Post by Job on Jul 3, 2022 22:12:11 GMT -5
I'll fly or I'll fall
No farther
Than the sky itself
I don't mention that they both reek of stale booze, the rancid sweetness of a night fermented, as well as the minty fresh stink of tobacco.
"What's that supposed to mean? Seems like we're either in Los Angeles or not. Boolean, you know?"
"The nature of this place makes it just as much the rest of the world as it is Los Angeles. Maybe more, honestly." Paul takes a hearty slurp of noodle as Jommy stares at his broccoli beef, his expression giving no clues as to what's going on behind his slowly glazing eyes.
"But it also makes the rest of the world more Los Angeles," he finally falters out, then puts on that big, beatific smile of his.
"Exactly, yeah!" I take a quick sip of my Fanta. "It's like an estuary."
Selfie shot of PAUL FREEDOM, framed by the cramped and hyper-modern trappings of an airplane bathroom. His face betrays the fatigue of travel after a sleepless night. His cheetah print hair's spikes are uncharacteristically bedraggled and the top button of his red polo shirt is undone. He slouches in the close quarters and seems to be at risk of slumping against the lavatory wall any moment.
Though his overall energy level remains low, a fleeting grin crosses his lips.
Paul is interrupted by a gentle knock at the door and replies by calling out in a congenial tone.
He rolls his eyes and continues in hushed tones.
He purses his lips for a moment, his eyes pointing slightly upward and absently scanning before he continues.
Another knock, this one louder and somehow more insistent.
Paul shakes his head and sighs, then resumes speaking.
The latch of the bathroom door rattles furiously. Paul responds by flushing the toilet. It lets out a horrific gurgle that visibly startles him, though he soon recovers his composure.
His lip quirks as he struggles to recall what he was saying before the most recent interruption.
He smiles broadly, the warmth of the expression and the gleam in his eyes a stark contrast to his pallid skin and the dark circles forming around his eyes.
No farther
Than the sky itself
06/27/2022
They never mention it, so I don't either.
I don't mention that, even though we all knew we had to get to the airport early this morning, all of us greeted the dawn from the vantage point of yesterday's continuation.
I don't mention that they both reek of stale booze, the rancid sweetness of a night fermented, as well as the minty fresh stink of tobacco.
I'm so committed to avoid mentioning it that I stew in silence, from the last reluctant bite of continental breakfast danish all the way through the fight through traffic to the airport lot.
Why mention it, anyway?
I'm not stupid. I'm not being paranoid. I'm not some naive kid.
I'm smart enough to remember when my dad's birthday comes around. I'm grounded enough to know it wasn't just a coincidence that they got hammered behind closed doors last night. I'm shrewd enough to realize that they wanted to literally put a wall between me and what they had to say about him.
Despite myself, I crawl out of my own head at the baggage check terminal. Amanda checks a pair of bags and Jommy trades in his wheelchair for an airport loaner. It's then that my situation hits me from an unexpected angle.
This is my third PPV since starting my Level Up career. They pay me well. To be frank, they pay me the kind of money a guy like me couldn't otherwise dream of, the kind of money that gets people to sign up for multi-level marketing programs. I'm lucky, I guess, because while I may have taken some brutal hits to the head since starting on this path, I at least don't have a garage full of powdered soup.
I'm not stupid. I'm not being paranoid. I'm not some naive kid.
I'm smart enough to remember when my dad's birthday comes around. I'm grounded enough to know it wasn't just a coincidence that they got hammered behind closed doors last night. I'm shrewd enough to realize that they wanted to literally put a wall between me and what they had to say about him.
Despite myself, I crawl out of my own head at the baggage check terminal. Amanda checks a pair of bags and Jommy trades in his wheelchair for an airport loaner. It's then that my situation hits me from an unexpected angle.
This is my third PPV since starting my Level Up career. They pay me well. To be frank, they pay me the kind of money a guy like me couldn't otherwise dream of, the kind of money that gets people to sign up for multi-level marketing programs. I'm lucky, I guess, because while I may have taken some brutal hits to the head since starting on this path, I at least don't have a garage full of powdered soup.
But that's the thing, right?
I don't have a garage, and the simple reason for that is that I don't have a home. Ever since leaving Centerpoint City, or whatever was going on there, I've been so wrapped up in getting from town to town and from hotel to hotel and from arena to arena that I never had the time and opportunity to wonder where my home was. I don't know that I considered it normal, but if it struck me as remarkable it was only for the most fleeting of instants, whisked away by the need to train, to travel, and ideally to triumph.
