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Charlie Nickles · (08-03-2020)

SESSION 34

Charlie: "Stupid fucking secretary…"

Charlie curses under his breath as he steps through the metal doorway. He walks into focus looking quite unlike his normal self. The sound of his footsteps against the hall floors are softened by the leather dress shoes underneath his feet. His pinstripe suit is a bit tight around the belly but perfect in length. The button holding his suit jacket closed strains against the man’s beer gut but refuses to give in. His dress pants fit well, leaving enough room for comfortability while not seeming excessively loose. His hair is combed and his beard appears recently trimmed.

Charlie abruptly turns to his left, walking through an open door. The camera follows him into the room, turning with him so that he remains the central focus. As the camera turns the engraved placard affixed to the door frame comes into view just slightly below Charlie's right shoulder. The placard reads ‘Dr. Sharice Avalon’.

Charlie walks into the room with comfortable confidence, as if he had been here many times before. He finds his way to the luxurious leather couch positioned in the middle of the room.The couch swallows the 275 pound man whole as he calmly sinks into it’s plushy comforts. A thin woman with a buzzed blonde haircut sits in a chair a half dozen feet away from Charlie. The light from the ceiling fan above them shines off of her jewelry. Her smile is warm and welcoming.

Sharice: "I hope you’re doing well, Charles."

A pair of reading glasses hang from the neckline of the woman’s emerald blouse. While the small emerald studs in her earlobes are a perfect match to the shade of her conservative top, the sapphire encrusted engagement ring on her left hand makes a much bolder statement. A notepad with yellow pages rests on her lap as she taps her pen against her desk with her right hand. Sharice’s knee length skirt is a few shades of brown away from the hue of her oak desk, but her black heels are perfectly shaded to compliment her belt. Her facial features are soft and her ebony skin is exceptionally clear, but a look of deep worry has seeped into her otherwise professional demeanor.

Sharice: "I saw something on T.V. the other day that worries me. What were you doing on that wrestling show?"

Charlie seemed to pay little mind to his therapist. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling fan above as his aching back rested against the plush leather couch. Sharice leaned forward in her chair, moving her notepad from her lap to her desk. Her gaze was fixed directly on Charlie, who seemed unconcerned. Sharice spoke with a stern voice as her facial expressions hardened in frustration.

Sharice: "Charles, we talked about professional wrestling...have you been taking the medications the psychiatrist prescribed?"

Charlie: "Yeah doc. I have."

Sharice: "And how have you been feeling lately? Any panic attacks, depressive episodes, or intense mood swings?"

Charlie blinked twice as his gaze drifted to the floor. He leaned forward, bringing his hands together between his knees.

Sharice: "I am here to help you Charles. I know you’re going through a lot, and I want to support you. You’ve been coming to these sessions for over a year now, but they won’t help you if you don’t talk to me while you are here. You’re going down the wrong path."

Charlie: "I have to do what is best for my family, doc."

The therapist leaned back in her chair, reaching for her pen and notepad before jotting down the man’s response.

Sharice: "Exactly, you should do what is best for your family. Taking your medicine is best for your family, Charles. Emily and Tyler love you, they want their dad back in their life. They don’t want you on the road, they don’t want you fighting people for money. They want you home, and they want you to be their dad again. That’s why your medicine is so important. It helps stabilize your mood swings, keep your darker thoughts at bay and helps you function in the modern world."

Charlie: "I’m taking my medicine, I’m going to my sessions, I’m sleeping eight hours every night. I’m doing everything right, doc."

The therapist set her pen and pad back on her desk once more. She reached for her glasses, unclipping them from her blouse and placing them on her face. It takes her a moment to adjust them so that they will sit comfortably behind her ears. She places her hands in her lap and leans forward slightly. She speaks with a soft, soothing voice.

Sharice: "And what are you doing for work, Charles?"

The bearded man grew agitated for a moment as evidenced by his furrowed brow, but the expression soon passed. He looked up at the woman as he tugged the hair on his chin precisely one time with his right hand. His eyes darted from left to right rapidly for a few moments before settling on Sharice. Charlie hastily brought his gaze down to the floor once more upon meeting Sharice’s interested stare. Charlie began rubbing his hands together as he spoke.

Charlie: "You know what I have to do to make my money."

Sharice shook her head from side to side. She brought her right leg up and crossed it over her left leg, resting her hands on her now elevated right knee.

Sharice: "You don’t have to wrestle, Charles. It’s not good for you. It’s not good for your children. Every chairshot, every Devil Hook Drop: it hurts your family. They’re scared of the man in the ring. They don’t want the man they see on T.V. to come home. He’s sick, cruel, twisted."

