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Travis McCoy · (03-05-2016)

Eight Months Ago

A big truck stop in a large city is an interesting place once the sun punches out. Have you ever been? I'd imagine the answer is no. A place like this is really reserved for three types of people, long haul truckers, those who serve them with their bodies(lot lizards), and those who attempt rob them with their sob story lies (scum bags). The trucker is the prey one way or another. Fun fact! Lot lizards aren't nearly as abundant as one might believe. A long haul trucker see's them but they tend to be in rough cities with large truck stops. Even funner fact, they don't just walk around the lot knocking on doors, that's a good way to meet a tire iron or the dark end of a pistol. They advertise on the CB radio. Funnest fact yet! They don't sit in a car with a CB. Part of buying the services of one of these women(?) is that once your business is done(you shoot a dirty load), they get to sit in your cab on your radio until they meet their next john.

There is a Petro in El Paso where if you turn your head south you can see Jaurez. The lights are different. It's pretty amazing really, they have a dirty glow, a more yellow light. Like the filthy soul of the city is escaping through those bulbs. If you call The Wolf Man and pay him 30 dollars he'll take you across the border to a whore house. Not that I'd know anything about that. That truck stop in El Paso is where we find Travis. He looks virtually the same, his beard is longer and less kept. The doors closed on his old home about a year prior. Travis needed a paycheck, and for a man with a lifetime experience in nothing other than hurting people, truck driving is the best one he can get. He doesn't have to deal with people. That's one thing you'll find is common among guys on the road in big rigs. They're not a big fan of people. Lots of ex servicemen, lots of criminal records, lots of racist conspiracy theorist who believe Al Gore is a shape-shifting-alien-hologram and that the world is flat. Travis is none of these things, he just hates people. Including most drivers. He's done wrestling though. The last place took a toll on him physically and emotionally, he's content to be a steering wheel holder. That will change tonight.

Because your past catches you in the strangest ways

Travis is in the bunk of his truck. A rolling studio apartment. Well, its a bed smaller than a twin behind the drivers seat. It's just big enough that flat on his back a girl can kneel between his legs and blow him. Fuck you, don't judge, it's been months, she's got all her teeth and he's wearing a condom. She's not pretty but she makes up for it with pure effort, and the effort is starting to pay off. The CB is on and cranked for entertainment, some of the drivers will talk dirty to the hookers before they seal the deal. Mostly they argue about where Obama is from and about who's rig is faster. All of this comes out in one jumbled mess.

“Hey baby, what're you gonna do...THAT FUCKING MONKEY JIGGA...Hey big boys, anyone looking for a good time?...If you don't believe me just look up!...I'll suck that di...THEY'RE SPRAYING CHEMICALS ON US...Wolf Man here, wet t shirt contest tommorow...”

It goes on like this all night. One voice breaks through the mess, a super trucker with a massive radio overriding everyone else. Drowning them out. The voice is rough, like a life time of gargling gravel.

“Travis...”

He opens his eyes, sure he's heard wrong. That voice...

“Travis GOD DAMMIT, I know you're here you worthless piece of shit.”

Ignore it, you're having an acid flashback, PTSD, peyote, or something because there is no fucking way...

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

The voice again right outside the truck.

“Boy you answer when your father talks to you. I tried my damndest with you and you still turned out a shit but goddamit I know I taught you that.”

“Wha da fuq is goin on driver? I dunt give a fuck homeboy you better fucking pay me!”

“You got a whore in there?! Your fucking mother is rolling in her grave.”

“I'll pay you just get the fuck out.”

“JEEEZUS CHRIST TRAV, did you cum boy? Don't pay her if you aint cum. Don't you remember your 16th birthday?!”

Travis hands the girl a 20 and ushers her out of the truck. (opening the passenger door and shoving.) He takes a deep breath and opens the drivers side door and looks down at his dear old, paralyzed father.

“What in the FUCK are you doing here? Wait no, HOW in the fuck are you here?”

“That's how you're gonna greet you pa? You worthless, ungrateful little shit. If I had fucked your mom in the ass like I wanted to she woulda passed you with our dinner the next day but nooo, she said it hurt, she said we'd just met! But I know she let Harley Race fuck her in the ass, he told me, he showed me the blood on his DICK...”

“Chuck, Jesus, shut the fuck up. Why are you here?”

“Because this life aint for you boy, it's time to come home and do what you do best.”

“Bullshit.”

“No boy, I know I've been hard on you but you're good, you stopped that flippy shit and you hurt people, like dad taught ya.”

Travis starts to shut the door.

