Post by Kurt Burton: Script Doctor! on Dec 19, 2006 20:11:37 GMT -5
The red brick house brings back terrible memories. It's been 3 years since I stepped foot on this property, and still I can't stand the thought of passing through this doorway. My hand shakes, I've been sober for hours, which is a little odd for me. That, and the fact that my nerves are wound tighter than a new inmate’s rectum, makes even ringing this doorbell a tough task. But finally my finger makes contact. I hear faintly the ding dong resonating from inside the structure.
I stand and wait. Finally the door swings open. Standing in front of me is a woman who looks older than she is. She's gained quite a bit of weight, but I guess the bon bon habit you develop living in this house can excuse that. She smiles at me, a warm smile I haven't seen for years. She springs forward, and wraps her arms tightly around me. I’ve been bear hugged by giants with less gusto.
Kurt: Hi mom.
She laughs, as she rocks me back and forth. It's painful to my ribs, but I don't tell her. No reason to bring her down. She finally let's go, and smiles at me.
Mom: Praise Jesus, my baby's come home. Look at you...
Her smile slowly morphs into disgust as she looks at my long green hair. She steps aside, and motions for me to come in.
I step over the threshold... a moment I have dreaded since the last time I left. It was not on good terms. And judging from the tone of the old fart's voicemail message, I doubt this visit will go much better.
It's as though this place is stuck in a stasis field. It has never changed once, from when we moved into this house when I was 14. Still has all the odd little "country" craft decorations. Still has that ugly brown wall paper my mom thought was so fashionable. My eyes turn to the left, in the living room, and I see it, my favorite decoration in the house. A painting of the Final Judgment by Michelangelo. This painting is bizarre, as it shows the righteous ascending to heaven, and the damned being forced into their fates of unimaginable torment. I always found it odd, as Jesus was the one doing the punishing. We always think of Christ the healer, never Christ the punisher. But I guess there is a first time for everything.
I sit on the plastic wrapped couch. It squeaks as I sit. I hate that. My legs bounce around almost uncontrollably. For the life of me I can't tell if it's nerves or if it’s the DT’s. But then I see the shadow, and I know it was the nerves. I feel every ounce of blood drain from my extremities, as I look at the old man entering the room. He hobbles towards his recliner, wearing his collar. What a power trip. He even wears that damn white collar on his personal time, in his own home. He sits down, his manner showing some grace to his movement, the little bit of grace not yet wrested from him by age. He looks me in the eye... staring at me with what I believe is disappointment. That's the most common emotion I've ever seen from him, so I'm pretty sure that's what it is.
Kurt: Hi Dad, how are you?
The old man digs his fingers into the seat of his recliner.
Dad: We need to talk.
I can't believe he didn't even answer my question. My voice deepened as I began mocking the man.
Kurt: Fine son, how have you been? It’s been how many years?
Dad: Curtis, I believe we can dispense with the pleasantries.
I hate it when he calls me that. He glares at me, his gaze burning a whole into my soul. I wonder what he sees, if it's as black and dirty in there as he always made me believe.
Dad: We need to talk about your match.
I don't respond, but move to listen. I have got to hear this.
Dad: I am glad that you did not bring that harlot with you. She has been nothing but trouble for you.
Kurt: Really... that's amazing that you would think that, seeing as I've been with her for less than a year, and you and I haven't spoken to each other for three.
Dad: Son, you're life is on TV. Though I may not have kept in touch, I have seen you over the past three years.
His voice borders on anger. I can't believe this hypocrite, after all these years, pretending he knows who I am.
Kurt: Ahhh, a fan.
With not a moment wasted, he launches back into his sermon. He
Dad: I have watched you Curtis; I have watched you sell your soul to the devil himself for a brief moment of fame. I have watched you spiral into the darkness son, and I have held my tongue.
Interesting, is this concern I hear in his voice. I lean back on the couch, trying to relax a little.
