Post by Loki on Jul 1, 2014 23:13:39 GMT -5
“Dear Angelica”
Brandon sat, with pen to paper, in the modest apartment that he and Whisper had rented shortly before he’d resigned with PCW. The choice to rejoin Pure Class Wrestling had not prompted them to move from the old plantation style house they’d once called home; in fact rejoining wasn’t even on the radar when that decision was made.
We left to be closer to the city. We left because we wanted a change of scenery. We left because the house was falling apart. All reasons that he and Whisper had used to try to convince themselves, all lies. If a home truly absorbs the essence of its owners, then there was never a home more broken than that of Brandon and Barbara Noble. Those walls had seen Brandon through the throes of his addiction. They’d seen a family torn apart by that very same addiction.
It hadn’t all been bad though. Those same walls had watched Brandon overcome the very addiction that nearly killed him. They’d watched a shattered family mend itself, if only briefly. The more Brandon thought back, the more obvious it became that the home possessed twice as many bad memories as good ones. Even if that weren’t the case, the final thing the walls of their home would ever witness was enough to taint them forever.
“Dear Angelica”
His emotions raged like wildfire inside of him as he stared down at the nearly blank piece of paper sitting before him. Things he’d not felt since the worst days of his addiction and isolation suddenly welled up inside of him, threatening to overwhelm him. Finally one emotion seemed to win over all of the rest. Rage; pure, baseless, uncomplicated rage.
With a roar that would have done the fiercest beast proud, Brandon grasped the edge of the table and flung it away. That was all it took for the dam to break inside of Brandon. He slumped against the wall and slid to the floor sobbing. Almost too perfectly, the piece of paper he’d been using fluttered down and landed on his lap.
Brandon grasped at it, intending to shred the offending letter. He held it out before him ready to rip it apart. But try as he might Brandon couldn’t make his hands obey; he couldn’t destroy the letter, even unwritten as it was.
Years ago Brandon had been ordered by his therapist, a man he’d long since stopped seeing, to write a letter to his estranged wife. He’d responded with mockery, asking the young doctor if he intended for Brandon and he to pass notes in class like a gaggle of tittering school girls. He’d shrugged Brandon’s sarcasm and apathy off and ordered him to write the letter on the threat of having Brandon declared mentally unfit for competition.
And so Brandon had acquiesced. Even with years of in ring experience and some of the most brutal matches in PCW history under his belt, this had still been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. Had he been in that same situation today, Brandon would have rather faced Majors or Murdoc or Michaels a thousand times and a thousand times more than write that letter.
That’s what made this so hard. No one was forcing him to write this letter to his daughter. He drew his knees to his chest and rested his head against them. His shoulders bobbed as sobs wracked his body. Anger, sadness, guilt, it all boiled down to one thing. Fear. Brandon was afraid to write what he was feeling because it would mean finally coming to terms with – He couldn’t even say it. As Brandon struggled to regain control of himself he slowly stood back up. It was more difficult than it should have been. He placed the kitchen table back upright and sat back in his chair, determined to finish what he’d started.
“Dear Angelica”
Brandon placed the tip of his pen on the paper with all the apprehension of a surgeon making his first incision. Closing his eyes he brought forth every happy memory he had of his daughter. A smile creased his face even as tears trailed down from his eyes. Bolstered as he was by these memories, Brandon began to write.
He was still writing when Whisper finally came home. He hadn’t heard her come in and her sudden appearance startled him.
“I’ve always admired a man who can get lost in his work,” she gently teased, “So pray tell, Husband of mine, what are you working so intently on?”
Brandon held it out for her, “I was writing a letter to Angelica. It’s a trick I picked up when I was therapy before, in fact I used it to write a letter to you. It’s the only way I really know to say what I need to say when I can’t say it. You probably think I’m stupid for doing this.” He said dejectedly.
When she didn’t answer Brandon looked up. To his surprise, Whisper had tears in her eyes. They were the first tears he’d seen her shed since that day.
“I don’t think you’re stupid, Brandon,” she said softly, “misguided and naïve from time to time, but not stupid. And this,” she held out the letter, “is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever read.”
