the kick

8/7/2019 The Kick.

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I can blame this inspirational outburst, and the events that have taken place, on being a

professional wrestling enthusiast years ago. It was something about the way Shawn Michaels

delivered his sweet chin music that lured me in, so elegant, and beautiful. Like the Sistine Chapel

to Michelangelo, Shawn Michaels was known for the right boot he placed in the faces of many

opponents. It just wasn't the intensity of Michael's finishing move; it was the way he sold it.

There's a secret in professional wrestling when you are performing a super kick. When the pros

lift their leg up toward the opponents face, they slap their other leg as hard as they possibly can

to fake the contact. I learned this from my cousin years before, and finally had a chance to use

this secret in the ring, in all the wrong ways.

I remember tightening a pink and black striped tie around my neck, running my fingers

along the back of the collar, making sure the tie's brilliant color wasn't peeking through. I sat on

the edge of the bed, placing my right foot in my faded white Nike sneaker with the charcoal

colored check mark. I could hear the monotonous drone of pacing footsteps in the other room.

The steps would draw near and slowly fade. They were the steps of a nervous man, pacing a hole

in the hard wooden floor. The door finally burst open and my cousin stood in the doorway.

"Are you ready to gel your hair?" he asked, in a nervous manner.

I gave a quick nod and jumped to my feet, tightening my leather belt with the golden

buckle, as I followed Rick into the bathroom. There was a bottle of hair gel balancing on the

edge of the sink. It had been dug out of the cabinet the night before, prepared for us to cake in

our hair.

Rick took the bottle first, squeezing a handful of gel into his left hand. He ran his hand

through his hair, spreading it in a thick lather, giving off a distinct greasy glow. He perfected it

with a fine tooth comb and slipped a pair of sunglasses over his eyes.

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³What do you think?´ He asked, turning to me, seeking my approval. He had his arms

splayed out in a questioning fashion.

³Perfect.´ I answered.

Rick handed me the bottle and proceeded out of the room. I squeezed the bottle, watching

an excessive amount string into the palm of my hand. I applied the gooey substance to my scalp

and shaped it appropriately. I looked into the mirror and realized that this was it. I slipped a pair

of sunglasses over my eyes, stowing my identity away for the next couple of hours. I was no

longer a student of Eastern Kentucky University, no longer a lumber associate at Lowes Home

Improvement, no. For these next couple of hours, I was a corporate executive. Or maybe an

infamous lawyer from up north, who had a tremendous, winning record.

We had planned this for over a month now. We ran over every possible scenario that

could be played out, perfected it in our mind. Each time we went over the plans, they became

more intricate, more detailed. While blindly surfing the net late one night, we came across a local

wrestling flyer. A wrestling organization would be appearing at the National Guard Armory in

London, Ky. We playfully threw around the idea of attending the event. It would be just like the

old days, causing a ruckus, arguing with the wrestlers. The idea began to unknowingly evolve in

our minds. The jokes of attending the event became plans. The plans became instilled in our

brains, a growing seed that we had no control over. I now found myself staring into the mirror,

dressed as if I were going to defend someone in court, and felt that if I had anymore gel in my

hair, it would be trickling down my forehead.

I made my way into the living room to see Rick pacing the floors like he was before. He

was running the possibilities through his mind, like I had all day until now. I tried to pretend,

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play it off like I wasn¶t nervous, when in reality I couldn¶t keep my hands still. When he noticed

me walk into the room, he quickly approached me, reaching into his pocket and handing me my

ticket for the event. He was wearing a grey button-up shirt, with a solid red tie that would make a

tomato jealous with envy. He looked the part, whatever that was. Our only motive was to look

professional, and I felt like we had accomplished that. He reached into his pocket once more, this

time shuffling around until he found what he was grasping for. He pulled out a wad of play-

money that looked as if it belonged to a Monopoly board. My eyes danced with excitement.

