Post by sonstuds on Sept 25, 2020 22:23:31 GMT -5
::: Land of Sunshine :::
Waiter: Here you go ... by the way ... big fan.
The plates are placed on the table as he looks on with a smile.
Shelia: Oh thanks. That's so nice.
Waiter: Do you guys need anything else?
Shelia: No, we're good I think?
Acknowledged for the first time in several seconds, he responds.
EBR: It all looks great. Thanks, old sport.
The waiter leaves as he resides on the outdoor patio of his favorite bistro with his favorite person, a large umbrella shading them from the sun which shines brightly as he has rediscovered it so often does. It's been a different but exciting adjustment as he's made his way back from the Land of the Rising Sun, made all the whole different and exciting with his wife in tow. Officially living in the same locale for the first time in the three months since their marriage, and with their respective schedules neatly synchronizing between EBR's return to the west and the end of her latest tour, he was curious what it would be like when their lives officially began.
Delightful.
He always wanted a Beyoncé to his Jay-Z.
EBR: So, I've gotten in touch with my landscaper. He's going to be doing some work next week, so please don't leave your car on the driveway. I'm just telling you now in case I forget later.
Shelia: Why?
EBR: He'll probably want to park there. It'll be easier for him to get the stuff into the garden. Plus I dunno, just seems considerate.
Shelia: No, the landscaper?
EBR: That guy down the road has a really nice flower bush going on. It's not so much that I'm jealous ... but it does make his house look the nicest.
But not for long.
Shelia: Is this just to increase the property value or ...?
EBR: Well I mean, anyone who sees it will be like "wow, look at all those flowers". It'll pop. That's an exact quote from the landscaper, by the way. He'd know.
Shelia: When you suggested we'd move here we both agreed it would be temporary.
EBR: Yeah. But we are living here. Now.
She blankly stares at EBR.
Shelia: "Temporary", he said.
EBR: What? I dunno, you're sort of overanalyzing it. I feel like we hear different things when we say temporary. It's subjective. Define "temporary".
Shelia: A month. Two, tops.
Stopping, he places his fork down as he looks up.
EBR: See, now it's evident that this was a conversation we should have had earlier. That's clear now. It wasn't before.
Shelia: Can you be honest with me? This isn't part of some elaborate plan to hold me hostage, is it?
EBR: Only because I value transparency; yes.
Shelia: Dammit, walked right into the trap.
EBR: Yeah I was a little surprised it worked so well after so little effort was put into planning the whole thing.
Shelia: While I'm disappointed in my willing participation in my own abduction, I can admire the initiative.
EBR: Dunno what my end game is, though.
Shelia: Oh, there's no way you'd have thought that far in advance.
EBR: Executing the coup was the number one priority. I just figured the rest will fall into place. Otherwise ... what an unfortunate waste of time.
They both share a laugh at the thought of abductions. Just delightful to have a partner he can banter back and forth with on this spiritual and emotional journey we all call life. It's gratifying, in no small part because of how much of a whimper his first foray into marriage ended up becoming. He just wasn't there yet.
It was eight years ago he was serving his one year suspension for performance enhancing substances, as per the official explanation. He suspected there would at least be some type of slap on the wrist for his role in, what was at the time, the largest corruption scandal in WFWF history, but didn't necessarily figure it would entail serving the punishment he should have served a year prior. Up to that point he just assumed there was a statute of limitations regarding failed drug tests. Live and learn.
In hindsight the suspension ended up being the best thing for him and exactly what he needed at the time. The vacation allowed him to clear his mind and not let his professional career dictate the direction of his life anymore. He put all of his effort, time, and energy into being the best in the WFWF. There just wasn't enough room for anything else. And sure, being the best was of particular importance to him, it ultimately left him with very little to show for it apart from a nice couch he was parked on while being told that he was in time-out. It was the strangest of feelings no longer being tied down to a company that evidently didn't put much value on his contributions.
Liberating.
He'll always remember that time in his life when he would wake up on nice autumn days, make himself a nice breakfast, have a quick rub and tug, and retreat outside and engage in his new found passion of carpentry. And while maybe the posts were too far apart, and the wooden frame dimensions were all wrong, and the railing would wobble, and the stairs were generally unsafe and couldn't support an individual, it was an endeavor he considered a success all the same. It was freedom, albeit in the form of a poorly constructed deck. It turns out a structure can’t support much without laying down a solid foundation first.
There he was. Happy, content, and living his best life. Along the way he met a woman and got engaged. He is very good looking.
It was truly his world and everyone else was just living in it.
He grew more and more content as the months passed, and eventually his months of contentment intersected with the expiry of his suspension. The development left him relatively indifferent. With it out of sight and out of mind he realized just how silly and trife the whole thing was. What, exactly, was he even there for? What, exactly, was there left for him to do? Start some beef with some fools? Squash some beef with some clowns? Away from it just further stressed how much it's always hindered him. He couldn't be the best EBR he could be when that's how he's spending his time. He was better than that. He could be more than that.
It was just incompatible to his new found vision and values. That book should just remain closed.
Sometimes the past is best left in the past. It'll just hold you back if you let yourself be tied to it.
But alas, it wasn't just about him anymore. Unfortunately he had to accept that he didn't have a whole lot of transferrable skills. Disappointed that his ability to throw a mean forearm didn't qualify him for the CEO position of Whole Foods, he begrudgingly returned to the only thing he knew how to do. That was, after all, the type of selfless action that goes along with having a fiancée. He's supposed to be the provider.
So he was back in the WFWF.
It didn't take very long for all of his dread to be proven right. He could live with an incessant travel schedule, and he could live with inept management, and he could live with a contract that left him severely undervalued and underpaid, and he could even live with the sh*t talk hurled in his direction. He just assumed those were the types of things most people deal with when they clock in to the job they don't want to actually be at.
It was the grind which got him. He just forgot how tiresome it became. He had accomplished everything there was to do in the WFWF and yet he still must do more? When was it enough? With his ceiling as high as it was he knew his immediate and impending future would entail of nothing more than lugging and setting up taller and taller ladders, all of which shake with instability as he ascends to the last rung, only to discover that the ceiling had moved higher. And he'd get to do that again. And again. And again.
F*ck. Hasn't he earned complacency? He feels he's earned complacency. It sounds like he should have earned complacency.
But he did it anyways because that's the type of sh*t a selfless man does for some f*cking reason.