“FINE! You worthless fuck, don't come home, but I made my way all the way down here to spic country, and you know how I feel about beaners. At least have a beer with me. One beer with your pop then you can go back to getting the herp. Don't care, I swear boy just one beer and I'll be gone.”

Travis sits back in the seat contemplating. He takes a deep breath and pushes the door back open

“One beer ya old cunt. Then you get on a bus and go home, but if you tell one more story about mom I'll beat the living fuck out of you old man.”

The old man smiles, he's won.

“I'd like to see ya try fucker.”

Present Day

It's a beautiful day in early march, the kind of day that reminds you that winter is nearly over. The kind that teases and prods you with hope that the snow won't fall again. A perfect day, one that would be well spent with family. Playing catch, hell even a god damn picnic. That's how nice it is, that the idea of sitting on red and white checked blanket on the ground eating shitty chicken and store bought potato said actually sounds pleasant.

The urge is so damn strong that the curmudgeon Travis McCoy has done just that, with family even. No, not his, he's decided to spend a bit more time with the Harvey's. He sits directly between the head stones on exactly the kind of blanket your supposed to for a picnic. He's even got a goddamned wicker basket

He's even made them plates. One resting in front of each tombstone. His plate is empty, the food on the happy couple's is discoloring already, with a growing number of flies buzzing on them. If he lets them sit long enough the fried chicken will fill with maggots.

Much like the people he's prepared this picnic for.

Fitting eh?

Travis sits with his feet straight out and his hands on the ground behind him. He leans back on them looking full and satisfied. He's got a tooth pick in the corner of his mouth. If Norman Rockwell had ever painted a picture of a man just after he had a picnic with two dead people, this is exactly what it would have looked like.

“Listen to me closely, I never said he raped you Branden I may of kind of sort of implied you blew him, but really I just asked if he touched you. I meant like hugs and shit. You're the one talking about rape. Really Branden, go see a hypno-shrink. I think there might be some repressed memories.

Pissed you off though didn't I? I mean, am I supposed to be surprised? I made fun of your dead parents for christ's sake. I pissed on their graves. If you weren't mad I'd assume you weren't human, or that you made up the story for attention...

Did you by the way?

No, no, that's silly. That would take am attention starved loner, an outcast who never had friends in school. That would take a legit crazy person to make up a story like that...

Although...

You did hit yourself a few times with a chair...

That would take a crazy person too...

I mean you really just gave me two names and claimed to be their son. That's disgusting Branden. I mean, it would be, if you actually made it up. I'm not saying YOU MADE IT UP, I'd never say that YOU MADE UP YOUR DEAD PARENTS story for attention. It's obviously true because you're super duper mad. So mad that you had to tell and show me that you could bleed. By the way, I just gotta say it. Wow dude, super impressed with that self mutilation. It makes perfect sense that prior to a match with a guy nick named The Messiah of the Piledriver you'd bash your own skull a few times.

Son, you're right. I am better than you, I'm more experienced, I'm smarter. In general, I'm a better wrestler. It's not because I've been doing this longer.

It's because my dad loved me enough to stay alive.

It's because while your pops went and died mine loved me enough to make me into a wrestler. Sorry for your luck. People survive plane crashes, not all the time but it happens. I'm not saying they killed themselves but if you had been a better boy they might have fought harder to live, that's all. Jesus can you imagine their disappointment when they saw your mug? Imagine how two top level athletes felt when their son started moving around with the grace of a Michael J Fox playing Jenga. Jesus the let down that must have been.

And if they could see you now. What would they say Branden? What would they say if the two technical artists could see you bashing yourself with a chair? You should be happy they're dead because I don't think they'd allow you to use their last name if they weren't. They probably wouldn't even invite you over for holidays. Pissing on their grave shivers next to having you as their son on the embarrassment scale.

This ain't the business for you, you're not helping any legacy by parading around the way you are.

Go home,
buy a rope,
finish the job.

Punch your Uncle when you get to hell for encouraging you on this path in life. Maybe if you were unique that little chair thing would of rocked me, but the self harm thing is played out. 1998 Mankind called, he wants his gimmick back. When you get angry, you get violent? So does, well...nearly everyone who has ever walked the face of the earth. You're a hack. I'm supposed to fear you now son? Tell me boy, what strikes you as the actions of a more dangerous man? Bashing your own skull with a chair? Or mocking a crazy mans dead parents and pissing on their grave right out of the gate? I've stood across the ring from men who deserve to be feared. Men who rape, men who have ended careers, men who've beat people to death. You're just a scared little orphan boy with a death wish.

As overjoyed as your parents would be to have a real ring general in the family, I don't want to be your blood brother. I want to be your new daddy. I want to teach you by beating you within an inch of your life.

Just like how my dad taught me”

FADE

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