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Chris Valerius · (08-05-2017)

82 degrees and sunny. Yes, Seattle can be sunny. No one ever asks that about San Francisco. It's bullshit.

I continuously adjust my leg on the hard metal and plastic “padding” of the bus seat. My first match in XWF was a loss. Fortunately, I don't really care as long as I'm still alive to fight.

The homeless guy behind me is muttering quietly. It's total nonsense to the world, but it's the world to him, and anyone who disagrees with him is spewing total nonsense.

The child in front of me is adorable, but will probably be ruined by her family. The mom clearly doesn't care. She probably wanted a boy so she could have her very own little sports hero, even if the chance of that is a gnat’s cock over 1%. That little girl growing up to be even just a lesbian would make her mom hopeful, but until then, it's a vague sense of disappointment in her voice with every sentence. Unless the next kid is a boy. Then it's a lifetime of being ignored while the mom rakes it in.

Finn Kuhn came at me with some serious fury. I made a mistake in thinking he was just a pretty face. That being said, I'll get him next time if there is a next time. There could be if he wins the TV Title and I win a few matches.

Getting closer to my stop. Uncle Gary immediately recommended this place when I mentioned my leg injury. It's owned by a hippie wiccan lady, your standard Fremont fare of unusual. Despite how it sounds, he absolutely insisted that I come here. I mean, if there's anyone I'm going to trust, it's a 56 year old fisherman who lives on a houseboat in Puget Sound and gets up everyday like he's still under 30. But I'm still apprehensive for obvious reasons.

*doong* "Stop Requested.”

I get up and walk out to be treated with the homeless guy from before immediately shouting at someone down the road while he's right behind me. This lady better be legit. I look up at the sign. Lady Frieda’s. There's all sorts of 70’s psychedelic regalia lining the door and window. Stickers that have been out of print for longer than I've been alive because we decided as a culture to stop being so damn optimistic.

I walk inside to a strong smell of incense. Incense that I presume is masking some poor quality scratch. Not that I care if it is, but they should in case some jackass wants to report them on Yelp for a free session. A sign says “assistance will arrive soon”, so I sit down on one of the… pillows on the ground. The room is even more gaudy and colorful that the outside. I swear I hear bongos but I know it's just in my head. There are Sanskrit quotes on the sheet covering the wall behind me. Could be meaningful. Could literally just say “Thanks for the cash, sucker”, but I won't exactly be mad at the cloth for that.

I adjust my leg and almost as soon as my sneaker taps the ground, a tall and pretty, if not grungy girl walks out from behind a heavy bead door in a linen dress. Well, “walk” isn't the right word. “Joyfully stumble” is more fitting. She's barefoot and humming to herself as she adds a new burning stick to the shelf of too much fragrance. She never looks at me, but as she walks back towards the bead door, she stops. I look around confusedly. I open my mouth to ask a question before being cut off.

“Aura.”

My brow furrows in confusement.

“Is that your name?”

She turns around and looks at me with concern in her eyes.

“Your aura is negative, Earthbrother.”

She hurries towards me and kneels in front of me to more easily feel my face all around. Rubbing my forehead with her pinky, squeezing my cheeks together like you would a baby, and tapping my earlobe with her thumb. All the while, she has her eyes closed as if she's suddenly seen all the things in the universe. She opens her eyes and gasps.

“Pessimist!”

She then grabs me by the hand and practically drags me into the room with her. Inside, she lets go of my hand and leaves me standing there with an older woman, presumably Frieda. Easily above 50, but in good condition. She smiles at me as she walks towards me with a cup of something aromatic.

“Drink.”

I take the cup and down it quickly before taking a total shock to the senses. It was cold and musky, but so spicy and sweet. Like really strong black licorice coated with peppermint oil and a whole container of nutmeg and sugar. I cough and Frieda pats my back.

“That's a normal first experience, Earthbrother. What may I call you?”

After I finish coughing, I sputter something out.

“Chris, please.”

“What troubles you, Earthbrother Chris?”

I point down to my leg, and she quickly gets down near it. She pulls up my pant leg and starts to feel the bruised area, puts her ear to it, and sniffs it.

“Um, I took a shower today.”

She looks up with her mildly crazed smile.

“Really? You don't need to more than thrice a year.”

That explains the patchouli and incense. And… patchouli incense. For good measure I suppose.

“Tell me, pessimist Earthbrother. How did you sustain this injury?”

“I wrestled in a parking lot surrounded by running cars.”

She gasps in a way that would be judgemental if she hadn't driven the idea of judgement out of her head decades ago.

“How unfortunate!”

“No, it's my job. I'm a pro wrestler. It's painful but I enjoy it.”

For a second, the aforementioned judgement goes back into Frieda’s head in a brief moment of sanity. But she drives it out with rainbows and chakra as soon as it arrives.

“Violence is no way to lead your life, Earthbrother Chris!”

“Tell me something I don't know. Can you help it?”

“I can, but I first believe an aura cleanse is in order. AURA!”

Oh, that is her name. She was probably born Tiffany or something. Aura comes rushing in with what looks like a platter of essential oils in separate ramekins. Frieda sits me down and takes one. She rubs her fingers in the oil for a bit as we stare each other in the eyes. This goes on for what feels like forever. She takes her fingers out, still smiling at them.

*flick*

Drops of the oil land in my eyes, and I react accordingly. She shushes me before I can get too loud, and I immediately realize my mistake.

“How did Frieda treachya?”

Gary is a balding, 6’5, 260 lbs man with a gambling problem. He's been my only real family for about 6 years. I've woken up in his houseboat more times than I can count. He's chuckling a bit right now.

“I got fucking tea tree oil in my eye because I have a bad aura or something.”

“Yeah, but does your leg hurt?”

“It hasn't in an hour.”

“See that? Frieda is such a distraction that you'll forget about your pain.”

I get up to grab a beer.

“Great, an $80 distraction.”

“Hey, at least you have $80 to spare. That wrestling company must pay Beaucoup.”

“Well, not at first. Some guy named Shane gave me 7 condoms filled with shit before Vinnie Lane took them and exchanged them. $1,500 payment and I didn't even win. Extra $500 must've been for the stipulation.”

“Sounds like it might be worth it. You should protect yourself more, though. Can't constantly get your leg injured.”

“If I can stand, I will fight. Doesn't matter what I've been through the whole match before, I'm destroying them as slowly as I wish. I'm not here to back down, but if I have to, so be it. Doesn't mean I can't scratch and claw to stay standing.”

I take another swig of beer before I get out of the boat as Uncle Gary sits in silence. I don't need him to be worried about anything I do. Even if that includes wrestling a witch.

...fuck, my leg hurts again.

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