So strictly on the basis of comparison, his return didn't meet the standards that EBR had established for himself. So the f*ck what? People are going to hold a .500 record against him? Child please, batting .500 is still enough to get him elected into Cooperstown. He's EB f*cking R, and he has to sit here and hear these murmurs about how he's past his prime, or how without the steroids he really just isn't that good anymore? He's just here to pass some time and get a pay cheque. He wasn't even supposed to be here today, which makes the whole thing downright admirable, if not heroic.
Sadly no good deed goes unpunished, and soon thereafter he injured his shoulder on the job. Being the good little worker bee he was he tried to keep his complaints to himself and go about his business, but eventually the groans of agony drowned out all the whispers regarding his recent lack of invincibility. The doctor who would finally hear his many, many complaints told him it was severe enough that it would require surgery. It would sideline him for about six months.
He had never been called for it, but it was at that moment he understood what it meant to get out of jury duty.
He was happier than a pig in sh*t when he came home after surgery, knowing that he got to resume his much deserved vacation. Or he was until he walked through the door of his house and saw that look in his fiancée's eye. It sent a chill reverberating through his spine before planting itself in his core.
She no longer saw an imposing image, the personification of unstoppable destruction. Nor an immortal man, a great competitor who redefined a business. Nor a mystique in a physical form, a deity like being. Nor anything he ever was.
She just saw a guy.
Just a guy.
A guy who could probably take the dog for a walk around the block after dinner.
It was haunting moment of his existence.
When you spend so much of your life flying high in the sky you forget how it feels to be looked down on.
He put an end to that relationship.
Shelia: All kidding aside though ... if you wanted to stay in Oakland why wouldn't you have just said that from the get-go?
EBR: Is this all just because of the flowers? Because they're not that important.
That is a lie.
Shelia: Just ... when you told me you already had a place that we could live in once you finished in Japan, I asked you if it was just a stop-gap and you said yes. It was specifically you who said that moving here for the time being would stop us from making multiple moves in the future.
EBR: And we did. We only had to move once. Playing the long game up in here. Great success I'd say.
Shelia: But you understand that you never once implied that we'd actually be settling down here? You said until we find something more, and I'm quoting you here, "permanent". You did say that, right?
EBR: I can confirm that yes, I did in fact say that.
Shelia: Good, thank you ... I didn't expect you to actually answer, but I appreciate the honesty all the same.
EBR: My logic is just ... look I'm happy, you're happy ... why not just stay here?
Shelia: Because ... you know why.
EBR: Look, we can fix up the house, alright? I'm already all over it. The significance of the flowers has been addressed. That's been established.
Shelia: The flowers have nothing to do with it, Ghost. My life is in Los Angeles. Most of our dates are there, we're getting interest in performing on talk shows ... the rest of the band is there. It feels like I'm holding everything up ... or symbolically telling them I want to go solo ... it's a bad look either way.
EBR: LA isn't that far from here. It's all California.
Shelia: You're not the one spending ten hours in a car driving there and back.
EBR: Flying may be more efficient.
Shelia: Maybe, but I don't know ... something tells me spending more time at an airport isn't going to increase my enthusiasm regarding the whole thing.
EBR: Feels like it all goes back to what I was saying the other week -
Shelia: We're not buying a private jet.
EBR: If you're not willing to listen to solutions to problems then I'm questioning how serious you about solving them, frankly.
Shelia: ... Fair enough I guess.
EBR: Doors shouldn't be closed until we do some research first, is all I’m saying.
He brings out his phone and researches reasonably priced private planes. He hears good things about the Gulfstream G550.
Shelia: We're skipping way too many financial tiers going from flowers to planes. We don't even have a dish washer yet.
EBR: I mean, they wouldn't make them if they didn't expect people to buy one, right? Hey, I know you name a boat but are you supposed to name a plane too?
Shelia: We'll ... we're calling it Joan Jet for sure.
EBR: Alright cool, I found some.
Shelia: And is it a prudent financial decision?
EBR: Reading It is ... not. Hrm ... that's disappointing.
Shelia: Yeah ... plus the cost of maintenance, a pilot ... a bigger drive way to keep it on, so I guess we'd have to move either way ...?
EBR: Ruining my dreams up in here like you're Freddy Krueger or something.
Shelia: I've indulged your erratic aviation fantasies far too long.
EBR: You know what, they have some used choppers ... those have to be cheaper ...
Shelia: When you're looking at giant fans in the sky I think it's safe to say that well is tapped. It's for the best ... feel a little guilty contributing to global warming like that ... probably ...
EBR: Well I mean, it can't be worse than car pollution.
Shelia: ... I don't know how we got here but somehow you're arguing my point for me. Look, just answer me this. Are you really that invested in living here?
EBR: There's reasons.
Shelia: Name one that isn't just so you can call yourself the Golden State Heavyweight.
EBR: Okay, but before I do can we agree that it's not fair to ask me questions that don't allow me to give the correct answers?
Shelia: Yes, that's on me. My bad, but go ahead.
EBR: Secondly, I really like my kitchen.
Shelia: The kitchen?
EBR: Those cupboards are on point. I don't know if I can get any that look like that.
Shelia: We can get new cupboards that look like that.
EBR: Can we? That's something we should know for certain before we start making decisions.
Shelia: ... Anything else?
EBR: Oakland has just lost the Raiders and Warriors. It's just too much if I bounce so quickly after returning. They need time.
Shelia: Your next point is going to be about how you want to help small businesses.
This bistro makes a good Garlic Parmesan Risotto.
Shelia: You haven't lived here in what is it? Five years?
EBR: Closer to six.
Shelia: If there's something that's keeping you here let me know ... it's not a secret family, is it?
EBR: Nah you're the only one for me, babe.
Shelia: So why did you keep your place here for six years while you were in another country?
After his disaster of an engagement he ducked out of Miami and headed to the much discussed Oakland. He needed a fresh start, or at least something to distance himself from the stench of failure he feared would linger. The stench that let everyone know his best days were behind him and he had entered the twilight of his career.
The "hobbling to the finish line" of his career.
The "gets traded to another team" of his career.
The "season eight of an HBO series" of his career.
It was fight or flight, and seeing as how EBR had successfully morphed into a p*ssy of some kind the latter seemed an apt decision. He'll leave his inadequacies and sh*tty deck behind him and move forward, starting a new life. A better life. Maybe it's time he pursued his artistic passions. Painting always looked fun.
Everything's going to be okay.
It was not.
To his chagrin he discovered the horror which await, and that moving out west and no shower could mask the musky scent that followed him. Moving across the country did nothing. He was still the same guy, only now with lousy oil paintings cluttering his residence.
