least, but didn't concern me nonetheless. She was the little annoying chatterbox, and she knew more about people's personal lives than most of the people did. The runt of an Irish family, the dorky blonde girl's eyes were filled with concern while I stood in front of the doors to the gym of Cumberland Valley High School.
After two minutes of staring into the door, pretending to think if anything, I finally turned around. Her eyes stared directly into mine, as if telepathy were kicking in on her side. "Are you ever going home," she asked.
"Funny how the assumption is that the place I once lived in was my home." I felt the pang of redundancy, as repeating myself always annoyed me.
"How could it not be your home?"
"Because it's not where my heart belongs, Charlene. I'm trying to find something, and until my heart takes me there, the only home I know is inside my head."
"If that's the case, what are you doing here?"
Good question. Good question indeed. Here I stood in front of the building, locally known as the Dome. On a Saturday morning, there obviously wasn't school sessions taking place, but instead a small flyer taped to the door that read "EWF TRYOUTS TODAY. IF ACCEPTED, TRAINING IS FREE."
"You're not seriously going to try out for professional wrestling, are you?"
"I wouldn't waste my time coming here if I wasn't," I politely informed her. The truth is, I didn't have a clue what brought me here, or why the flyer had caught my attention. Maybe it was the mere fact that I never thought it would intrigue me to begin with, but I was there, holding everything I owned in a weekender suitcase, trying to convince a stubborn high school girl that I was about to embark on some sort of self- fulfillment.
"I still think you should go home... err.. back to your house."
"It's not gonna work, Char. Give it a rest and find someone else to nag."
"It's genuine concern, Laiman! I'm not gonna stand here and let you throw your life away."
"It's not your responsibility, nor your concern. I appreciate the offer, but it's to the point where I can only trust myself. If this is the last time I see you, then I bid you adieu."
Charlene merely shook her head and meandered back into the unusually empty parking lot. The place that was normally jammed to the brim with teenagers and hotrods was now deserted, with the exception of seven cars and a U-HAUL truck. As I gazed, the back end of the truck suddenly flew open, and a huge guy whose face was covered by his own hair blowing in the wind jumped to the ground. His head turned in my direction, and I froze, wondering if I should even be here.
"Hey fella, can you give me a hand with this?"
I shook off the premonition jitters and jogged back into the parking lot. I peeked into the back of the truck, and boxes labeled "GEAR" were stashed against the side. "You here for the tryouts," he asked as he handed me a fairly heavy box.
"Yes sir," I replied.
"Nevermind the sir shit, son. The name's Danny Zorich, but I'll kick your ass if you call me anything but Z."
Whatever the guy wanted, I thought. Even as I stood at six-five, he looked down at me, and I wasn't about to disagree with him. He grabbed the last of the boxes, and walked in front of me, eventually kicking in the door and holding it open with his back for me to walk through. As I looked into the gym, a wrestling ring stood center, where the half court mark on the basketball court was. The many rows of bleachers were pushed back, except for the very front row, where four young guys sat eagerly, while an older gentleman paced in front of them. When we entered, the elder quickly looked over our way. "Z! Are you done bringing in that fucking gear yet?"
"Shut your mouth and help the kid unload the equipment."
Without a glance, the man grabbed the box from my arms and tore it open. Inside, along with the turnbuckle pads, were tryout applications. I looked closer, and I noticed that the applications only had three questions. The third one caught my eye more than the name and age questions. "Are you ready to get your ass kicked?" Catchy indeed, but seeing as alternatives were something I lacked, I, along with four other hungry guys, would become the first alumni of Danny Zorich's wrestling class.