Brandon leaned to the side, letting his head rest against his wife’s stomach, “I miss her so much every day, Whisp. Even after all this time I miss her so much it physically hurts.”
Barbara Noble cradled her husband’s head against her, “I know it does, my love. It hurts me more than I can ever say. And it’s supposed to hurt; it is how we show that we still love her.”
Brandon sat straight, “I think I’m going to read it to her. I think she’d like that.”
Whisper smiled, “I think she would like that very much. Do you want me to go with you?”
“No,” he said while shaking his head, “I think I need to do this alone if you don’t mind.”
She smiled and nodded. Brandon kissed her goodbye and departed quietly. He came to his car in the garage; the reliable old Dodge Charger that had seen him through so much was another painful reminder of events he didn’t even want to remember. It had been left, like so many other things, in the past. In its place sat a sleek new Audi R8, its pearlescent paint shining through layers of dust and road dirt. In many ways the car reminded Brandon of himself, the promise of greatness if one could get past all the dirt and dust on the outside.
He was going to have to find a way to scrape free of everything that was holding him back if he was going to let that greatness that had once propelled him to the very top of PCW shine through again. But before he could get back there, he had to go through Rick Majors. Brandon laughed, the sound of it caught him off guard. Majors was the only person in this match he didn’t have an old score to settle with. The last time Brandon had even competed at a Pay Per View Majors hadn’t even been a signed member of the roster. If ever there was a sign that you’ve been doing something too long that was it.
Brandon was at the cemetery quicker than he anticipated. Dark clouds and slow peals of thunder had shadowed him the whole way. There was a storm brewing that nobody would want to be caught in. He drove slowly along the rows of headstones, before finally stopping. He walked with measured steps, each one a struggle not to fall to his knees or flee. Finally he was there, standing right in front of her.
His breathe caught in his throat and tears threatened to overwhelm him, but Brandon held himself together while he cleaned the fallen leaves and other debris the wind had blown in away from his daughter’s grave. Satisfied that everything was in order, Brandon pulled the letter from his pocket and began to read it aloud.
"Dear Angelica,
It’s hard to think that you’ve been gone for two years. Each day is harder than the last but your Mom and I know that wherever you are, you’re in a better place. There’s no more pain for you, no more fear, and no more sadness.
You would have been nine years old this year. Even though I know you’re not with us anymore I still catch myself wondering what you want for your birthday. Would you rather have confetti cake or ice cream cake this year? Little things like that just seem to pop into my head from time to time. And as much as it hurts when reality sets in I can’t help but smile.
I know the last couple of months were confusing for you. I know you didn’t understand why you and Mommy had to leave in the first place or why you had to leave with Aunt Angie shortly after you got back. I was waiting for you to grow up so that one day I could tell you why those things happened. Knowing that I’ll never get the chance to tell you eats at me more than words can ever describe.
I remember your first word, it was giraffe. For a long time after that any animal you saw was instantly a giraffe. The first stuffed toy we bought you that didn’t magically get turned into a giraffe was your little bear, Tebby. It’s a small comfort that wherever you are, I know Tebby is there keeping you safe. We made sure he’d always be with you.
There are so many regrets that I have. I regret that I’m not going to get to see you grow up. I regret that I’m not going to see you fall in love for the first time. I regret that I’ll never get the chance to scare off your first boyfriend or yell at you for coming home too late. I regret that I won’t get to see you off to college. I regret that I’ll never get to see you get married and have children. But most of all, I regret not being a better father to you.
Wherever you are, just know that your mother and I love you with all of our hearts and we always will. Wait for us, little angel, we’ll be a family again someday.
Love,
Daddy"
Rain began to fall, staining the paper and causing the ink to run. Brandon was glad for the rain, it masked his tears. As the water soaked into the paper, the paper fell to bits in his hands. Brandon didn’t mind, he’d said what he’d come here to say. Lightning pierced the sky and thunder rumbled. Brandon Noble, alone save for the ghosts he carried with him, looked up into the sky.
It was time to wash away the dirt and dust.
