Gift Wrap.

[Jay Stevens]

Jay Stevens.

He enters his Long Beach, California apartment and tosses his bag down after another long day of training. The bright light of the refrigerator fills the room as he grabs a Gatorade.

*DING*
*DING*
*DING*

The notifications on his phone have been going off incessantly for nearly an hour.

*DING*
*DING*
*DING*

“I see why Dusty doesn’t have a phone,” he muses to himself as he collects his device.

Twitter tags. Texts from Osland. E-Mails from Gus.

One stands out amongst the endless noise though. He and Psychotic Goth are tagged in the post “Tournament Warfare” on the XHF Network App. He clicks it and watches the video attached.

Bemused, he whispers “What tournament?” into the ether.

*DING*

Another notification pops up.

“Ready to hang?” reads the text message. A quick text of the affirmative and Jay grabs his jacket ready to return to the city. As he opens his door, a small fist flies through the cracked portal followed by a frenzy of energy and noise, pushing Jay tumbling into the kitchen island.

“Took you long enough!” caps the chaos as Nicole Anderson enters the room. The young woman dubbed “Kid Dynamite” lives up to her moniker daily both in and out of the ring.

Anderson: So what’s good, Jaymo? Beer?

Jay collects himself and grabs the bottle of Lagunitas that is being extended his way.

Stevens: I’m good, Nic. You know I saw you only what, two hours ago?

Anderson: Yeah, been a minute.

She cracks a smile as she takes a drink.

Anderson: You see the noise? Osland been blowing you up too?

He lifts his phone up to show the thirteen unread messages from their partner, the incomparable Oxford Osland. Nicole chuckles and pulls out her bedazzled, pink iPhone to show a matching number of messages.

Stevens: Yeah, I assume it’s about the next Wrestle: UK show.

Anderson: Bet. What tournament?

He rolls his eyes.

Stevens: There is no tournament that I’m involved in. This is the caliber of opponent that I’m dealing with. Illiterate, unable to process basic information. You think they can understand what professional wrestling is about?

Anderson: To be fair, I can read and even I don’t understand what professional wrestling is all about.

He shoots her a skeptical look as she sips her beer, looking around the room.

Stevens: Nic, I’m at a loss for words…

Anderson: Somehow I don’t think that’s true. My “lecture-sense” is tingling like crazy.

Stevens: Professional wrestling is a sport…

Anderson [under her breath]: Nailed it.

Stevens: The greatest sport. Pure competition. Violence. Pageantry. The best rise to the top while the rest chase failure. It’s been shit on and bastardized by assholes like “Psychotic Goth” and “Lord Dominicus”.

Anderson: I like LD. He makes the funny.

Stevens: And that’s the problem. People like that can be part of the show, sure. Somewhere near the bottom where they belong. But they’re disrespecting the very lifeblood of the sport. Professional wrestling isn’t supposed to be “funny”.

Anderson: I mean, but it can be.

Stevens: No, it really can’t, not when the people in the business are the ones making the jokes at its expense. You honestly look at someone like Psychotic Goth and think to yourself “now there’s an athlete”?

She snickers.

Anderson: No, I think “I wonder how many dead squirrels he has stuffed into pairs of panties in his basement?”

Stevens: Vivid. But exactly. That guy has been a World Champion. The bar has been moved so disgustingly low that people like him have slithered their way over it and to the top. And it’s happened because everyone else is too busy “making the funny” to stop it.

She sighs and opens another beer.

Anderson: I can see why you all are so agitated since you’re always so serious about wrestling. But don’t you have any fun with it?

Stevens: I have fun competing. Winning. Seeing that hard work pays off. Knowing that it’s not about retweets and views.

Anderson: That’s what you have me for.

Anderson pops up onto the island and throws herself back into Jay, holding her phone up above them. The camera flashes and she hops back onto her stool.

Anderson: Hashtag “no days off”. Hashtag “fuck those clowns”. Hashtag “professional wrestling is back”.

Stevens: Please don’t post that.

Anderson: Already done, bay-bee. You be the steak, I’ll be that sizzle. Together we’ll take the wrestling world back from those who wish to destroy it!

He raises an eyebrow in her direction, her sudden dedication to the cause confuses him.

Anderson: What? I told you I can read. Gus’ blog is fucking fire.

Stevens: Hold up, Gus has a blog?

Anderson: Sure does. And. It. Is. Fire.

Stevens: I’ll have to check it out.

Anderson: Dude… en fuego.

He laughs at her persistence and reaches for another beer. She slaps his hand away.

Anderson: Ah Ah Ah… you’re supposed to be in training.

Jay pushes past her and secures another brew.

Stevens: For someone gift-wrapped to me like Psychotic Goth? The only thing left is the celebration.

They clink their bottles together to toast.

End.