I don't have a garage, and the simple reason for that is that I don't have a home. Ever since leaving Centerpoint City, or whatever was going on there, I've been so wrapped up in getting from town to town and from hotel to hotel and from arena to arena that I never had the time and opportunity to wonder where my home was. I don't know that I considered it normal, but if it struck me as remarkable it was only for the most fleeting of instants, whisked away by the need to train, to travel, and ideally to triumph.
But what have I learned? Where have I gone? What have I won?
Amanda still chides me on what she considers the wrestling fundamentals, banal shit like footwork and level changes and penetration steps. I know that there's a place for what she's trying to instill in me, but so far the best way I've found to put my feet to work has been kicking my opponents. The only level change I'm really interested in is the kind that lets me Level Up. As for penetration steps, well, let's not get into that.
I've gone all over this country and somehow I've managed to see most of it through a pane of glass, whether that's the windshield while we're on the road or a hotel window. There's so much out there, so much that I can see and maybe even feel close enough to touch, but the boundaries that separate me from all of it are as transparent as Jommy's well-meant ploys to keep me safe. It's kind of funny, in a way, how he goes to all these lengths to clutch me close and protect me from whatever he's so afraid of in our daily lives, but then relaxes his grip when the time comes for me to square off against trained fighters.
I've gone all over this country and somehow I've managed to see most of it through a pane of glass, whether that's the windshield while we're on the road or a hotel window. There's so much out there, so much that I can see and maybe even feel close enough to touch, but the boundaries that separate me from all of it are as transparent as Jommy's well-meant ploys to keep me safe. It's kind of funny, in a way, how he goes to all these lengths to clutch me close and protect me from whatever he's so afraid of in our daily lives, but then relaxes his grip when the time comes for me to square off against trained fighters.
It hasn't always gone well for me in the ring, admittedly, but it's gone well enough that I've managed to keep my dreams alive. The money is good even when the competition is better, and I welcome both. Mister Steel seems to know what he's doing, and if he doesn't then he's putting forward enough confidence that we know what he's doing, different though each of our interpretations may be. They can't all be winners. We can't all be winners.
All of this whizzes through my mind in disjointed concepts and fragments of sentences, but what it comes down to is this: I've spent almost half the year living out of this backpack, this place to stow my ring gear and my few changes of clothes, and, while it's sometimes been frustrating, I never wanted to complain.
Now, though? Right here and now, bouncing on the balls of my feet while Amanda and Jommy get themselves situated for most of a day in either an airplane or an airport? Now I want to complain.
All this time, all this effort, the blood, the sweat, the tears, and what do I have to show for it?
One carry-on bag to my name.
The urge to complain only grows stronger when my shampoo and body wash are confiscated by security.
All of this whizzes through my mind in disjointed concepts and fragments of sentences, but what it comes down to is this: I've spent almost half the year living out of this backpack, this place to stow my ring gear and my few changes of clothes, and, while it's sometimes been frustrating, I never wanted to complain.
Now, though? Right here and now, bouncing on the balls of my feet while Amanda and Jommy get themselves situated for most of a day in either an airplane or an airport? Now I want to complain.
All this time, all this effort, the blood, the sweat, the tears, and what do I have to show for it?
One carry-on bag to my name.
The urge to complain only grows stronger when my shampoo and body wash are confiscated by security.
I don't know how the flight is for Paul and I don't know how the flight is for Amanda but for me, Cousin Jommy, the events of the flight from Orlando to Los Angeles through the sky and over the ground are largely uneventful in light of the largeness of the sky and the ground in between and under the flight. The distance of the flight is large but, as much as the distance is large between Orlando and Los Angeles, so too is the distance between the back of my seat and the back of the seat in front of me but also presumably between the back of my seat and the back of the seat behind me small, as is the cherubic scamp who keeps kicking the back of my seat from the Gulf of Mexico to the Rockies but mostly from the seat behind me to the back of my seat.
Fortunately, I have the good fortune of being seated in the coveted middle seat of my row, or at least my row on this side of the aisle, a seat I was able to secure by being one of the first people to board the plane and so right from the beginning I was at the center of the experience of this flight for the man seated to my left and for the man seated to my right and I guess technically the adorable rapscallion behind me who keeps kicking the back of my seat. The man seated to my right has the window seat which is unfortunate for him because if the window breaks in some terrible accident he will be sucked out of the window and into the sky and then eventually back out of the sky and into the ground. Of course, I don't want that to happen to him, of course, even though he got seated after me, of course, and of course he nudged into one of my legs and it, of course, hurt like the Dickens, but not the best of times, only the worst of times.