He was accomplished and capable of one singular thing in his life and now he can't even do that. He's nothing now. He's just a guy, bearing the scarlet letter of mediocrity on his chest while the busted nut of irreverence drips from his chin. He was a disgraced goblin who needed to be kept far away from the rest of civilized society for his ogre like appearance terrified the local populace. He would be forced to remain in solitude, ashamed and praying for anonymity as he hid like a German scientist in Argentina in the 1950s. No one would ever find him again.
Just a guy.
The most horrific of outcomes for one of EBR's statue. To be everything he once was and now reduced to the ultimate of indignities - to fade out so unceremoniously ...
It was short lived. Soon thereafter he was approached by long-time associates Alex Sean and DGX. He had kept the same phone number.
They informed him that they were looking to make their return to the XWA, and despite their relationship(s) ending in less than ideal circumstances it was an proposition that made sense for both sides. They were looking to go to war, and when doing so it's best to be the ones with the supply of bombs. He, the artist formally known as EBR, would be that supply.
That wasn't exactly how they phrased it, but that was the gist that EBR heard. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. The Kevin Durants to his Golden State Warriors.
It was the hard dose of reality that EBR needed.
When he looked in the eyes of Alex Sean and DGX he saw two of his most respected contemporaries, two of his most challenging of adversaries, and two of the most calculating and ruthless individuals this fine sport had ever produced across two different companies.
And just eighteen months prior he smoked them both, essentially banishing two great, great men from the WFWF after they fell at EBR's hand.
... He doesn't fade out. He burns brightly. He is only capable of one thing.
So he should just stop fighting it and f*cking do it then.
The legend of EBR would no longer remain of the urban kind. His shoulder had healed, and he had no intention of giving his time to the WFWF. That wretched company idled by and allowed his desecration to occur. You don't walk home through the alleyway that was once the scene of your rape.
So he took them up on their offer.
Having betrayed Alex Sean, stolen his Heavyweight Championship, sullied his name, crippled his cousin, f*cked his ex-wife, and stabbed him in the abdomen with an ancient Indian arrowhead, EBR looked inwards and could acknowledge that even past his own rooting interests he owed Alex his support in his effort to gain another Heavyweight Championship. A championship that, presumably, EBR would not later pry from his cold, dead hands.
We're nothing without our principles.
Together all three run roughshod over the promotion, doing what they pleased to whomever they pleased with little to no resistance. The reports of EBR's demise were greatly exaggerated, and any questions regarding his effectiveness were squashed nearly as effectively as his opponent's skulls. Godzilla was in town. He's making a mess of its infrastructure.
Once Alex had gotten his new Heavyweight Championship and all three men finagled big money contracts despite terrorizing the entire company both figuratively and literally (it's a strange business), EBR couldn't help himself from leaning back in his glorious chair in front of his glorious pool in his glorious backyard behind his glorious new house located in glorious Oakland. Evidently any talk of being put out to pasture were nothing but the hottest of hot takes, his only embarrassment being that for a few hot minutes he actually questioned it himself. The foolish naivety of youth. Live and learn.
This is what he is.
And this is what he does.
Don't forget it.
'Twas the moral of the story, for him at least. With his foot firmly held over an entire company’s head it was solemn and stark reminder for the rest of the world that when you opt to bury someone you better make damn sure they're actually dead.
They tend to come back with a vengeance otherwise.
It was the greatest and most fulfilling time of his life, and while he basked in the warm sun of Oakland he knew just how grand of a spectacle he really was.
He has never been happier.
EBR: Eh ... nothing really.
Later there was a whole "crisis of conscience" episode he had to deal with. It ended with him in Japan for many, many years.
But that story has already been told. There happens to be a documentary about it.
EBR: I guess since I've been back I've just remembered how fond of the house I was. It's really something. Good location, nice neighbourhood, architecturally it’s sound ... I don't know why I'm pitching it to you. You know. You live there.
Shelia: Those spiral staircases are sharp.
EBR: It's just ... it's been a bit of an adjustment, you know?
Shelia: The marriage?
EBR: Mostly referring to the culture differences. Nah fam, you're good. I like you quite a bit.
Shelia: Solid compliment.
EBR: Honestly, I've just been away for so many years ... I knew I'd need some time to get situated and settle in a bit, but truthfully I didn't think it'd be this hard. I don't always remember who I'm supposed to tip or not, and frankly? I'm playing a game of Russian Roulette anytime I get in a car. It's confusing. Why can't the UN just come out and say "alright, this is the side of the road we're all driving on - deal with it"?
Shelia: I mean ... I'm happy to drive us home.
EBR: It's been a big move ... just needed some familiarity to get me going, I think. It's been stressful.
Shelia: But you're happy with how it's gone?
Taking a key from Mary J. Blige and looking to operate his personal and professional life with no more drama, it quickly became apparent the rest of the WFWF wouldn't share the same sentiment. The show dubbed "Sonic Boom" became nothing but a bingo card of all the unsavoury aspects of this "sport", a prime example of the type of behaviour which leave it with air quotes when it's spoken.
Theft of personal property, intimidation of spouses, the assault of someone's manager by who he can only surmise was a side piece, inanimate objects thrown at the janitorial staff, the airing of grievances, and public belittlement of fellow wrestlers were some of his main takeaways. The actual matches became nothing but a footnote in the grand scheme of things. That’s unfortunate.
That's the reason they're all supposed to be there.
Well, not so much Billy Broom. He didn’t have a match so technically he was there to sanitize and disinfect.
Just so much drama. Expected yet still disheartening to see. Not mad. Just disappointed.
He wants to sit everyone down so badly and rationally explain to them that it doesn't need to be like this. That together they can compete against one another with sportsmanship and respect. That they can be the impetus of change to a business which has historically always rewarded the ugliest and most vile of actions and individuals. That it doesn't have to be a cut-throat industry, and that all anyone has to do it prevent it from becoming so is to turn in their knives. That matches don't have to end with bitterness and revenge, but instead daps and handshakes like every other sport.
That we don't have to tear each other down when we can lift each other up. That we don't have to try and end the other person. That we don't have to try and take food off other people's tables and that we can all eat.
That all of us, collectively, can do better.
But if he does he's just the old man preaching from his soapbox, talking down to everyone rudely with a little hint of condescension. It’s would just be so unbecoming for someone in his position.