³No way!´ I screamed, my excitement overpowering my nerves in that brief segment of

surprise. ³You actually got some!´

He smiled, splitting the block of money in half. He handed me a chunk, while shoving the

rest of the bills in his pocket. After capturing this moment with a photograph, we were in the

vehicle. Once we hit the pavement, our emotions were running rapid. Our conversations leading

to the parking lot of the National Guard Armory couldn¶t be tamed.

³O.K. Remember to stay in character. We can¶t break character.´ I said, a shake and

hiccup in my voice. I was gripping the steering wheel, and shaking my head back and forth,

nervously chuckling at the thought of what was ahead of us.

³We¶ll wait until the ring is clear, then we¶ll do it. If they leave us alone, pull me back up

and we¶ll keep going.´ Rick said, repeating weeks of vigorous instruction and preparation.

I really couldn¶t picture it lasting any longer than 10 seconds. Like the weeks prior, two

scenarios played through my mind: A. We slide in the ring, do our business, and leave. Or B. We

slide in the ring, followed by an onslaught of security, and have our asses handed to us. I was

hoping A. would be the outcome, but after watching streams of YouTube videos based on the

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situation, I couldn¶t help but think of the things that could go wrong. It was as much of a gamble

as playing the slots in a casino.

The ride to the building seemed almost non-existent. I wanted it to last as long as

possible, just a little more time to calm my jumping nerves. We pulled into the parking lot;

congregations of people were crowded in front of the main doors. I spotted a parking space in the

back, next to a corvette that was colored a bright shade of red. Before exiting the car, we

exchanged one final nod and made our way to the front door. We had created specific dialogue

that we would be using at certain moments during the show, as well as proper accents to

accompany how we were obnoxiously dressed.

I pulled my crumpled ticket out of my pocket, straightening it out so it appeared legible.

Rick swung the door open, and in the instance of walking through the doors, we were completely

different people. My eyes were immediately drawn to the abnormally large man, wearing a

shrunken black shirt that read SECURITY , in bold, white lettering. I looked over at Rick, who

was observing the foyer of the building as if he¶d never been there before.

³So this is the place, huh?!´ Rick spat, in an obnoxious, cocky tone.

³Dis is it,´ I replied, shaking my head as if I were disgusted with the room we were

standing in. I held my ticket up in front of my face, pretending to make sure we were in the

correct building.

There was a table placed in front of the doors leading into the gymnasium, where two

older women sat, taking tickets. You could hear the crowd just inside the doors, talking amongst

themselves, waiting for the show to begin. As we approached the admissions table with our

tickets in hand, I noticed Rick reaching into his right pocket, pulling out one of the fake bills. As

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we placed our tickets on the table, a burst of booming laughter filled the room. It was the security

guard.

³Nice gimmick guys,´ the security guard said, a grin growing across his flapping cheeks.

³What gimmick?´ Rick detested, appalled at the guard¶s gesture.

The security guard stared blankly into Rick¶s eyes, dumbfounded, searching for

something to say. Rick broke the silence by extending his right hand, harnessing the fake bill in

his palm.

³You¶re doing a great job!´ Rick announced, desperately awaiting the security guard¶s

hand to meet his.

The guard hesitated a moment, and slowly met Rick¶s hand that was hanging before him.

The fake bill slid from Rick¶s palm into the guard¶s hand. The man¶s face lit up, alarmed at the

generous tip he had just received. He had never been awarded for performing his job so well

before. His face soured, noticing the bill was only 4 inches long. He retreated back to his post,

slipping the fake 20 dollar bill into his pocket.

We continued into the gymnasium, crowds of people were seated around the squared

circle, loudly conversing with one another. It seemed as though the room had silenced as we

made our way along the side of the ring. The conversations quickly turned into confusing stares,

accompanied by faint whispers. We cut through rows of people, like two strangers intruding on a

foreign tribe. This didn¶t stop our act; we continued to smile, searching the room for the most

important seats. We walked around the ring, finally spotting a pair of steel chairs ringside, next

to the announce table. If it were any more perfect, there would be a light shining down on the

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seats, with our names written in cursive on the back. We took our seats, drawing the attention of

the announcer, who was fumbling through a mess of papers on the table. The crowd was staring

holes through us. We were a virus; the immune system could sense something was wrong, that

something was different.