Brandon sat, with pen to paper, in the modest apartment that he and Whisper had rented shortly before he’d resigned with PCW. The choice to rejoin Pure Class Wrestling had not prompted them to move from the old plantation style house they’d once called home; in fact rejoining wasn’t even on the radar when that decision was made.
We left to be closer to the city. We left because we wanted a change of scenery. We left because the house was falling apart. All reasons that he and Whisper had used to try to convince themselves, all lies. If a home truly absorbs the essence of its owners, then there was never a home more broken than that of Brandon and Barbara Noble. Those walls had seen Brandon through the throes of his addiction. They’d seen a family torn apart by that very same addiction.
It hadn’t all been bad though. Those same walls had watched Brandon overcome the very addiction that nearly killed him. They’d watched a shattered family mend itself, if only briefly. The more Brandon thought back, the more obvious it became that the home possessed twice as many bad memories as good ones. Even if that weren’t the case, the final thing the walls of their home would ever witness was enough to taint them forever.
“Dear Angelica”
His emotions raged like wildfire inside of him as he stared down at the nearly blank piece of paper sitting before him. Things he’d not felt since the worst days of his addiction and isolation suddenly welled up inside of him, threatening to overwhelm him. Finally one emotion seemed to win over all of the rest. Rage; pure, baseless, uncomplicated rage.
With a roar that would have done the fiercest beast proud, Brandon grasped the edge of the table and flung it away. That was all it took for the dam to break inside of Brandon. He slumped against the wall and slid to the floor sobbing. Almost too perfectly, the piece of paper he’d been using fluttered down and landed on his lap.
Brandon grasped at it, intending to shred the offending letter. He held it out before him ready to rip it apart. But try as he might Brandon couldn’t make his hands obey; he couldn’t destroy the letter, even unwritten as it was.
Years ago Brandon had been ordered by his therapist, a man he’d long since stopped seeing, to write a letter to his estranged wife. He’d responded with mockery, asking the young doctor if he intended for Brandon and he to pass notes in class like a gaggle of tittering school girls. He’d shrugged Brandon’s sarcasm and apathy off and ordered him to write the letter on the threat of having Brandon declared mentally unfit for competition.
And so Brandon had acquiesced. Even with years of in ring experience and some of the most brutal matches in PCW history under his belt, this had still been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. Had he been in that same situation today, Brandon would have rather faced Majors or Murdoc or Michaels a thousand times and a thousand times more than write that letter.
That’s what made this so hard. No one was forcing him to write this letter to his daughter. He drew his knees to his chest and rested his head against them. His shoulders bobbed as sobs wracked his body. Anger, sadness, guilt, it all boiled down to one thing. Fear. Brandon was afraid to write what he was feeling because it would mean finally coming to terms with – He couldn’t even say it. As Brandon struggled to regain control of himself he slowly stood back up. It was more difficult than it should have been. He placed the kitchen table back upright and sat back in his chair, determined to finish what he’d started.
“Dear Angelica”
Brandon placed the tip of his pen on the paper with all the apprehension of a surgeon making his first incision. Closing his eyes he brought forth every happy memory he had of his daughter. A smile creased his face even as tears trailed down from his eyes. Bolstered as he was by these memories, Brandon began to write.
He was still writing when Whisper finally came home. He hadn’t heard her come in and her sudden appearance startled him.
“I’ve always admired a man who can get lost in his work,” she gently teased, “So pray tell, Husband of mine, what are you working so intently on?”
Brandon held it out for her, “I was writing a letter to Angelica. It’s a trick I picked up when I was therapy before, in fact I used it to write a letter to you. It’s the only way I really know to say what I need to say when I can’t say it. You probably think I’m stupid for doing this.” He said dejectedly.
When she didn’t answer Brandon looked up. To his surprise, Whisper had tears in her eyes. They were the first tears he’d seen her shed since that day.
“I don’t think you’re stupid, Brandon,” she said softly, “misguided and naïve from time to time, but not stupid. And this,” she held out the letter, “is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever read.”
Brandon leaned to the side, letting his head rest against his wife’s stomach, “I miss her so much every day, Whisp. Even after all this time I miss her so much it physically hurts.”