Unfortunately this roster needs to learn the harsh lessons and repercussions of their actions on their own. They will - eventually - and hopefully their atonement won't be as arduous as it was for him. In the meantime, he'll kindly excuse himself from their extracurricular activities. The kiddies can splash one another in the shallow water while he sets a personal best at the breast stroke in the deep end. He can't control the actions of anyone who isn't himself, and he'll simply opt to lead by example. They may not, but he relishes in the opportunity to compete in the squared circle with the respect and grace this company, business, and frankly opponent deserves.
So there he was, bludgeoning Anna Ahriman's skull with blow after blow after blow until the referee called for a break to inspect her demolition and any signs of severe cranial trauma. The honorable EBR quickly obliged, and once Anna Ahriman was checked for vital signs pulled the referee to the side for a quick conversation regarding any rules he may have been toeing so that he may never do it again. The rules are there for a reason. Once he was informed by the official that was it was strictly done as a precautionary measure so he could confirm that Anna's brain matter wasn't emanating from any orifices, EBR returned his attention back to his opponent. With discipline and kindness he impaled his knee into her face, the force sending her much smaller body rocketing back violently before the turnbuckles broke her flight, the back of her head ricocheting off the middle pad and causing whiplash upon impact like a crash test dummy. One Black Hole later, and after nearly causing Anna's entire nervous system to eject from her body upon collusion with the canvas, EBR was victorious in his first match in the WFWF in eight years.
His only regret was the inability to shake Anna Ahriman's hand afterwards and thank her for a great match. She was unconscious. The act would have been unseemly.
One day later EBR was back at work, looking to study the film and identify and correct any mistakes in his game. It's embracing the grind which allows him to be his best self. It was only when he watched his work did he see what exactly transpired.
Mesh, kicking Anna Ahriman in the side of the head as she lay in the corner with the referee and EBR halfway across the ring none the wiser.
Tainted. Sullied. Filthy.
You generally only get one first impression. It was his homecoming after so many years of doing it wrong and his chance to show the company and western world that he had changed, and that he is better and is no longer any of the negative descriptions or words that could be thrown around when the name is EBR spoken, but only the positive ones.
And it was taken away from him.
He knows the rules. And even if he didn't, it's right there on video. Mesh kicked her in the head. He should have been disqualified. He should have lost.
And sh*t, it did happen.
So he did lose.
His return was vandalized, left totaled without so much of an apology or acknowledgement for the wreck. He felt so dirty. After finally gaining the courage to return to the scene of the crime he walked confidently through that infamous alleyway, and instantaneously was groped by several uninvited hands. Felt like up like he was nothing more than a common hussy.
Just absolutely incredulous. Not even twenty minutes prior Mesh was given a tongue lashing from Johnny Mason for doing the very same thing. Jesus Christ. Stay in your own lane you stupid, stupid bitch. She better learn to smarten up real soon. History says you won't be so thick headed when EBR's squashing it like Gallagher does a watermelon.
Why does he even bother? Seriously. He puts in the sacrifice and time and dedication and what fruit does his hard labor bear? A mouthful of urine from the f*cking kids in the other end of the f*cking pool.
He wants to be kind but they're making it really, really difficult. In his ideal world all he wanted was a stern yet fair talk and to treat them like adults, but it's becoming quite apparent how adamant they are to misbehave. Perhaps words aren't the discipline they need.
Perhaps they need the belt.
Perhaps.
EBR: Yeah, it's been good.
Or perhaps EBR just needs to find that inner strength that he knows is in there and persevere. If he succumbs he's no better than them. So he won't. He'll just rise above.
Shelia actually has a song about something like that.
It's called "Rise Above".
EBR: No complaints.
There's no point dwelling on things beyond his control. There were always going to be hurdles to clear, and now is the time to clear them. He doesn't perform all those squats just so he can have very muscular and highly defined quads, even though that is one of the many benefits.
Being a fan of Penny Shannon for some time now, he was in fact looking forward to his next match. Word travels fast in this industry when you defeat Drakz for the Heavyweight title. She was one of the members of the WFWF that he was hopeful to one day compete against in earnest. To get the opportunity so soon in his comeback was a gift he was thankful for.
And seeing as it doubled as her return, the possibility of residual hard feelings between her and anyone else spilling into his lap were significantly reduced. No potential victory of his should be followed with "yeah ... but". Or potential loss.
Penny Shannon is very, very good.
... but unfortunately for her, it's at the one singular thing EBR is great at.
It's going to be two illustrious participants engaging in a beautiful match. The company will be proud, and everyone else gets to see just how prestigious this company can truly be. The noblest of pursuits.
And you know what? Mesh didn't mean any disrespect. Water under the bridge. We're all just doing the best we can.
It's getting noticeably brighter in Oakland. Literally - it was getting a little cloudy there, but the sun came back out.
This is why this fine establishment has these fine umbrellas.
EBR: Look, I've appreciated everything you've done this entire time but I haven't actually said it. So thank you. You've sacrificed more than me in these last couple of months.
Shelia: I knew it was important to you.
EBR: Yeah, but maybe I've been a little selfish. I'm not trying to sandbag you or your career or anything and I don't have much of a leg to stand on in this debate ... it's only one flight a month for me.
Measuring it simply in terms of how many shows are run, it's a company that's become much less ambitious in the eight years since he had previously worked there.
EBR: I have a show coming up in a week that I really need to prepare for, so I'd like to have as few distractions as possible. Want to be at my best and everything. You know. You get it ...
He's stood atop the mountains many times and gotten to marvel at the magnificent views below. With this footing so secure and firmly planted now he'd just like someone to join him, and it would certainly be ideal if it happened to be his favorite person.
EBR: ... Then we go wherever you need to go.
There's nothing he wants more than for her to reach the same plateau in her field as he's reached in his. He assumed that would be a Grammy or at least a European Critic’s Choice Award, but she once told him she was in it for artistic achievement and enlightenment.
Their respective businesses don't really have the same finish lines.
The self-acknowledgment that you put someone else's dreams ahead of your own is often reward enough. It was a lesson he learned during some of his brightest days. Those fantastic, beautiful days that were spent helping a great, great man capture a Heavyweight Championship.
She's his co-pilot on this crazy and wacky adventure called life. When it's time for her to take the wheel he'll change seats. Their goals hold equal weight, which is fine with him. He's always fancied himself a feminist, anyways.
That's why he smacks women he works with upside the head just as he would if they were a man. He's an ally.
Shelia: Thanks, Ghost.
It's time to support someone else in their pursuit of greatness.
That’s just the type of thing a selfless man does.
EBR: Me and you, right?
The Beyoncé to his Jay-Z.
Shelia: Mmhmm ... and I'll make sure our next place has some fancy cupboards.