Rick left his seat, slowly walking to the snack bar, sifting through his pocket once more.

He rested his left arm on the metal countertop, his lips forming a grin.

³How¶s it going?´ He asked, the grin constant, growing.

The clerk, much like the security guard, stared blankly into his own reflection from

Rick¶s sunglasses. The silence was finally broken.

³What would you like?´ The clerk asked.

³Ehhh, got any Fiji water?´ Rick asked, the grin more apparent.

The clerk was stopped in his tracks, finding himself staring into the reflection in the

glasses once more.

³No, we have regular water,´ The clerk muttered, growing impatient.

³What about some apple juice?´ Rick asked, pushing the envelope just a little further.

³We have pop,´ The clerk stated, clearly giving up his appeal of being polite.

It was then Rick stared at the teenage clerk behind the counter, his eyes waiting for

Rick¶s lips to move, to finally choose a beverage and take his seat. Rick laughed, finally pulling

his hand from his pocket, stamping a fake 20 dollar bill on the counter.

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³Thanks anyway!´ He shouted, walking away from the bar. His grin was replaced with a

smile that stretched from ear to ear; he almost broke character with laughter.

The lights dimmed, the announcer reached for a microphone that was lying on the table

before him. There was a large white screen towering behind the table, it lit up, but there seemed

to be complications by the panicked look on the announcer¶s face.

³Just one second folks, we seem to have a little problem with the screen here,´ The

announcer declared, frantically working with it.

Rick leaned over the rope that separated us from the large, clean-cut man, adjusting his

glasses with a confused look on his face.

³Technical difficulties,´ Rick said in a sly tone, almost as if he had some trick up his

sleeve to fix the problem. ³Happens every time,´

³Tell me about it,´ The announcer said, relieved that someone in the building understood.

Rick fell back into his chair while the announcer finally solved the problem with the

screen. He pulled his microphone up to his mouth, almost touching his lips.

³Alright SXW fans, it¶s finally time to begin²³

As his words echoed throughout the building, my mind drifted elsewhere. I kept

imagining myself getting stuck on my way into the ring, sliding onto my stomach, only getting

caught mid-way, with my legs dangling under the ropes. I imagined not being able to escape the

building after it was over, possibly being apprehended by the abnormally large man with the

tight black security shirt. That¶s a good gimmick! He would say, as he picked us up over his

shoulders and carried us out back to beat us up.

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The announcer was still mumbling into the microphone, welcoming the first match to the

ring. The crowd erupted, anticipating entertainment. A collage of electric guitars instantly fired

up as the 300 pound, charismatic Dookie made his way out. He ran around the far side of the

ring, slapping everyone¶s hands as they frantically reached over the security rope. Rick and I

quickly jumped to our feet, screaming for his attention. He ran over to where we were seated,

and shook our hands. His eyes quickly scanned our appearance.

³I¶m never going to forget you guys!´ He screamed, pointing both of his fingers at us.

N o, you¶ll never forget us. I thought, as he turned away from us, sliding into the ring.

There seemed to be no concept of time. The matches quickly passed by, and we were

only minutes away from what we had planned for over a month now. The announcer picked up

his microphone, pressing it too close to his lips once more.

³We¶re going to take a short intermission and then get you straight back to the action!´

He enthusiastically proclaimed. He put the microphone down and leaned back into his chair.

Rick leaned close to the rope and began making small talk with the announcer. His large

face lit up.

³Where you guys from?´ The announcer asked, questioning the way we were dressed

with his eyes.

³Up north,´ Rick said, not even taking a moment to think about his answer. ³Around

Georgetown,´

The announcer nodded, accepting Rick¶s answer. The announcer took another breath,

piecing together another sentence.

