[Long] Career twilight
Jun 2, 2021 23:13:07 GMT -5
Roy "The Sorrow" Harlowe (NJC), Eron Hunter, and 2 more like this
Post by Old Line Jeff on Jun 2, 2021 23:13:07 GMT -5
“You know it’s a lot colder up in Canada…”
In Georgia, the air was warm. Someone used to the north might have found it muggy, too warm to be pleasant. Ronnie Long, having grown up in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, did not. The air was rich with bird and cicada song, thick the smell of honeysuckle and new mown grass. The setting sun was fire on the horizon, the branches of the peach trees like black lace against it. A few faint creaks of wood as the old farmhouse settled as the heat of day left.
Ronnie Long sat back in the grandfather rocker his wife had bought him.
“Not for too much longer. And they say the salt air’s revitalizing. You sure you don’t want to come with me?”
He turned to her, and couldn’t hide a smile. He’d met her nearly 20 years ago, when she was a firebreather at a strip club and he wore a black trenchcoat unironically. And looking her up and down, the only thing that had really changed was that she’d traded her alabaster skin for a farmer’s tan.
“Sweetie I’d love to, and I will for a weekend or so, but someone’s got to stay with the farm. Besides, you never needed me.”
“They say absence makes the heart go yonder, but nothing in wrestling is as encouraging to me - not titles, not money, not adulation - as the thought of you waiting to welcome me home.”
Deanna Long stood up slowly from her lady rocker. All the farm labor in the world hadn’t changed her walk. She slunk like a jungle cat, her hair shadow, but her green eyes, always so gentle, glistened. Leaning forward, placing one hand on the arm of his chair, she titled his chin up to her gaze.
“I trust you, Ronnie. I always have. If you think you have a reason to go back to wrestling, you should go. But I will never, ever, be disappointed when you decide to stay here with me.”
“I do think I have a reason to go though.” He gently pulled Deanna down on his lap, and she leaned back against him, her head on his shoulder. “Everything I did while I was in Defiance was everything I always despised. I thought that if I just kept standing tall, that things would get better - that Jeff would come back around, that Heidi would be okay…”
He sighed.
“It was so wrong. Defiance was nothing less than Eric Dane’s venom given form, and now that same venom flows through Jeff Andrews’ veins. Instead of fixing things, I nearly let it destroy me.”
“But you didn’t. In the end, you threw down your shovel and you came home to me. You couldn’t save pro wrestling for her, but we helped Heidi find herself away from it.” Deanna laughed softly.
“I thank God for the chance to save that friendship. I always will. And that’s why I think I have to go back. I think… I might have a chance to put something that went wrong, right.”
“Stephen Greer’s son?”
“Yes. I don’t have any particular hopes that things can be repaired between myself and Greer. He and I spilled far too much of each other’s blood, and it wasn’t until I left that I realized that our ‘feud’ was as much a proxy battle between Jeff and Dane as anything else. That’s why I want to do, I don’t know what, but something, something to ease the pain. Cauterize the wound, as Jeff liked to say. And with the way the next generation is moving into the game, I think that might be the way. My generation’s time is almost over, but if I can do something to… ameliorate the history for the sake of the next, I’ll be able to look back on my career without too many regrets.”
“I suppose that’s that, then.” Deanna stood and stretched, arching her back. “You know I believe in you and always will. But promise me no deathmatches? Please?”
“I promise you no deathmatches.”
“And try to do that thing where you get beaten up for five minutes and then kill someone dead with one lariat?”
“Getting beaten up tends to hurt even if I do a good job of hiding it.”
“Aw but it makes you look like such a badass.”
Deanna had leaned forward, trying to look seductive, but she couldn’t keep a straight face. She broke into giggles and collapsed on his chest. With a deep breath he wrapped one arm around her back, stroked her hair back with his other hand.
“You’re not making this any easier.”
“If it was easy it wouldn’t be worth doing and you know that.”