Charlie:"You say that man scares my children, that they don’t like watching him on the television. But...but….but that man bought their television. And that man put food on the table when they were hungry. And that man kept the lights on! Through thick and thin, that man kept my family off of the streets. That scary man paid for their books, and their gamecubes, and their summer camps. Year in and year out he busted his ass on the independent circuit, fighting for 75 dollars a night. All for my family. And I’m never going to stop. Not for you, not for Connie, and damned sure not for my own selfish gain! You just don’t get it, doc. They used to love me, you know? I’ve told you that. Flip through those notebook pages, doc! They used to love me! Connie would go with me to those shows, travel the midwest with me! We were in love for every moment of it."

Sharice: "That was years ago. People’s feelings and needs change. Your children need a family man in their lives, not a wrestler. You told me Emily and Tyler would cry themselves to sleep at night while their mom worked at the bar and you were at some house show over 300 miles away. How is that type of work good for your family?"

A hearty chuckle escapes from Charlie’s gut.

Charlie: "No one calls me Charles anymore. I am Charlie, doc. When I get my hand raised after I win my debut match, they’re not going to call me Charles over at the announce booth. They’re gonna say “BY GOLLY THAT CHARLIE NICKLES IS REALLY SOMETHING SPECIAL! A FUTURE CHAMPION!”'

Sharice: "You’re not Charlie. You’re Charles. Charlie is a persona you created for yourself. It’s a ring name, a gimmick, not the real you. Charlie isn’t Tyler and Emily’s father, but Charles is."

Charlie shook his head from side to side, tugging at his beard a few times as Sharice continued.

Sharice: "It’s true, Charles. Wrestling isn’t good for you. It isn’t good for your family. Wrestling is the single biggest obstacle to repairing your relationship with your children."

Charlie: "You’re wrong, doc! Charlie puts the bread on the table. I’m the man of the house! Charlie’s pockets are deep, and I’m cashing in at the bank pretty damn soon! The kids are gonna have t-shirts with my face on them, action figures! I might even be in a video game Tyler could play. You didn’t think I could do it. No one thought I could do it, but they’re signing me doc! I’m an employed man again! And when I win my debut match, I’m going to blow up. Big-time, doc!"

Sharice: "We were making progress, Charles. Wrestling brings out the worst in you. You said you would leave the industry, get a real job. Remember?"

Charlie: "This is a real job, doc! I don’t gotta pay you in loose bills and money orders anymore. I got health insurance! Your little secretary didn’t believe me, tried to shake me down for money out there. First time I’ve had insurance of any type since those bastards at Ford closed down the plant. But ohhhhh doc, and you’re gonna love this, doc. I took a biiiiiit of a pay cut to get the best possible health insurance I could for Connie and the kids. And yeah it costs a little extra to have children and a spouse on my policy, but with the world these days, you can’t skimp out on good healthcare! It’s worth it, to look after family."

The woman’s eyes grew large and her head tilted forward in measured disbelief. She blinked twice as Charlie finished grandstanding about his insurance policy.

Sharice: "Charles….Connie can not claim health insurance off of your policy. You two aren’t married. And did you talk to Connie about putting a policy on Tyler and Emily? If her employer already has a plan in place for the children, then you may be pa-"

Charlie: "Doc, doc, doc. You don’t understand. Things are finally looking up for ol’ Charlie now. That type of stuff? Those kinda questions? Don’t even faze me anymore. The universe is looking out for me now, doc. I think God may finally have heard my call. They booked me, you know? I almost thought they wouldn’t, I had been signed for almost a month. But God’s light is finally shining down on me. I think he wants me to win my debut match. I can just feel that he is going to be there with me next Saturday."

Sharice: "This is exactly the type of behavior that concerns me, Charles. We need to be watchful for manic episodes on your road to recovery. Deflection couched in grandeur is a classic symptom. Have you really been taking your medications?"

Charlie: "Of course, doc. I’m all in on the road to recovery."

Sharice: "You know Charles, I am not fully convinced that is true. If you were all in on the road to recovery, I don’t think you would be wrestling. Every time you enter that ring you enter with the intent to debilitate another human being. Pro wrestling is barbaric. A relic of the past. Besides, your body can’t take it anymore. Neither can your mind. Each time you enter that ring you risk crossing a line. Your body could give in to the twenty years of wear and tear, or your mind could go over the edge trying to deal with the stress of the industry. The risk is not worth it, Charles. You could lose everything."

Charlie: "How could I lose everything? Wrestling’s all I got, doc. This shot in the X-treme Wrestling Federation means everything to me. I have gone through twenty plus years of suffering, poverty, and despair for this. If I play my cards right, I can make it big. Big-time, doc. And they need me in that federation, badly. It’s gone soft. Full of divas and pampered punks. The kids need me in that ring to show them what real wrestling is!"