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³You know, you guys should come with me to a hockey game in Lexington some time.

They get pretty wild!´ The announcer said, taking another deep breath.

Rick nodded, contemplating the offer; he looked as if he were pondering the idea of

refusing, his eyes squinting. ³We¶ll have to do that some time!´ He answered.

I saw the security guard making his way around the ring, much like an elephant stomping

around its pen in the zoo. He approached the announce table. Rick jumped to his feet, reaching

into the depths of his pocket once more, retrieving another 20. He reached his hand out, tempting

the guard to repeat the humiliating process of shaking his hand again. The guard acknowledged

Rick, accepting his offer. As the guard¶s hand met Rick¶s over the thin yellow rope that

separated the two, another grin appeared on Rick¶s face.

³Keep up the good work!´ he announced, making sure everyone seated in the area

witnessed the transaction.

The guard grimaced looking at the bill, shoving it into his pocket to join the other he

received earlier. He took a deep breath and sighed, making his way around the other side of the

ring.

I looked toward the entrance ramp. The referee was planted on one knee, awaiting the

announcer¶s orders to continue the show. It was crunch time, and I knew that. My hands were

shaking uncontrollably. I looked over at Rick, spreading the entire brick of money upon his lap,

as if he were about to purchase Park Place or Boardwalk.

³Okay, I¶m going to shake the announcer¶s hand, telling him we have to leave, and then

we¶re going in.´ Rick said, situating the money into a fan shape on his lap.

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I nodded, leaning back in my chair to get a good view of what was about to take place.

My sunglasses made the well lit room seem almost dark. Rick leaned over, extending his hand to

catch the announcer¶s attention again. He quickly glanced over, reaching for Rick¶s hand and

meeting it with a firm handshake, no fake bills transferred.

³Hey man, we¶re going to jet.´ Rick said, looking back at me and then meeting the

announcer¶s eyes once more. ³My partner here has to catch a plane early in the morning.´

I stood to my feet, smiling at the announcer, waiting for the handshake to break and for

our fate to be sealed. I watched as Rick¶s fingers broke away from the announcer¶s large hand,

and I began to think of all the things that could go wrong again. I saw myself awkwardly getting

stuck mid-slide again, kicking my legs, trying to inch my way into the ring. Those were

fantasies, fears. In reality, it was perfect. We hopped over the thin yellow rope that separated us

from weeks of discussion. We slid into the ring, much like a surfer mounts his board, gliding on

our stomachs with our arms flailing behind us. We jumped to our feet, the base of the ring

echoed amongst the room like a gunshot. The crowd hushed and gasped as we took center stage.

Rick pulled the wad of play-money out of his pocket, thumbing through every bill with a cynical

smirk on his face. He walked around the ring, glancing at the money and then into the shocked

faces in the crowd. I ran my fingers through my greasy hair, stomping my foot on the canvas, it

echoed throughout the quiet room once more. Rick faced the corner, gripping the money in his

right hand, displaying it to the astonished crowd. As he began to slowly turn my direction, I

prepared my leg. I remembered Shawn Michaels, the way he delivered his sweet chin music, so

elegant and beautiful. Rick was now facing me, with a surprised look on his face, just the way

we had planned. I took a couple steps back, and then a few steps forward, bringing my white

Nike sneaker with the charcoal colored checkmark up to his chin. I slapped my other leg as hard

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as I possibly could; Rick absorbed the kick, reacting as if I had unhinged his jaw. He dove onto

his back, tossing the money into the air, and lying on the mat as if he were knocked out cold. I

walked over to where Rick was lying; the colorful play-money was showering down like

birthday confetti. I dropped down to my knees, staring at my fallen partner that I had so cold-

heartedly betrayed. Rick¶s eyes were prying themselves open; he desperately tried to keep a

straight face as I hovered over him. The security guard with the tight black shirt finally made his

way around the ring followed by the announcer whose friendship we had deceivingly won over

but lost in this instance.