As if they would settle for anything less.
.... Hova.
Waiter: Here you go ... by the way ... big fan.
The plates are placed on the table as he looks on with a smile.
Shelia: Oh thanks. That's so nice.
Waiter: Do you guys need anything else?
Shelia: No, we're good I think?
Acknowledged for the first time in several seconds, he responds.
EBR: It all looks great. Thanks, old sport.
The waiter leaves as he resides on the outdoor patio of his favorite bistro with his favorite person, a large umbrella shading them from the sun which shines brightly as he has rediscovered it so often does. It's been a different but exciting adjustment as he's made his way back from the Land of the Rising Sun, made all the whole different and exciting with his wife in tow. Officially living in the same locale for the first time in the three months since their marriage, and with their respective schedules neatly synchronizing between EBR's return to the west and the end of her latest tour, he was curious what it would be like when their lives officially began.
Delightful.
He always wanted a Beyoncé to his Jay-Z.
EBR: So, I've gotten in touch with my landscaper. He's going to be doing some work next week, so please don't leave your car on the driveway. I'm just telling you now in case I forget later.
Shelia: Why?
EBR: He'll probably want to park there. It'll be easier for him to get the stuff into the garden. Plus I dunno, just seems considerate.
Shelia: No, the landscaper?
EBR: That guy down the road has a really nice flower bush going on. It's not so much that I'm jealous ... but it does make his house look the nicest.
But not for long.
Shelia: Is this just to increase the property value or ...?
EBR: Well I mean, anyone who sees it will be like "wow, look at all those flowers". It'll pop. That's an exact quote from the landscaper, by the way. He'd know.
Shelia: When you suggested we'd move here we both agreed it would be temporary.
EBR: Yeah. But we are living here. Now.
She blankly stares at EBR.
Shelia: "Temporary", he said.
EBR: What? I dunno, you're sort of overanalyzing it. I feel like we hear different things when we say temporary. It's subjective. Define "temporary".
Shelia: A month. Two, tops.
Stopping, he places his fork down as he looks up.
EBR: See, now it's evident that this was a conversation we should have had earlier. That's clear now. It wasn't before.
Shelia: Can you be honest with me? This isn't part of some elaborate plan to hold me hostage, is it?
EBR: Only because I value transparency; yes.
Shelia: Dammit, walked right into the trap.
EBR: Yeah I was a little surprised it worked so well after so little effort was put into planning the whole thing.
Shelia: While I'm disappointed in my willing participation in my own abduction, I can admire the initiative.
EBR: Dunno what my end game is, though.
Shelia: Oh, there's no way you'd have thought that far in advance.
EBR: Executing the coup was the number one priority. I just figured the rest will fall into place. Otherwise ... what an unfortunate waste of time.
They both share a laugh at the thought of abductions. Just delightful to have a partner he can banter back and forth with on this spiritual and emotional journey we all call life. It's gratifying, in no small part because of how much of a whimper his first foray into marriage ended up becoming. He just wasn't there yet.
It was eight years ago he was serving his one year suspension for performance enhancing substances, as per the official explanation. He suspected there would at least be some type of slap on the wrist for his role in, what was at the time, the largest corruption scandal in WFWF history, but didn't necessarily figure it would entail serving the punishment he should have served a year prior. Up to that point he just assumed there was a statute of limitations regarding failed drug tests. Live and learn.
In hindsight the suspension ended up being the best thing for him and exactly what he needed at the time. The vacation allowed him to clear his mind and not let his professional career dictate the direction of his life anymore. He put all of his effort, time, and energy into being the best in the WFWF. There just wasn't enough room for anything else. And sure, being the best was of particular importance to him, it ultimately left him with very little to show for it apart from a nice couch he was parked on while being told that he was in time-out. It was the strangest of feelings no longer being tied down to a company that evidently didn't put much value on his contributions.
Liberating.
He'll always remember that time in his life when he would wake up on nice autumn days, make himself a nice breakfast, have a quick rub and tug, and retreat outside and engage in his new found passion of carpentry. And while maybe the posts were too far apart, and the wooden frame dimensions were all wrong, and the railing would wobble, and the stairs were generally unsafe and couldn't support an individual, it was an endeavor he considered a success all the same. It was freedom, albeit in the form of a poorly constructed deck. It turns out a structure can’t support much without laying down a solid foundation first.
There he was. Happy, content, and living his best life. Along the way he met a woman and got engaged. He is very good looking.
It was truly his world and everyone else was just living in it.
He grew more and more content as the months passed, and eventually his months of contentment intersected with the expiry of his suspension. The development left him relatively indifferent. With it out of sight and out of mind he realized just how silly and trife the whole thing was. What, exactly, was he even there for? What, exactly, was there left for him to do? Start some beef with some fools? Squash some beef with some clowns? Away from it just further stressed how much it's always hindered him. He couldn't be the best EBR he could be when that's how he's spending his time. He was better than that. He could be more than that.
It was just incompatible to his new found vision and values. That book should just remain closed.
Sometimes the past is best left in the past. It'll just hold you back if you let yourself be tied to it.
But alas, it wasn't just about him anymore. Unfortunately he had to accept that he didn't have a whole lot of transferrable skills. Disappointed that his ability to throw a mean forearm didn't qualify him for the CEO position of Whole Foods, he begrudgingly returned to the only thing he knew how to do. That was, after all, the type of selfless action that goes along with having a fiancée. He's supposed to be the provider.
So he was back in the WFWF.
It didn't take very long for all of his dread to be proven right. He could live with an incessant travel schedule, and he could live with inept management, and he could live with a contract that left him severely undervalued and underpaid, and he could even live with the sh*t talk hurled in his direction. He just assumed those were the types of things most people deal with when they clock in to the job they don't want to actually be at.
It was the grind which got him. He just forgot how tiresome it became. He had accomplished everything there was to do in the WFWF and yet he still must do more? When was it enough? With his ceiling as high as it was he knew his immediate and impending future would entail of nothing more than lugging and setting up taller and taller ladders, all of which shake with instability as he ascends to the last rung, only to discover that the ceiling had moved higher. And he'd get to do that again. And again. And again.
F*ck. Hasn't he earned complacency? He feels he's earned complacency. It sounds like he should have earned complacency.
But he did it anyways because that's the type of sh*t a selfless man does for some f*cking reason.