The man seated to my left, on the other hand, specifically the left hand, is lucky that he's seated on the aisle and on this side of the aisle because he keeps leaning more and more to the left throughout the course of the flight and so I seize control of the disputed armrest between us for greater comfort and an even greater, possibly greatest, illusion of control as I hurtle through the bounds of the troposphere in a jet-powered aluminum cylinder that only remains airborne thanks to the principle of the thing, the thing in this case being Bernoulli.
I talk to the two men and sometimes just one man and sometimes just the other one and get kicked by the precious scalawag and I drink half a Coke and I drink another half a Coke but while the half Cokes aren't halves of the same Coke but they both conform to my expectations of Coke although also my expectations of ice.
It is largely uneventful.
I talk to the two men and sometimes just one man and sometimes just the other one and get kicked by the precious scalawag and I drink half a Coke and I drink another half a Coke but while the half Cokes aren't halves of the same Coke but they both conform to my expectations of Coke although also my expectations of ice.
It is largely uneventful.
LAX is bright, bustling, and bursting at the seams with the extremes of human experience. Joyous reunions share space and time with melancholy farewells, raucous salutations with hopeful valedictions, all while people are racing through the sprawling terminals individually and in groups ranging from golden anniversary couples to a bridal battalion with a wedding as its destination. Arrivals and departures are forever in flux, and many travelers find their status indeterminate seemingly indefinitely until they observe the waveform of their itinerary collapse and causality reenters their lives.
"So," Paul says in an affectedly casual tone around a mouthful of half-chewed Panda Express chow mein, "this is Los Angeles."
"Technically," I muse, "though mostly it's an airport."
"But an airport in Los Angeles, right?" Jommy perks up at Paul's question. I get the impression the implications of it have set his neurons firing, or maybe misfiring, with the fervor we've both come to know and tolerate.
"Well, sure." I take a bite of my orange chicken and thoughtfully chew it over. After swallowing, I decide to tug on the conversational thread some more. After all, our layover is going to last several more hours and we've barely talked since last night. "But an airport isn't really the city it's in. Not entirely."
"But an airport in Los Angeles, right?" Jommy perks up at Paul's question. I get the impression the implications of it have set his neurons firing, or maybe misfiring, with the fervor we've both come to know and tolerate.
"Well, sure." I take a bite of my orange chicken and thoughtfully chew it over. After swallowing, I decide to tug on the conversational thread some more. After all, our layover is going to last several more hours and we've barely talked since last night. "But an airport isn't really the city it's in. Not entirely."
"What's that supposed to mean? Seems like we're either in Los Angeles or not. Boolean, you know?"
"The nature of this place makes it just as much the rest of the world as it is Los Angeles. Maybe more, honestly." Paul takes a hearty slurp of noodle as Jommy stares at his broccoli beef, his expression giving no clues as to what's going on behind his slowly glazing eyes.
"But it also makes the rest of the world more Los Angeles," he finally falters out, then puts on that big, beatific smile of his.
"Exactly, yeah!" I take a quick sip of my Fanta. "It's like an estuary."
"I'm not really following how this is like an estuary."
"Well," I begin, "think about it. We're in this liminal space, right? We have multiple streams of travelers making their way to this one location, being kept in place and commingling before making their way out into the open seas of the world, but they only do so after changing and being changed by this environment. Similarly, people come into this place from outside the system with tidal regularity."
"Huh," Paul says, his face giving away that he's genuinely impressed that I pulled this literary device out of my ass. "That's really clever, actually."
"Thanks!"
"How's that wor-"
"-king out for me? Easy there, Tyler. I'm not really in a Palahniuk kind of mood. Nothing against the author, of course. It's just been one of those lifetimes."
Paul grimaces. A few moments pass, but just as he opens his mouth to let out whatever withering retort he had been conjuring up, Jommy lets out an enthusiastic, "Wow!"
"Well," I begin, "think about it. We're in this liminal space, right? We have multiple streams of travelers making their way to this one location, being kept in place and commingling before making their way out into the open seas of the world, but they only do so after changing and being changed by this environment. Similarly, people come into this place from outside the system with tidal regularity."
"Huh," Paul says, his face giving away that he's genuinely impressed that I pulled this literary device out of my ass. "That's really clever, actually."
"Thanks!"
"How's that wor-"
"-king out for me? Easy there, Tyler. I'm not really in a Palahniuk kind of mood. Nothing against the author, of course. It's just been one of those lifetimes."
Paul grimaces. A few moments pass, but just as he opens his mouth to let out whatever withering retort he had been conjuring up, Jommy lets out an enthusiastic, "Wow!"
"What?" Paul and I say in unison.
"I was thinking that the food seemed kind of a little bit leaning toward being somewhat on the saltier side of things, but that explains it perfectly!"