Dad: But now, you have your shot. You have the opportunity for greatness, and you will inevitably choose the path you have always chosen. And you face a man. A man of principle. A man of integrity.
A small laugh pushes beneath my lips. He hears it, and his eyes grow narrow, zeroing in on me.
Dad: Reverend Shadow. And I am praying Curtis. I am praying for that man and his company. I am praying, that you do not become the cancer of that company, like you have every where else that you have been. And I am praying that you can be the bigger man for once in your life, and step aside. You know the path that Reverend Shadow is on is righteous.
His words slam into me like a boxer's fist. I feel the bile rise from my liver.
Dad: I pray for you as well my son. I pray that you will finally see the light. I pray that you will let the lord and savoir Jesus Christ into your heart and that you will allow him to guide your actions, instead of that mistress you keep, or the chemicals you flood your mind and body with. Curtis please listen to reason.
I can’t take anymore.
Kurt: You know, I will listen to reason, and when something reasonable comes out of your mouth, I’ll listen to it. But in my twenty six years of listening to the malarkey that spews from your mouth, I have yet to hear one reasonable thing. I mean, you are telling me to lay down, in a tournament, for the World title, what I have worked towards from the day I stepped foot in this federation. Does that sound reasonable?
He looks at me, with eyes of fire.
Dad: Much more reasonable than cheating the fans and tarnishing that belt.
Kurt: Ohh… so we’re going to talk about cheating are we? Well, I’m sure you are quite the expert on that. There isn’t one woman in your church you haven’t known in the biblical sense. And Reverend Shadow, he knows a lot about cheating as well. Knocking people out with the Word of God. The Word of God. The two of you go around, thumping on your bibles, talking about the righteous way, and the good way, but who’s going to listen to you, neither one of you follow your own goddamn book.
Dad: Do not blaspheme in my house!
The old man springs from the chair. I decide to match him. ON my feet, I pull my sunglasses off. Look into my eyes old man… See what you have created.
Kurt: I mean, isn’t one of the great rules of the bible, “Love thy neighbors as you love yourself.” That’s one of the biggies right?
The old man nods, the fire in his eyes burns me from where I am, but it fuels me.
Kurt: So why did you not come to visit me once in the hospital. Four years ago dad, your only child, lies with all kind of instruments and tubes connected to him for four months. Not one phone call, not one visit. That was sure Christian of you, wasn’t it Reverend Burton.
I got him. His eyes grow wide, as though just socked in the gut.
Kurt: And “Judge not lest ye shall be judged” that’s another one isn’t it. But you’ve always been judgmental. Looking down your nose at everyone… with your holier than thou attitude. Not five minutes ago you attacked the integrity of a woman you have never even met. But, I’m supposed to listen to you, you the most enlightened one.
The old man stumbles back. He collapses into his recliner. I begin to pace, the words roll freely from my lips, unfettered by thought of consequence. This is no longer a discussion for me, its closure.
Kurt: And your precious Reverend Shadow, the one you esteem so much, is no better than you, you ridiculous old fart. He parades around, talking about “The Higher Authority”, and how he “betters” our organization. But he is fueled by ego, as much as I am. He won’t admit it, but he is. He took this job as the owner, not for our good, but for his good. He didn't do this for the greater glory of Christ our Lord, he did this for the greater glory of Reverend Shadow. He’s making more money, and feels his Wang is about ten times bigger than it used to be. On top of that, he accepted this spot in the tournament. Now, is that what Jesus would have done, pursued that World Title belt, hoping no one calls you a coward hiding behind your ownership. No. Jesus would have stepped aside, given that spot to a member of the roster who deserves it. But here I am, facing the boss. Only one thing separates us. Integrity. That’s right. I actually have it. I am an open book. You know that I am looking out for number one, not hiding behind the false pretense of religion. I don’t pretend to care about those I’m fighting, and give them little “sermons” on how to better themselves. I do what I need to do. And if that means cheating, then that’s fine by me.