Ronnie looked out at the horizon. The sunset was fading, with just a bit of purple haze above the trees.
“We head for Vancouver on Friday.”
Head still on his chest, Deanna sighed.
In Georgia, the air was warm. Someone used to the north might have found it muggy, too warm to be pleasant. Ronnie Long, having grown up in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, did not. The air was rich with bird and cicada song, thick the smell of honeysuckle and new mown grass. The setting sun was fire on the horizon, the branches of the peach trees like black lace against it. A few faint creaks of wood as the old farmhouse settled as the heat of day left.
Ronnie Long sat back in the grandfather rocker his wife had bought him.
“Not for too much longer. And they say the salt air’s revitalizing. You sure you don’t want to come with me?”
He turned to her, and couldn’t hide a smile. He’d met her nearly 20 years ago, when she was a firebreather at a strip club and he wore a black trenchcoat unironically. And looking her up and down, the only thing that had really changed was that she’d traded her alabaster skin for a farmer’s tan.
“Sweetie I’d love to, and I will for a weekend or so, but someone’s got to stay with the farm. Besides, you never needed me.”
“They say absence makes the heart go yonder, but nothing in wrestling is as encouraging to me - not titles, not money, not adulation - as the thought of you waiting to welcome me home.”
Deanna Long stood up slowly from her lady rocker. All the farm labor in the world hadn’t changed her walk. She slunk like a jungle cat, her hair shadow, but her green eyes, always so gentle, glistened. Leaning forward, placing one hand on the arm of his chair, she titled his chin up to her gaze.
“I trust you, Ronnie. I always have. If you think you have a reason to go back to wrestling, you should go. But I will never, ever, be disappointed when you decide to stay here with me.”
“I do think I have a reason to go though.” He gently pulled Deanna down on his lap, and she leaned back against him, her head on his shoulder. “Everything I did while I was in Defiance was everything I always despised. I thought that if I just kept standing tall, that things would get better - that Jeff would come back around, that Heidi would be okay…”
He sighed.
“It was so wrong. Defiance was nothing less than Eric Dane’s venom given form, and now that same venom flows through Jeff Andrews’ veins. Instead of fixing things, I nearly let it destroy me.”
“But you didn’t. In the end, you threw down your shovel and you came home to me. You couldn’t save pro wrestling for her, but we helped Heidi find herself away from it.” Deanna laughed softly.
“I thank God for the chance to save that friendship. I always will. And that’s why I think I have to go back. I think… I might have a chance to put something that went wrong, right.”
“Stephen Greer’s son?”
“Yes. I don’t have any particular hopes that things can be repaired between myself and Greer. He and I spilled far too much of each other’s blood, and it wasn’t until I left that I realized that our ‘feud’ was as much a proxy battle between Jeff and Dane as anything else. That’s why I want to do, I don’t know what, but something, something to ease the pain. Cauterize the wound, as Jeff liked to say. And with the way the next generation is moving into the game, I think that might be the way. My generation’s time is almost over, but if I can do something to… ameliorate the history for the sake of the next, I’ll be able to look back on my career without too many regrets.”
“I suppose that’s that, then.” Deanna stood and stretched, arching her back. “You know I believe in you and always will. But promise me no deathmatches? Please?”
“I promise you no deathmatches.”
“And try to do that thing where you get beaten up for five minutes and then kill someone dead with one lariat?”
“Getting beaten up tends to hurt even if I do a good job of hiding it.”
“Aw but it makes you look like such a badass.”
Deanna had leaned forward, trying to look seductive, but she couldn’t keep a straight face. She broke into giggles and collapsed on his chest. With a deep breath he wrapped one arm around her back, stroked her hair back with his other hand.
“You’re not making this any easier.”
“If it was easy it wouldn’t be worth doing and you know that.”
Ronnie looked out at the horizon. The sunset was fading, with just a bit of purple haze above the trees.
“We head for Vancouver on Friday.”
Head still on his chest, Deanna sighed.