"I was thinking that the food seemed kind of a little bit leaning toward being somewhat on the saltier side of things, but that explains it perfectly!"
It's going to be a long layover.
INT. AIRPLANE BATHROOM - DAY
Selfie shot of PAUL FREEDOM, framed by the cramped and hyper-modern trappings of an airplane bathroom. His face betrays the fatigue of travel after a sleepless night. His cheetah print hair's spikes are uncharacteristically bedraggled and the top button of his red polo shirt is undone. He slouches in the close quarters and seems to be at risk of slumping against the lavatory wall any moment.
PAUL FREEDOM
Hey, Level Up fans! This is Paul Freedom, coming at you from the bathroom of a Boeing 737 somewhere over the Pacific Ocean to announce my arrival. That's right! I'm flying! Like, for real, though, not just jumping off the top turnbuckle.
Though his overall energy level remains low, a fleeting grin crosses his lips.
PAUL FREEDOM
I am so excited, folks. This whole trip is just a long sequence of firsts. My first time in an airplane! My first time seeing the Pacific! My first time in Hawaii! With all these firsts racking up for me, it makes sense that I'm competing in the first match of Super Adventure Island. Maybe this will be my first victory on PPV! You see, I-
Paul is interrupted by a gentle knock at the door and replies by calling out in a congenial tone.
PAUL FREEDOM
Um, there's someone in here!
He rolls his eyes and continues in hushed tones.
PAUL FREEDOM
Anyway, yeah, this match is a big one for me. I get that it may not seem that way from an outside perspective, but I assure you that it is. I'll be honest with you, Level Up fans, the way things have been going, I could really use a win. It's like...
He purses his lips for a moment, his eyes pointing slightly upward and absently scanning before he continues.
PAUL FREEDOM
Well, it's like this flight. Right before I came in here, the captain came on the PA and told us we had passed the Point of No Return. Ominous, right? Well, I Googled it and it turns out that, while it's a serious consideration, it's really not as spooky as it sounds. It pretty much just means that, if something goes wrong with this flight- well, hopefully nothing goes wrong with this flight, but if it does, we're no longer in a position to turn around and head back toward LAX. Whether we make it to Maui or not, there's no path left for us but forward. And, you know, that's how it feels to be me right now.
Another knock, this one louder and somehow more insistent.
PAUL FREEDOM
Occupied! Like it says on the door latch!
Paul shakes his head and sighs, then resumes speaking.
PAUL FREEDOM
At least, I think the parallels are there. First, the plane taxied into position and started rolling down the runway, building up the speed it would need to generate the lift to take off. That's kind of like how I was before coming to Level Up, just generating momentum and preparing myself to make this big leap. That moment when the plane left the tarmac, that moment of wondering whether we were going to defy gravity or become another one of its victims... I felt almost exactly that when I first made my way to a Level Up ring for The Last Of Us 2. That sharp ascent, those blasts of turbulence along the way, well, that's just how it's been for me in my time on this roster. The lucky victories, the crushing defeats, they've all been part of my journey so far, but I think it's important to remember that this is just the beginning.
The latch of the bathroom door rattles furiously. Paul responds by flushing the toilet. It lets out a horrific gurgle that visibly startles him, though he soon recovers his composure.
PAUL FREEDOM
Almost done! Sorry!
His lip quirks as he struggles to recall what he was saying before the most recent interruption.
PAUL FREEDOM
There's still time for me, time to hit my cruising altitude, time to level out and plot a nonstop course to wrestling stardom. There is also, at least arguably, still time for me to turn back. Maybe that would be the reasonable thing to do. Maybe that would be the safe thing. Maybe nobody would judge me too harshly for returning to the familiar comforts of solid ground.
He smiles broadly, the warmth of the expression and the gleam in his eyes a stark contrast to his pallid skin and the dark circles forming around his eyes.
PAUL FREEDOM
Maybe it doesn't matter, though. Maybe it's a moot point. Yeah, sure, it's been a bumpy ride already, and it's not looking to get much smoother any time soon. The talent on the Level Up roster is on full display for Super Adventure Island, with capable competitors from the very top of the card right down to the show-opening match I'm competing in. I know I'm coming into this match on a losing streak and I'll admit there's a chance this show will see me go down in flames. But I can't dwell on that possibility. I know, know with certainty, that this turbulence I'm going through has another side and I know that I'm going to reach it. Even if I can't see where I'm going, I can fly on instruments with what I know in my heart. And hey, if I lose an engine in the process, so be it. We've been past the Point of No Return the entire time, Level Up fans, but it's my opponents who should be bracing for impact. Appreciate you, guys. Paul Freedom out.
FADE OUT