I look at my father. He’s starting to look like the old guy from the Exorcist, mouth agape. I lean in close, to emphasize my point.
Kurt: I know he’d do the same to me.
I step back for a second... a smile creeps along my face. I can’t believe for the first time in my life, I have gotten this man to shut up. I am on a roll now.
Kurt: You Christians are all the same. You think that you are so righteous, and so perfect, but every one sins. Everyone has their vices. Everyone has their addictions. And Shadow’s is power. Every owner shares that flaw. That’s why I assembled the Revolution in the first place, to guard myself against power run amok. And do you think it’s coincidental that one of us is a champion, and all three of us are at the top of the food chain. No, because I watch my neck, better than anyone else watches theirs. I have surrounded myself with the biggest, the baddest, the best. And no one can stop me. Not even God himself. I mean, he couldn’t get the job done when he sent that drunk driver after me… could he. And he won’t stop me now!
I slam my fist into the wall, and I turn and walk away. I begin to reach the door. I hear a sob, and I turn around. There is my mother, drying a dish as her tears fall into the dishwater. I almost feel regret. For a moment, it creeps into my heart. But I block it out. I have done what I have always done, exactly what I had to do. I look at that pathetic old man in his leather leisure chair that no man of God should be able to afford.
Kurt: Before you so rudely dragged me away, I was about to prepare for my match. But now, I’m going to get less sleep, and no time in a gym. But I thank you anyway. You have given me more hunger and drive than you could possibly imagine. Because now, instead of just trying to prove you wrong about me, I’m looking to destroy everything you hold faith in. You just made the Good Reverend’s job that much harder.
I swing open the door, and look at the bright green grass.
Kurt: SO f*ck you Dad… and f*ck Jesus Christ in his motherf*cking a**hole.
I step through the door, slamming it behind me. I reach into my pocket as I storm towards my car. I pull the cigarette from its pack, place it in my lips, and light it. I realize my breathing is heavy and hard, and I work on slowing it down. My hands are shaking worse than ever as I fumble in my pocket for my keys. I have got to remember… what I did in there, had to be done. The bridge had to be burnt… and I succeeded. And I know these bright skies, they are an omen.
A better day has dawned.
I stand and wait. Finally the door swings open. Standing in front of me is a woman who looks older than she is. She's gained quite a bit of weight, but I guess the bon bon habit you develop living in this house can excuse that. She smiles at me, a warm smile I haven't seen for years. She springs forward, and wraps her arms tightly around me. I’ve been bear hugged by giants with less gusto.
Kurt: Hi mom.
She laughs, as she rocks me back and forth. It's painful to my ribs, but I don't tell her. No reason to bring her down. She finally let's go, and smiles at me.
Mom: Praise Jesus, my baby's come home. Look at you...
Her smile slowly morphs into disgust as she looks at my long green hair. She steps aside, and motions for me to come in.
I step over the threshold... a moment I have dreaded since the last time I left. It was not on good terms. And judging from the tone of the old fart's voicemail message, I doubt this visit will go much better.
It's as though this place is stuck in a stasis field. It has never changed once, from when we moved into this house when I was 14. Still has all the odd little "country" craft decorations. Still has that ugly brown wall paper my mom thought was so fashionable. My eyes turn to the left, in the living room, and I see it, my favorite decoration in the house. A painting of the Final Judgment by Michelangelo. This painting is bizarre, as it shows the righteous ascending to heaven, and the damned being forced into their fates of unimaginable torment. I always found it odd, as Jesus was the one doing the punishing. We always think of Christ the healer, never Christ the punisher. But I guess there is a first time for everything.