So strictly on the basis of comparison, his return didn't meet the standards that EBR had established for himself. So the f*ck what? People are going to hold a .500 record against him? Child please, batting .500 is still enough to get him elected into Cooperstown. He's EB f*cking R, and he has to sit here and hear these murmurs about how he's past his prime, or how without the steroids he really just isn't that good anymore? He's just here to pass some time and get a pay cheque. He wasn't even supposed to be here today, which makes the whole thing downright admirable, if not heroic.
Sadly no good deed goes unpunished, and soon thereafter he injured his shoulder on the job. Being the good little worker bee he was he tried to keep his complaints to himself and go about his business, but eventually the groans of agony drowned out all the whispers regarding his recent lack of invincibility. The doctor who would finally hear his many, many complaints told him it was severe enough that it would require surgery. It would sideline him for about six months.
He had never been called for it, but it was at that moment he understood what it meant to get out of jury duty.
He was happier than a pig in sh*t when he came home after surgery, knowing that he got to resume his much deserved vacation. Or he was until he walked through the door of his house and saw that look in his fiancée's eye. It sent a chill reverberating through his spine before planting itself in his core.
She no longer saw an imposing image, the personification of unstoppable destruction. Nor an immortal man, a great competitor who redefined a business. Nor a mystique in a physical form, a deity like being. Nor anything he ever was.
She just saw a guy.
Just a guy.
A guy who could probably take the dog for a walk around the block after dinner.
It was haunting moment of his existence.
When you spend so much of your life flying high in the sky you forget how it feels to be looked down on.
He put an end to that relationship.
Shelia: All kidding aside though ... if you wanted to stay in Oakland why wouldn't you have just said that from the get-go?
EBR: Is this all just because of the flowers? Because they're not that important.
That is a lie.
Shelia: Just ... when you told me you already had a place that we could live in once you finished in Japan, I asked you if it was just a stop-gap and you said yes. It was specifically you who said that moving here for the time being would stop us from making multiple moves in the future.
EBR: And we did. We only had to move once. Playing the long game up in here. Great success I'd say.
Shelia: But you understand that you never once implied that we'd actually be settling down here? You said until we find something more, and I'm quoting you here, "permanent". You did say that, right?
EBR: I can confirm that yes, I did in fact say that.
Shelia: Good, thank you ... I didn't expect you to actually answer, but I appreciate the honesty all the same.
EBR: My logic is just ... look I'm happy, you're happy ... why not just stay here?
Shelia: Because ... you know why.
EBR: Look, we can fix up the house, alright? I'm already all over it. The significance of the flowers has been addressed. That's been established.
Shelia: The flowers have nothing to do with it, Ghost. My life is in Los Angeles. Most of our dates are there, we're getting interest in performing on talk shows ... the rest of the band is there. It feels like I'm holding everything up ... or symbolically telling them I want to go solo ... it's a bad look either way.
EBR: LA isn't that far from here. It's all California.
Shelia: You're not the one spending ten hours in a car driving there and back.
EBR: Flying may be more efficient.
Shelia: Maybe, but I don't know ... something tells me spending more time at an airport isn't going to increase my enthusiasm regarding the whole thing.
EBR: Feels like it all goes back to what I was saying the other week -
Shelia: We're not buying a private jet.
EBR: If you're not willing to listen to solutions to problems then I'm questioning how serious you about solving them, frankly.
Shelia: ... Fair enough I guess.
EBR: Doors shouldn't be closed until we do some research first, is all I’m saying.
He brings out his phone and researches reasonably priced private planes. He hears good things about the Gulfstream G550.
Shelia: We're skipping way too many financial tiers going from flowers to planes. We don't even have a dish washer yet.
EBR: I mean, they wouldn't make them if they didn't expect people to buy one, right? Hey, I know you name a boat but are you supposed to name a plane too?
Shelia: We'll ... we're calling it Joan Jet for sure.
EBR: Alright cool, I found some.
Shelia: And is it a prudent financial decision?
EBR: Reading It is ... not. Hrm ... that's disappointing.
Shelia: Yeah ... plus the cost of maintenance, a pilot ... a bigger drive way to keep it on, so I guess we'd have to move either way ...?
EBR: Ruining my dreams up in here like you're Freddy Krueger or something.
Shelia: I've indulged your erratic aviation fantasies far too long.
EBR: You know what, they have some used choppers ... those have to be cheaper ...
Shelia: When you're looking at giant fans in the sky I think it's safe to say that well is tapped. It's for the best ... feel a little guilty contributing to global warming like that ... probably ...
EBR: Well I mean, it can't be worse than car pollution.
Shelia: ... I don't know how we got here but somehow you're arguing my point for me. Look, just answer me this. Are you really that invested in living here?
EBR: There's reasons.
Shelia: Name one that isn't just so you can call yourself the Golden State Heavyweight.
EBR: Okay, but before I do can we agree that it's not fair to ask me questions that don't allow me to give the correct answers?
Shelia: Yes, that's on me. My bad, but go ahead.
EBR: Secondly, I really like my kitchen.
Shelia: The kitchen?
EBR: Those cupboards are on point. I don't know if I can get any that look like that.
Shelia: We can get new cupboards that look like that.
EBR: Can we? That's something we should know for certain before we start making decisions.
Shelia: ... Anything else?
EBR: Oakland has just lost the Raiders and Warriors. It's just too much if I bounce so quickly after returning. They need time.
Shelia: Your next point is going to be about how you want to help small businesses.
This bistro makes a good Garlic Parmesan Risotto.
Shelia: You haven't lived here in what is it? Five years?
EBR: Closer to six.
Shelia: If there's something that's keeping you here let me know ... it's not a secret family, is it?
EBR: Nah you're the only one for me, babe.
Shelia: So why did you keep your place here for six years while you were in another country?
After his disaster of an engagement he ducked out of Miami and headed to the much discussed Oakland. He needed a fresh start, or at least something to distance himself from the stench of failure he feared would linger. The stench that let everyone know his best days were behind him and he had entered the twilight of his career.
The "hobbling to the finish line" of his career.
The "gets traded to another team" of his career.
The "season eight of an HBO series" of his career.
It was fight or flight, and seeing as how EBR had successfully morphed into a p*ssy of some kind the latter seemed an apt decision. He'll leave his inadequacies and sh*tty deck behind him and move forward, starting a new life. A better life. Maybe it's time he pursued his artistic passions. Painting always looked fun.
Everything's going to be okay.
It was not.
To his chagrin he discovered the horror which await, and that moving out west and no shower could mask the musky scent that followed him. Moving across the country did nothing. He was still the same guy, only now with lousy oil paintings cluttering his residence.
