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Short and to the point. Cascading smoke was the felicity of her every day. Inhaling, exhaling, watching it billow into shapes while she made dinner. She had a pipe, cigarettes, a myriad of things to puff out of to calm her nerves. A plethora of disaster crumbling a little more each day into her addiction. I've smoked. What right do I have to tell her to quit? I admit, she did seem more radiant right after she had a few puffs. She was a symphony of what the Reno name stood for- troubling addiction wrapped in a smooth package. The zenith of who our parents were. Who we still are. Her depth never ceased to amaze and frighten me. I found a poem earlier today. It said those words about being beguiled to breathe- and Northern promises? Is that any different than Southern, Western, or Eastern ones? It was perplexing to the point of nausea. Why Northern? What type of promise would it have to be? My analytical brain at work. Over analyzing the shrewd text for deeper understanding. I wondered if she wrote it.
There had to be some foundation. Reasons why... though my interest peaking made me crazy. Checking the typical search engines made me woozy. A spinning internet overrun with sensationalism. But, something useful came from it. I found a song called 'Radical Dreamers Northern Promise'. It's nothing spectacular- okay, nothing useful came from it. There was an old television show called 'Northern Promise' in the early 90's. It- didn't seem to be very much of either.
I thought, why not go back to where you found the poem? Clues could be afoot. I didn't want to just ask her. What if it wasn't hers? If she didn't want to see it, and had placed it there to forget previous misfortunes? I had to find out myself. Tip-toeing in like an idiot. It was a smoky room. Stale; still soaring near the top of the room with plenty to make you squint. I didn't want to splurge for a hotel to see my sister. So I had stayed at her place. I was starting to regret that decision.
I've never seen someone smoke Timeless Times like that. Or at all, actually. She sucked them down like her life was dependent on every drag. Like Micheal Graves- nervously twitching to grotesquely cause some teenage shrill. She was a mess. How many sisters do you get? I only got one. The poem had been tucked under a book in her den. She was on the couch rocking out to some Iron Maiden on Guitar Hero. Yeah guys, single- I know right? The book on top of the poem was called 'King Baker's Promise'... I took a glance. It was about a King who promises his Kingdom bread every day, then can't deliver on it. He has to find a new bread supplier. Maybe it was a total coincidence. To me, it signified what a Northern Promise could really be. Betrayal. Bursting in its rancid smoky gray persuasion. Drifting away from me like a leech done feeding. My eyes needed a rest. Being up for 48 hours then going to a smoke filled bungalow wasn't exactly good for me. After all, Warfare was coming up, and I still had to travel. Yet, the feeling persisted. I had to know what this poetic stanza was written for. Something about it reeked of familiarity. So- I asked her. Believe it or not, I tried not to be sarcastic, visceral, or unctuous. She looked up at me, then at the poem in my hand folded over. A deep sigh. I'd seen that look before. It was relief, drowning in regret. Telling- terrifying.
NORTHERN PROMISE
She got up, adjusting her shoulders, like what came next required a warm up. I wasn't sure that any amount of stretching would help. The way she was acting activated a distant memory for me. She was in the accident with my parents, and the look when she told me what happened to them... was a lot like this. All I could imagine was her as a little girl doing the same warm up routine. I didn't get it then. But now- ready to shield me from pain while delivering the worst I'd ever felt. Her eyes welled up. Distraught by effort in trying to explain. The headstrong person I loved and looked to for guidance, was in shambles. Caught between bloodthirsty and hysterical. I vehemently wanted the answer, naturally wanting to right whatever was wrong.
She began to recite a story. A few months after our parents had past, we were split between family. I, and my brother to San Diego to live with an Uncle; my sister was sent to live in Pittsburgh with a cousin. She was vulnerable. When you're in that post-disaster state... you don't ever hear what most people say. Just making it through the day is an urgent emergency. Other things fade away for a while. I could have never comprehended the enraged state that would result from her story. I am a hothead... crazy and unpredictable at my worst. Her eyes were black. Homicidal. Alluding over and over to a black slimy moon she saw in dreams. That's when she first whispered his name. I asked her several times. She hesitated. As one of my biggest fans, and one of the only people who encouraged a professional wrestling career, she was very knowledgeable of who I faced and when. She knew I was back in XWF. She saw the horse manure Chris Chaos pulled at Savage as referee, still salty over a Championship he never deserved- and for that matter, a teammate. She also knew who my next opponent was. I thought she only knew him from TV. That assumption was tragically misguided.
"Mikey. His name was Mikey, you know, back in Pennsylvania."
What, WHAT!? WHHHAATT!? It may be a small world, but there's no way... is there? IS THERE!? She told me she felt bad for him. He and his brother, Sean, were from a run down family on the edge of town. She just wanted him to feel accepted, and at the time, she didn't want to be alone. They saw a movie. He was frugal or poor, neither a turn on for her. 'Mikey' kept trying to hold her hand. She said NO- he tried to persuade her. Like a sick dog begging to be put down. Pursuing her as if he were that fly that never goes away. Eventually they walked back toward his house. Each step she was plotting for words on the way to tell him 'no thanks'. Deep down, she knew the answer would be rejected. She was in danger. But her brother's were in California: while the desperate surge of pathetic-ness was at her doorstep. People don't take victims seriously, fearing that they are a lot like people who yearn for attention. A filthy animal touching you in the dead of night against your will doesn't shout "I want attention". It dawned on me. Not just about the note. Also about just how long this frantic predator had been on the prowl. Did he think I wasn't privy to this information? Cringe worthy at best. I couldn't think about an extraordinary fight that would end with me in prison. All of this thought-provoking resurfacing had made my sister weep. She looked at me dead to rights; locked in with purpose.
"Kill him, Gabriel."
The note was a promise she wrote to the lighter side of a monster. Hoping for mercy that never came. The beguiled to breathe. Northern Promise. It was under a book that comforted her that our parents would read before she went to sleep- before their accident. She started smoking, realizing it released the tension in her breathing. It all came together. Remotely I admit thoughts of hurting Micheal Graves had been in the back of my mind for as long as XWF had. His identity crisis had made me ponder his ability to be level headed enough to use his talent to win. It was true. All of it. He never had the discipline to be anything worthwhile. Never had a father who taught him how to respect someone's.... sister. A wolf in a West Hollywood cross dresser's clothing. The jig was up. Thinking of him at all made me want to- fulfill her promise... and her demand. Snapping his neck seemed merciful. It was more than that. Magnetic urges to punish. Those who lack valor, lack humanity.
I went back to my room shaken and disgusted. Violence circulating in every beating pulse. Mighty and maniacal. Brutal no matter what I did. Stabbing him repeatedly when I closed my eyes to escape it. Tearing at him. Tormenting everything he has ever stood for. Turbulence in conviction of a murder so satisfying. It had to be... excruciating. Warfare was the perfect time and place. My sister knew that. There was no coincidence about why she insisted I stay there before this match. She knew and had long since thought in her head about the day that would never come. Only it really had. Her poignant look was all I needed. To see her suffering. Racking my brain for a rational solution... it didn't come. It could be insanity filling my head. Lowering to a level where I can become worse than he is. No- that doesn't exist. Time doesn't heal all wounds. Graves is a scab I have to rip open to destroy.
"Kill him."
Micheal Graves won't escape-
I have a Northern Promise to keep.
Plus, he doesn't know what I did-
to Sean Graves in his sleep.
. . .
¤
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