I sit on the plastic wrapped couch. It squeaks as I sit. I hate that. My legs bounce around almost uncontrollably. For the life of me I can't tell if it's nerves or if it’s the DT’s. But then I see the shadow, and I know it was the nerves. I feel every ounce of blood drain from my extremities, as I look at the old man entering the room. He hobbles towards his recliner, wearing his collar. What a power trip. He even wears that damn white collar on his personal time, in his own home. He sits down, his manner showing some grace to his movement, the little bit of grace not yet wrested from him by age. He looks me in the eye... staring at me with what I believe is disappointment. That's the most common emotion I've ever seen from him, so I'm pretty sure that's what it is.
Kurt: Hi Dad, how are you?
The old man digs his fingers into the seat of his recliner.
Dad: We need to talk.
I can't believe he didn't even answer my question. My voice deepened as I began mocking the man.
Kurt: Fine son, how have you been? It’s been how many years?
Dad: Curtis, I believe we can dispense with the pleasantries.
I hate it when he calls me that. He glares at me, his gaze burning a whole into my soul. I wonder what he sees, if it's as black and dirty in there as he always made me believe.
Dad: We need to talk about your match.
I don't respond, but move to listen. I have got to hear this.
Dad: I am glad that you did not bring that harlot with you. She has been nothing but trouble for you.
Kurt: Really... that's amazing that you would think that, seeing as I've been with her for less than a year, and you and I haven't spoken to each other for three.
Dad: Son, you're life is on TV. Though I may not have kept in touch, I have seen you over the past three years.
His voice borders on anger. I can't believe this hypocrite, after all these years, pretending he knows who I am.
Kurt: Ahhh, a fan.
With not a moment wasted, he launches back into his sermon. He
Dad: I have watched you Curtis; I have watched you sell your soul to the devil himself for a brief moment of fame. I have watched you spiral into the darkness son, and I have held my tongue.
Interesting, is this concern I hear in his voice. I lean back on the couch, trying to relax a little.
Dad: But now, you have your shot. You have the opportunity for greatness, and you will inevitably choose the path you have always chosen. And you face a man. A man of principle. A man of integrity.
A small laugh pushes beneath my lips. He hears it, and his eyes grow narrow, zeroing in on me.
Dad: Reverend Shadow. And I am praying Curtis. I am praying for that man and his company. I am praying, that you do not become the cancer of that company, like you have every where else that you have been. And I am praying that you can be the bigger man for once in your life, and step aside. You know the path that Reverend Shadow is on is righteous.
His words slam into me like a boxer's fist. I feel the bile rise from my liver.
Dad: I pray for you as well my son. I pray that you will finally see the light. I pray that you will let the lord and savoir Jesus Christ into your heart and that you will allow him to guide your actions, instead of that mistress you keep, or the chemicals you flood your mind and body with. Curtis please listen to reason.
I can’t take anymore.
Kurt: You know, I will listen to reason, and when something reasonable comes out of your mouth, I’ll listen to it. But in my twenty six years of listening to the malarkey that spews from your mouth, I have yet to hear one reasonable thing. I mean, you are telling me to lay down, in a tournament, for the World title, what I have worked towards from the day I stepped foot in this federation. Does that sound reasonable?
He looks at me, with eyes of fire.
Dad: Much more reasonable than cheating the fans and tarnishing that belt.
Kurt: Ohh… so we’re going to talk about cheating are we? Well, I’m sure you are quite the expert on that. There isn’t one woman in your church you haven’t known in the biblical sense. And Reverend Shadow, he knows a lot about cheating as well. Knocking people out with the Word of God. The Word of God. The two of you go around, thumping on your bibles, talking about the righteous way, and the good way, but who’s going to listen to you, neither one of you follow your own goddamn book.
Dad: Do not blaspheme in my house!
The old man springs from the chair. I decide to match him. ON my feet, I pull my sunglasses off. Look into my eyes old man… See what you have created.
Kurt: I mean, isn’t one of the great rules of the bible, “Love thy neighbors as you love yourself.” That’s one of the biggies right?
The old man nods, the fire in his eyes burns me from where I am, but it fuels me.