Barbara Noble cradled her husband’s head against her, “I know it does, my love. It hurts me more than I can ever say. And it’s supposed to hurt; it is how we show that we still love her.”
Brandon sat straight, “I think I’m going to read it to her. I think she’d like that.”
Whisper smiled, “I think she would like that very much. Do you want me to go with you?”
“No,” he said while shaking his head, “I think I need to do this alone if you don’t mind.”
She smiled and nodded. Brandon kissed her goodbye and departed quietly. He came to his car in the garage; the reliable old Dodge Charger that had seen him through so much was another painful reminder of events he didn’t even want to remember. It had been left, like so many other things, in the past. In its place sat a sleek new Audi R8, its pearlescent paint shining through layers of dust and road dirt. In many ways the car reminded Brandon of himself, the promise of greatness if one could get past all the dirt and dust on the outside.
He was going to have to find a way to scrape free of everything that was holding him back if he was going to let that greatness that had once propelled him to the very top of PCW shine through again. But before he could get back there, he had to go through Rick Majors. Brandon laughed, the sound of it caught him off guard. Majors was the only person in this match he didn’t have an old score to settle with. The last time Brandon had even competed at a Pay Per View Majors hadn’t even been a signed member of the roster. If ever there was a sign that you’ve been doing something too long that was it.
Brandon was at the cemetery quicker than he anticipated. Dark clouds and slow peals of thunder had shadowed him the whole way. There was a storm brewing that nobody would want to be caught in. He drove slowly along the rows of headstones, before finally stopping. He walked with measured steps, each one a struggle not to fall to his knees or flee. Finally he was there, standing right in front of her.
Here lies
Angelica Marie Noble
July 25, 2006 – March 1, 2012
A child of angels called home too soon
Angelica Marie Noble
July 25, 2006 – March 1, 2012
A child of angels called home too soon
His breathe caught in his throat and tears threatened to overwhelm him, but Brandon held himself together while he cleaned the fallen leaves and other debris the wind had blown in away from his daughter’s grave. Satisfied that everything was in order, Brandon pulled the letter from his pocket and began to read it aloud.
"Dear Angelica,
It’s hard to think that you’ve been gone for two years. Each day is harder than the last but your Mom and I know that wherever you are, you’re in a better place. There’s no more pain for you, no more fear, and no more sadness.
You would have been nine years old this year. Even though I know you’re not with us anymore I still catch myself wondering what you want for your birthday. Would you rather have confetti cake or ice cream cake this year? Little things like that just seem to pop into my head from time to time. And as much as it hurts when reality sets in I can’t help but smile.
I know the last couple of months were confusing for you. I know you didn’t understand why you and Mommy had to leave in the first place or why you had to leave with Aunt Angie shortly after you got back. I was waiting for you to grow up so that one day I could tell you why those things happened. Knowing that I’ll never get the chance to tell you eats at me more than words can ever describe.
I remember your first word, it was giraffe. For a long time after that any animal you saw was instantly a giraffe. The first stuffed toy we bought you that didn’t magically get turned into a giraffe was your little bear, Tebby. It’s a small comfort that wherever you are, I know Tebby is there keeping you safe. We made sure he’d always be with you.
There are so many regrets that I have. I regret that I’m not going to get to see you grow up. I regret that I’m not going to see you fall in love for the first time. I regret that I’ll never get the chance to scare off your first boyfriend or yell at you for coming home too late. I regret that I won’t get to see you off to college. I regret that I’ll never get to see you get married and have children. But most of all, I regret not being a better father to you.
Wherever you are, just know that your mother and I love you with all of our hearts and we always will. Wait for us, little angel, we’ll be a family again someday.
Love,
Daddy"
Rain began to fall, staining the paper and causing the ink to run. Brandon was glad for the rain, it masked his tears. As the water soaked into the paper, the paper fell to bits in his hands. Brandon didn’t mind, he’d said what he’d come here to say. Lightning pierced the sky and thunder rumbled. Brandon Noble, alone save for the ghosts he carried with him, looked up into the sky.
It was time to wash away the dirt and dust.