Sharice: "Should the kids really be looking up to Charlie? The things Charlie does inside that ring are gruesome, criminal even. Your family hates to see you do those things."

Charlie: "What’s wrong with Charlie, huh? The kids have no one else to look up to. Who should they admire instead, huh? That yellow commie fuck? I swear to God if I came into Tyler’s room and he was watching one of those sissy shit Boris matches I would know that I truly had failed as a father. The heavymetalweight belt is a sycophantic joke. Every Jim, Dick, and Boris gets to call themselves a former “champion” while weakening the integrity of the sport. That commie bastard may be getting a fat check from the corporate pigs in management, but he’s not a professional wrestler. He’s a cheap sideshow gimmick who will move merchandise but never move up the card. He’s been signed for months, multiple pay-per-view appearances, and he’s the lowest match on the card! Now, I know you don't know the inner workings of the industry, doc. When you’re debuting someone, yeah, it makes sense to put em’ first on the card. You keep them low on the card cause you don’t know what they can do or how far they can go. Where else would you start them? The crowd doesn't know them, and they don’t have any feuds going on! But when you’ve been there for months and you’re the lowest on the card? Management thinks you’re horse shit. And they’re right. At the end of the day Boris is the Bernie Sanders of wrestling. A commie loser beloved by the young and the stupid who shows up and makes a big fuss before losing big every time it matters."

Sharice: "Now that’s unfair to Senator Sanders, but we shouldn't bring politics into this. And even if this Boris fellow is unsavory, there’s plenty of characters for people to root for."

Charlie: "That’s not the case! Wrestling is dying, doc. Our best and brightest stars have left and a whole bunch of sissy shits have replaced em’. The XWF went from the pinnacle of hardcore to a scene straight out of brokeback mountain. Dallas Marshall….sounds like a male stripper’s name, doesn’t it? A cowboy straight out of Hollywood. Well, I’m not sure if he’s -straight- out of Hollywood, per se."

Sharice: "You’re sounding a bit homophobic, Charles."

Charlie: "No! Of course not. I love everyone, but some things should be kept in private! This brokeback cowboy is going around the locker room trying to find himself a partner. He’s even hanging up signs backstage offering fellas a “fast track to topping him”. He’s even asking for some tag team action! Now you can’t tell me that doesn’t create a hostile work environment. I bet he comes down to the ring in a speedo, or maybe some itty bitty tight underwear with lone star nipple pasties. It’s not even about him being a homosexual, doc. It’s about the open depravity backstage from this brokeback sissy. This shit wouldn’t fly fifteen years ago."

Sharice: "Now Charles, be reasonable."

Charlie: "Be reasonable? Reason doesn’t cut it in this industry. My debut match is coming in part against a green grass rookie. I’ve put over 20 years into this business. I’ve suffered concussion after concussion, a dozen broken bones, and a ligament tear! Fantasia has never wrestled a real match. What right does that bird-looking bitch have to step into the ring with me? Let alone be presented by the federation as an equal! Where’s the reason there? I can’t find a smidge of it. I bet that bitch blew the entire executive team for her spot on the card. Disgusting. Even the brokeback cowboy wouldn’t stoop to that level. Fantasia is the most pathetic form of nothingness. She’s not even a blip on the radar. Her entire career will pass through the wrestling industry like the inversion of COVID through a homemade mask. It’s inverted, you see doc, because in this case it will be her body that is ravaged and torn apart!"

The therapist takes a quick glance at the wall clock in the back of the room as Charlie rages on about the state of the industry. A look of urgency and concern flashes across her face as she realizes how long the session has gone.

Sharice: "You know Charles, I think we have a lot more to work through. Let’s return to our previous schedule of weekly meetings. Unfortunately because you arrived at our session 40 minutes late today, I do have another client scheduled."

Charlie: "Ahhh no worry doc! I won’t keep you any longer. I’m not sure I can do weeklies, though. I’ll have to get my touring schedule from the corporate cats!"

The man seems genuinely happy to be done with the session as he stands up from the couch, evidenced by his toothy smile and relaxed expression. He brings his right hand to his lower back to support himself as he leans back. His back emits a small cracking noise as he grunts in satisfaction.

Sharice: "Please find out your work schedule so we can book an appointment next week. I think it is highly important for you to be in weekly sessions at this point along your road to recovery. And remember, your prescriptions for Xanax and Prozac need to be refilled soon. How are you doing on your Olanzapine?"

Charlie: "All good on it, doc."

Sharice: "Ok. I will be calling you later this week to check back in. And please, bring a mask next time for our lobby."

Charlie rolls his eyes as a soft sigh escapes his respiratory system. The scene slowly fades out as the heavy set man walks towards the doorway. The white pinstripes along his suit are the last thing left to be observed before the scene totally fades to black.

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