³You guys have to get out of here.´ The announcer said in a disappointed tone. He was

shaking his head as the words left his lips.

Rick began to come to, shaking it off, and rolling under the bottom rope onto the concrete

floor. I jumped to my feet, and with an angered disposition, walked across the ring, falling onto

my back and rolling out of the ring the way the pros do it. The crowd was still; quiet, in an eerie

way. I felt more alienated now than when we first entered the building. I made my way through

the crowd of people that were gathered around the ring, bumping shoulders on the way to the

door. I looked back to see Rick groggily trying to keep up with my steps, the security guard and

the announcer right behind him. I slammed the metal bar on the doors, violently throwing them

open, and walked outside where the air wasn¶t as thick. I loosened my tie, feeling as though I

was freed from the character I was portraying. Rick made his way through the doors, trying to

hold back the excitement of what had just happened. Our celebration was inevitable; Rick

approached me with open arms, I met him with a hug and a drawn out sigh of relief. I was

thinking of the colorful slips of money falling to the floor, the security guard shuffling through it,

still trying to comprehend what had happened. And much like all celebrations, it ended, almost

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instantly, with the front doors flying open and a couple of men in tights looking as if a couple of

guys had just ruined their show.

³Hey Guys!´ One of the men yelled. ³Where you going?!´

We quickly started walking through the parking lot. I was gripping my tie in my hand,

trying to keep my vision on my car that was parked in the back. The men were following us, they

continued to taunt.

³Come back here for a sec, guys!´ The other one yelled. They were keeping our pace,

trying not to scare us into a sprint, although I thought about running. We turned the corner of the

building and was probably 20 yards away from the car. As the men continued to taunt, pleading

that we come back, Rick fired back.

³No!´ Rick yelled, only prompting them to continue their pursuit.

As we neared the vehicle, I finally turned my head to see that the 2 men that were

following us had turned into 10. If my math was correct, there were now 10 men following us to

the car.

³Unlock the doors.´ Rick whispered, his pace quickening. ³Lock them when we get

inside.´

I reached for my keys, unlocking the doors, seeing the taillights flash, signifying they

were open. You could hear the frantic cries from the mob that was forming behind us.

³Block them in!´ One of the men yelled. It was as if they were bearing torches, the

citizens driving the monsters out of town.

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We hopped in the car, slamming our hands down on the locks in one motion. Rick¶s

hands remained cupped over the lock as he stared out the window at the mob of wrestlers

swarming the parking lot.

³Oh my God, oh my God«´ Rick chanted over and over in a low whisper, his hands

covering the lock. ³Jordan, we¶ve got to go!´

I placed the shifter in reverse, looking back over my shoulder, seeing the men in tights

scrambling about behind the car. They had us. They were going to surround the car, beat on the

windows, and make us surrender. They¶ll probably drag us by our collars, through the gym

doors, past the security guard and his flapping cheeks, two colorful 20¶s peeking out of his

pocket. They¶ll throw us in the ring, and publically humiliate us.

³Jordan, we¶ve got to go!´ Rick said again, glancing out the window and back at me.

I slammed my foot on the accelerator; the tires screamed rubbing the pavement. I sharply

turned the steering wheel, thrusting the vehicle towards the crowd that began surrounding the

car. Now it was a straightaway, a human chain had formed across the parking lot. A large

bearded man was swinging his arms in front of the car, as if he were an umpire, signaling that the

player that slid into first was safe.

³Stop the car!´ The bearded man screamed, his face as red as Rick¶s tie.

I didn¶t stop the car, in fact, I went faster. Men were diving out of the way, making sure

they didn¶t become speed bumps under the 2 ton piece of machinery barreling through the lot.

After seeing the mob in the midst of my headlights, I knew we had made it. I whipped the car

around, connecting with the highway, speeding off as if we¶d just robbed a bank. I waited for a

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the kick

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