He was accomplished and capable of one singular thing in his life and now he can't even do that. He's nothing now. He's just a guy, bearing the scarlet letter of mediocrity on his chest while the busted nut of irreverence drips from his chin. He was a disgraced goblin who needed to be kept far away from the rest of civilized society for his ogre like appearance terrified the local populace. He would be forced to remain in solitude, ashamed and praying for anonymity as he hid like a German scientist in Argentina in the 1950s. No one would ever find him again.
Just a guy.
The most horrific of outcomes for one of EBR's statue. To be everything he once was and now reduced to the ultimate of indignities - to fade out so unceremoniously ...
It was short lived. Soon thereafter he was approached by long-time associates Alex Sean and DGX. He had kept the same phone number.
They informed him that they were looking to make their return to the XWA, and despite their relationship(s) ending in less than ideal circumstances it was an proposition that made sense for both sides. They were looking to go to war, and when doing so it's best to be the ones with the supply of bombs. He, the artist formally known as EBR, would be that supply.
That wasn't exactly how they phrased it, but that was the gist that EBR heard. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. The Kevin Durants to his Golden State Warriors.
It was the hard dose of reality that EBR needed.
When he looked in the eyes of Alex Sean and DGX he saw two of his most respected contemporaries, two of his most challenging of adversaries, and two of the most calculating and ruthless individuals this fine sport had ever produced across two different companies.
And just eighteen months prior he smoked them both, essentially banishing two great, great men from the WFWF after they fell at EBR's hand.
... He doesn't fade out. He burns brightly. He is only capable of one thing.
So he should just stop fighting it and f*cking do it then.
The legend of EBR would no longer remain of the urban kind. His shoulder had healed, and he had no intention of giving his time to the WFWF. That wretched company idled by and allowed his desecration to occur. You don't walk home through the alleyway that was once the scene of your rape.
So he took them up on their offer.
Having betrayed Alex Sean, stolen his Heavyweight Championship, sullied his name, crippled his cousin, f*cked his ex-wife, and stabbed him in the abdomen with an ancient Indian arrowhead, EBR looked inwards and could acknowledge that even past his own rooting interests he owed Alex his support in his effort to gain another Heavyweight Championship. A championship that, presumably, EBR would not later pry from his cold, dead hands.
We're nothing without our principles.
Together all three run roughshod over the promotion, doing what they pleased to whomever they pleased with little to no resistance. The reports of EBR's demise were greatly exaggerated, and any questions regarding his effectiveness were squashed nearly as effectively as his opponent's skulls. Godzilla was in town. He's making a mess of its infrastructure.
Once Alex had gotten his new Heavyweight Championship and all three men finagled big money contracts despite terrorizing the entire company both figuratively and literally (it's a strange business), EBR couldn't help himself from leaning back in his glorious chair in front of his glorious pool in his glorious backyard behind his glorious new house located in glorious Oakland. Evidently any talk of being put out to pasture were nothing but the hottest of hot takes, his only embarrassment being that for a few hot minutes he actually questioned it himself. The foolish naivety of youth. Live and learn.
This is what he is.
And this is what he does.
Don't forget it.
'Twas the moral of the story, for him at least. With his foot firmly held over an entire company’s head it was solemn and stark reminder for the rest of the world that when you opt to bury someone you better make damn sure they're actually dead.
They tend to come back with a vengeance otherwise.
It was the greatest and most fulfilling time of his life, and while he basked in the warm sun of Oakland he knew just how grand of a spectacle he really was.
He has never been happier.
EBR: Eh ... nothing really.
Later there was a whole "crisis of conscience" episode he had to deal with. It ended with him in Japan for many, many years.
But that story has already been told. There happens to be a documentary about it.
EBR: I guess since I've been back I've just remembered how fond of the house I was. It's really something. Good location, nice neighbourhood, architecturally it’s sound ... I don't know why I'm pitching it to you. You know. You live there.
Shelia: Those spiral staircases are sharp.
EBR: It's just ... it's been a bit of an adjustment, you know?
Shelia: The marriage?
EBR: Mostly referring to the culture differences. Nah fam, you're good. I like you quite a bit.
Shelia: Solid compliment.
EBR: Honestly, I've just been away for so many years ... I knew I'd need some time to get situated and settle in a bit, but truthfully I didn't think it'd be this hard. I don't always remember who I'm supposed to tip or not, and frankly? I'm playing a game of Russian Roulette anytime I get in a car. It's confusing. Why can't the UN just come out and say "alright, this is the side of the road we're all driving on - deal with it"?
Shelia: I mean ... I'm happy to drive us home.
EBR: It's been a big move ... just needed some familiarity to get me going, I think. It's been stressful.
Shelia: But you're happy with how it's gone?
Taking a key from Mary J. Blige and looking to operate his personal and professional life with no more drama, it quickly became apparent the rest of the WFWF wouldn't share the same sentiment. The show dubbed "Sonic Boom" became nothing but a bingo card of all the unsavoury aspects of this "sport", a prime example of the type of behaviour which leave it with air quotes when it's spoken.
Theft of personal property, intimidation of spouses, the assault of someone's manager by who he can only surmise was a side piece, inanimate objects thrown at the janitorial staff, the airing of grievances, and public belittlement of fellow wrestlers were some of his main takeaways. The actual matches became nothing but a footnote in the grand scheme of things. That’s unfortunate.
That's the reason they're all supposed to be there.
Well, not so much Billy Broom. He didn’t have a match so technically he was there to sanitize and disinfect.
Just so much drama. Expected yet still disheartening to see. Not mad. Just disappointed.
He wants to sit everyone down so badly and rationally explain to them that it doesn't need to be like this. That together they can compete against one another with sportsmanship and respect. That they can be the impetus of change to a business which has historically always rewarded the ugliest and most vile of actions and individuals. That it doesn't have to be a cut-throat industry, and that all anyone has to do it prevent it from becoming so is to turn in their knives. That matches don't have to end with bitterness and revenge, but instead daps and handshakes like every other sport.
That we don't have to tear each other down when we can lift each other up. That we don't have to try and end the other person. That we don't have to try and take food off other people's tables and that we can all eat.
That all of us, collectively, can do better.
But if he does he's just the old man preaching from his soapbox, talking down to everyone rudely with a little hint of condescension. It’s would just be so unbecoming for someone in his position.
Unfortunately this roster needs to learn the harsh lessons and repercussions of their actions on their own. They will - eventually - and hopefully their atonement won't be as arduous as it was for him. In the meantime, he'll kindly excuse himself from their extracurricular activities. The kiddies can splash one another in the shallow water while he sets a personal best at the breast stroke in the deep end. He can't control the actions of anyone who isn't himself, and he'll simply opt to lead by example. They may not, but he relishes in the opportunity to compete in the squared circle with the respect and grace this company, business, and frankly opponent deserves.
