It’s nights like this, when the moon’s long gone and there isn’t a star in the sky, when I look to the sky and wonder what I’m doing and why I’m doing it. Tonight is no exception. Right now, as I look up to this starless night that still shines bright like a diamond, I’m riding shotgun in a sedan straight out of the 70’s, being driven by some guy I met at the party I just left whose name I didn’t even catch. He’s giving me a ride home because it’s three in the morning and I’m in no shape to drive myself, nor did I drive myself over. No, Kylie did and she jetted out a couple hours ago. We had a bit of an argument over that, I remember. She was pretty fucked up last time I saw here, and somehow I kept a hold of some of my bearings long enough to object to her driving herself home. We went around and around for what felt like forever, but really couldn’t have been more than like three minutes, before she jetted off to her car, determined to prove me wrong.

I wish I’d kept pushing the issue, but hindsight’s always 20/20.

She loves shit like this. The moonlight. She thinks it’s the prettiest thing in the world, a starless night. Now, I don’t know whether it’s whatever’s still in my system or what, but the longer I look up at the sky and feel its deep purple flowing through me, the more I start to agree with her. It really is beautiful, nights like tonight. Never really saw that before, when I was too busy venting to myself about my problems and how I didn’t feel I was doing anything worthwhile because I really wasn’t.

Now, though? Can I really say I’ve just been fucking around and having a good time for the past couple months? I mean sure, I have been doing that a lot but along the way, I found a job. No, more than that. A career. Yeah, a career in professional wrestling, who’d have figured? All those nights back when I was a kid, before the divorce when mom and dad could tolerate each other enough to be in the same room together. Leonard’s rage against me soothed by the sights and sounds of grown men slamming each other to the mat. How we’d go out of our way to make sure we never rooted for the same guy. I don’t think I ever envisioned a future where I was the guy on the TV, slamming people and getting slammed, but here I am now.

Not just a wrestler, a champion. A politician. A media sensation. I have arenas full of people cheering for me and my friends. We have T shirts that people buy, hell more than just that, we have so much in the way of merchandise and people spend their hard earned money on it without a second thought. For the first time in my life a couple of months ago, I finally figured out what it meant to have hard earned money.

Though, I also have a father who’s basically disowned me. A violent sociopath for a brother. I have the admiration of crowds of people, and accolades, and still I don’t garner much respect. In either arena; as a wrestler I’m still a rookie. Sensation or no, there’s only so much respect you get with that stigma. In the political arena, I’m constantly reminded how I’m too young to be president like this country wasn’t founded on breaking rules. It’s tiring sometimes, it really is. All of this. I go from never having to work a day in my life, to almost having more on my plate than I can even understand in a month. Is this what being an adult is like? Everyday? I guess I have some more added stresses, all things considered but still.

I take a deep breath in and let it out slow. The car’s moving, I’m almost home but at the same time I feel so far away. Each foot closer feels like a hundred in the opposite direction. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been up for 45 hours and I don’t want to fall asleep until I’m at home, on my bed. Or if it’s because I don’t want to go home. Like I want to forget everything and hit up another party.

Sometimes I just want to forget all of this, and go back to being just your average trust fund baby in the 21st century. The lovable black sheep who never made anything of himself but has that charming smile that you just can’t cut out of your life. Each step closer to my goals, be they earning the respect of my peers in the wrestling world, or being elected, adds another hundred pounds of weight to my chest.

I feel so close, yet so far away.

And somehow, despite it all, I don’t think I could be happier.

I’m doing something. Something good, I can feel it in my gut. Everything I’ve done, when I’ve gotten around to actually doing things, is the right thing to do. Even though I don’t have respect, I respect myself for the first time in I can’t even remember how long.

Yeah, there are times when I want to quit, but there’s a reason I haven’t. I easily could’ve, there are so many times where I easily could’ve just called it quits. I could’ve ducked out the back before my first match. My second. I could’ve blown off the interview or even better, second guessed the interview. There are steps I could’ve taken and could easily take to end all this. But no matter how much I think about it, I’m never going to take them.

I blink, and suddenly I’m long gone. Not in the car anymore, not in my beer stained bro tank and basketball shorts. No, I’m standing behind a podium on a stage in my high school’s auditorium. Dressed in a sparkling white dress shirt and a slick black tie, black dress pants. And I’m not just thinking, not just contemplating but I’m saying these words. The things I repeat to myself every damn day when the road gets hard. I’m not just saying them to me, I’m saying them to the 2015 graduating class.

”There is nothing you can’t do. Not a thing.”

I pause for a moment and feel my face. Normally my eyelids are drooping and there’s an uneven patch of stubble on my cheeks but not now. I’m clean shaven and wide awake. There’s a smile on my face.

”I know I’m the model for the kid who had nothing, pulling himself up by his bootstraps and trying desperately to make something of himself. To do better than his parents did, to leave his children with more than his parents left him with. I know I was born with a silver spoon shoved down my throat, but that didn’t stop me. I could’ve just stayed right where I was, I never had to do a thing. But I did. And man, did I face some shit for that, pardon my language. There’s inspiration in the stories of those who had nothing and took big risks. They couldn’t quit. They literally couldn’t because to quit for them would be tantamount to suicide.

Make no mistake, that’s not me. That’s never been me.

I could’ve quit. I could’ve at any time and no one would think any different of me. Hell, it’s expected of me as a child of two members of the one percent to give up and go back to their money, to never have to learn the true meaning of work. To never face that adversity.

I could quit at any time. I have that luxury.

I haven’t, and I won’t. And I know you’re wondering how my rich guy struggles relate to you. Thing is, if you’re here right now, odds are you aren’t in the situation of the man who came from nothing. You’re between him and me. You’re somewhere between not being able to quit, and being expected to. So remember that. There is absolutely nothing you can’t do. There’s is never any reason to quit.

I don’t need to remind you that you’re graduating in a week. You’ve been ready for this moment for way too long. You’ve taken all the tests you need, gotten harassed for so long about where you’re going to college, or what you’re going to do with the rest of your life and I’m not here to ask you those questions. Or to tell you how to live your life. I’m just here to let you know that no matter what you aspire to do, there’s no goddamn reason for you to try to be anything less than the absolute best at it.

I am the best professional wrestler of all time and there’s not a fucking thing anyone could say that’d make me think any differently because the second I stop believing it, how can I expect anyone else to? How can I get anyone else to remember me, or anything I did if I’m not doing it thinking there’s no way anyone could top me?

I’m going to be the best president of all time.

I’m going to be the best at anything I do, just like you all should be.

Thank you for your time.”

There’s silence. Nothing. For a few seconds even, until finally someone breaks the silence. One pair of hands clapping. Then another. And another. Soon the whole crowd’s broken out into applause and all I can do is stand there with a huge, goofy smile plastered on my face and this burning, stinging pride in my chest. I look to my right, but I don’t see Kylie or [THE MYSTERIOUS AND HANDSOME STRANGER]. Weird. I walk off the stage, to the backstage area and I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. Without hesitation I snatch it and answer.

”There’s been an accident. Kylie’s in the hospital.”

My eyes go wide. I try to form words, but I can’t so I hang up the phone and slide it back into my pockets. My hands are shaking. I close my eyes and know when I open them again, I’m going to be in my bed or back in the car. This is all a dream.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. I open my eyes, expecting to see the wonderful, slummy parts of LA through a dirty windshield but instead I’m greeted by Mrs. Hammond, my old principal.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

Quickly, I muster up a smile and sheepishly respond with ”yeah, fine.”

Then she nods, and walks away.