Kurt: So why did you not come to visit me once in the hospital. Four years ago dad, your only child, lies with all kind of instruments and tubes connected to him for four months. Not one phone call, not one visit. That was sure Christian of you, wasn’t it Reverend Burton.
I got him. His eyes grow wide, as though just socked in the gut.
Kurt: And “Judge not lest ye shall be judged” that’s another one isn’t it. But you’ve always been judgmental. Looking down your nose at everyone… with your holier than thou attitude. Not five minutes ago you attacked the integrity of a woman you have never even met. But, I’m supposed to listen to you, you the most enlightened one.
The old man stumbles back. He collapses into his recliner. I begin to pace, the words roll freely from my lips, unfettered by thought of consequence. This is no longer a discussion for me, its closure.
Kurt: And your precious Reverend Shadow, the one you esteem so much, is no better than you, you ridiculous old fart. He parades around, talking about “The Higher Authority”, and how he “betters” our organization. But he is fueled by ego, as much as I am. He won’t admit it, but he is. He took this job as the owner, not for our good, but for his good. He didn't do this for the greater glory of Christ our Lord, he did this for the greater glory of Reverend Shadow. He’s making more money, and feels his Wang is about ten times bigger than it used to be. On top of that, he accepted this spot in the tournament. Now, is that what Jesus would have done, pursued that World Title belt, hoping no one calls you a coward hiding behind your ownership. No. Jesus would have stepped aside, given that spot to a member of the roster who deserves it. But here I am, facing the boss. Only one thing separates us. Integrity. That’s right. I actually have it. I am an open book. You know that I am looking out for number one, not hiding behind the false pretense of religion. I don’t pretend to care about those I’m fighting, and give them little “sermons” on how to better themselves. I do what I need to do. And if that means cheating, then that’s fine by me.
I look at my father. He’s starting to look like the old guy from the Exorcist, mouth agape. I lean in close, to emphasize my point.
Kurt: I know he’d do the same to me.
I step back for a second... a smile creeps along my face. I can’t believe for the first time in my life, I have gotten this man to shut up. I am on a roll now.
Kurt: You Christians are all the same. You think that you are so righteous, and so perfect, but every one sins. Everyone has their vices. Everyone has their addictions. And Shadow’s is power. Every owner shares that flaw. That’s why I assembled the Revolution in the first place, to guard myself against power run amok. And do you think it’s coincidental that one of us is a champion, and all three of us are at the top of the food chain. No, because I watch my neck, better than anyone else watches theirs. I have surrounded myself with the biggest, the baddest, the best. And no one can stop me. Not even God himself. I mean, he couldn’t get the job done when he sent that drunk driver after me… could he. And he won’t stop me now!
I slam my fist into the wall, and I turn and walk away. I begin to reach the door. I hear a sob, and I turn around. There is my mother, drying a dish as her tears fall into the dishwater. I almost feel regret. For a moment, it creeps into my heart. But I block it out. I have done what I have always done, exactly what I had to do. I look at that pathetic old man in his leather leisure chair that no man of God should be able to afford.
Kurt: Before you so rudely dragged me away, I was about to prepare for my match. But now, I’m going to get less sleep, and no time in a gym. But I thank you anyway. You have given me more hunger and drive than you could possibly imagine. Because now, instead of just trying to prove you wrong about me, I’m looking to destroy everything you hold faith in. You just made the Good Reverend’s job that much harder.
I swing open the door, and look at the bright green grass.
Kurt: SO f*ck you Dad… and f*ck Jesus Christ in his motherf*cking a**hole.
I step through the door, slamming it behind me. I reach into my pocket as I storm towards my car. I pull the cigarette from its pack, place it in my lips, and light it. I realize my breathing is heavy and hard, and I work on slowing it down. My hands are shaking worse than ever as I fumble in my pocket for my keys. I have got to remember… what I did in there, had to be done. The bridge had to be burnt… and I succeeded. And I know these bright skies, they are an omen.
A better day has dawned.