So there he was, bludgeoning Anna Ahriman's skull with blow after blow after blow until the referee called for a break to inspect her demolition and any signs of severe cranial trauma. The honorable EBR quickly obliged, and once Anna Ahriman was checked for vital signs pulled the referee to the side for a quick conversation regarding any rules he may have been toeing so that he may never do it again. The rules are there for a reason. Once he was informed by the official that was it was strictly done as a precautionary measure so he could confirm that Anna's brain matter wasn't emanating from any orifices, EBR returned his attention back to his opponent. With discipline and kindness he impaled his knee into her face, the force sending her much smaller body rocketing back violently before the turnbuckles broke her flight, the back of her head ricocheting off the middle pad and causing whiplash upon impact like a crash test dummy. One Black Hole later, and after nearly causing Anna's entire nervous system to eject from her body upon collusion with the canvas, EBR was victorious in his first match in the WFWF in eight years.
His only regret was the inability to shake Anna Ahriman's hand afterwards and thank her for a great match. She was unconscious. The act would have been unseemly.
One day later EBR was back at work, looking to study the film and identify and correct any mistakes in his game. It's embracing the grind which allows him to be his best self. It was only when he watched his work did he see what exactly transpired.
Mesh, kicking Anna Ahriman in the side of the head as she lay in the corner with the referee and EBR halfway across the ring none the wiser.
Tainted. Sullied. Filthy.
You generally only get one first impression. It was his homecoming after so many years of doing it wrong and his chance to show the company and western world that he had changed, and that he is better and is no longer any of the negative descriptions or words that could be thrown around when the name is EBR spoken, but only the positive ones.
And it was taken away from him.
He knows the rules. And even if he didn't, it's right there on video. Mesh kicked her in the head. He should have been disqualified. He should have lost.
And sh*t, it did happen.
So he did lose.
His return was vandalized, left totaled without so much of an apology or acknowledgement for the wreck. He felt so dirty. After finally gaining the courage to return to the scene of the crime he walked confidently through that infamous alleyway, and instantaneously was groped by several uninvited hands. Felt like up like he was nothing more than a common hussy.
Just absolutely incredulous. Not even twenty minutes prior Mesh was given a tongue lashing from Johnny Mason for doing the very same thing. Jesus Christ. Stay in your own lane you stupid, stupid bitch. She better learn to smarten up real soon. History says you won't be so thick headed when EBR's squashing it like Gallagher does a watermelon.
Why does he even bother? Seriously. He puts in the sacrifice and time and dedication and what fruit does his hard labor bear? A mouthful of urine from the f*cking kids in the other end of the f*cking pool.
He wants to be kind but they're making it really, really difficult. In his ideal world all he wanted was a stern yet fair talk and to treat them like adults, but it's becoming quite apparent how adamant they are to misbehave. Perhaps words aren't the discipline they need.
Perhaps they need the belt.
Perhaps.
EBR: Yeah, it's been good.
Or perhaps EBR just needs to find that inner strength that he knows is in there and persevere. If he succumbs he's no better than them. So he won't. He'll just rise above.
Shelia actually has a song about something like that.
It's called "Rise Above".
EBR: No complaints.
There's no point dwelling on things beyond his control. There were always going to be hurdles to clear, and now is the time to clear them. He doesn't perform all those squats just so he can have very muscular and highly defined quads, even though that is one of the many benefits.
Being a fan of Penny Shannon for some time now, he was in fact looking forward to his next match. Word travels fast in this industry when you defeat Drakz for the Heavyweight title. She was one of the members of the WFWF that he was hopeful to one day compete against in earnest. To get the opportunity so soon in his comeback was a gift he was thankful for.
And seeing as it doubled as her return, the possibility of residual hard feelings between her and anyone else spilling into his lap were significantly reduced. No potential victory of his should be followed with "yeah ... but". Or potential loss.
Penny Shannon is very, very good.
... but unfortunately for her, it's at the one singular thing EBR is great at.
It's going to be two illustrious participants engaging in a beautiful match. The company will be proud, and everyone else gets to see just how prestigious this company can truly be. The noblest of pursuits.
And you know what? Mesh didn't mean any disrespect. Water under the bridge. We're all just doing the best we can.
It's getting noticeably brighter in Oakland. Literally - it was getting a little cloudy there, but the sun came back out.
This is why this fine establishment has these fine umbrellas.
EBR: Look, I've appreciated everything you've done this entire time but I haven't actually said it. So thank you. You've sacrificed more than me in these last couple of months.
Shelia: I knew it was important to you.
EBR: Yeah, but maybe I've been a little selfish. I'm not trying to sandbag you or your career or anything and I don't have much of a leg to stand on in this debate ... it's only one flight a month for me.
Measuring it simply in terms of how many shows are run, it's a company that's become much less ambitious in the eight years since he had previously worked there.
EBR: I have a show coming up in a week that I really need to prepare for, so I'd like to have as few distractions as possible. Want to be at my best and everything. You know. You get it ...
He's stood atop the mountains many times and gotten to marvel at the magnificent views below. With this footing so secure and firmly planted now he'd just like someone to join him, and it would certainly be ideal if it happened to be his favorite person.
EBR: ... Then we go wherever you need to go.
There's nothing he wants more than for her to reach the same plateau in her field as he's reached in his. He assumed that would be a Grammy or at least a European Critic’s Choice Award, but she once told him she was in it for artistic achievement and enlightenment.
Their respective businesses don't really have the same finish lines.
The self-acknowledgment that you put someone else's dreams ahead of your own is often reward enough. It was a lesson he learned during some of his brightest days. Those fantastic, beautiful days that were spent helping a great, great man capture a Heavyweight Championship.
She's his co-pilot on this crazy and wacky adventure called life. When it's time for her to take the wheel he'll change seats. Their goals hold equal weight, which is fine with him. He's always fancied himself a feminist, anyways.
That's why he smacks women he works with upside the head just as he would if they were a man. He's an ally.
Shelia: Thanks, Ghost.
It's time to support someone else in their pursuit of greatness.
That’s just the type of thing a selfless man does.
EBR: Me and you, right?
The Beyoncé to his Jay-Z.
Shelia: Mmhmm ... and I'll make sure our next place has some fancy cupboards.
As if they would settle for anything less.
.... Hova.
