Post by Tornado Desencadenado on Mar 12, 2017 18:27:14 GMT -5
(Lenten) Friday, March 10
When Tornado Desencadenado stopped at his parents at the Old Metairie ranch style home where he grew up, he found his mother sitting cross-legged on the living room floor surrounded by piles of laundry.
“For the stores?” was how he greeted the small yet zaftig woman.
She nodded. Zurine Mazara was the owner of three local consignment shops that specialized in women’s fashion, “Abby Druisill finally admitted to herself she’s no longer a size six,” was her way of telling her son their neighbor had given her the clothing to sell.
Squatting down on his haunches, the young wrestler gave his mother a buss on the cheek, “I’ve got some business of my own to conduct with you,” he said, immediately getting to the point of his visit.
He fished into the back pocket of his khakis for his wallet, “Here’s some of the money I owe you and Dad.”
The women’s expression changed from bemused to disinterested, “Have you eaten?” she asked while rising to her feet. TD stood as well, making it even more obvious his size was a gift from the father’s side of the family as he towered over her.
“It’s not all of it,” he explained as he produced a check that came from the sum her earned in his first Alpha Wrestling match, “but it’s a start.”
He held the slip of paper out to her mother, who in turn flatly ignored the gesture.
“I made deviled shrimp for dinner,” she deflected, “I’ll fry you up some tortillas to go with them.”
Zurine then walked around her son and to the kitchen. He sighed heavily and shook his head.
“Ma, take the money,” he entreated as he followed her, still holding out the check between his thick, callused fingers.
“Keep it, Tony. You may need it.”
“I got plenty of money, Ma.”
Zurine stopped rummaging through the island set in the kitchen. She looked to her son, one of her well-manicured eyebrows arched sardonically.
TD relented to that withering stare, “Ok, ‘plenty’ is an exaggeration. But I got enough to get me through the month; and more’s on the way. I’m booked in another match, with the same people, and the pay’s just as good.”
“That’s great, Tony. But you can’t rely on that. Your grandfather thought he’d live fat and happy off his fight winnings, and that didn’t work out for him at all,” the woman retorted, knowing that by referencing her father-in-law’s status it would make her child aware of how serious she was. He took the hint; reluctantly, almost ashamedly stuffing the check away. Defeated, he slumped into one of the kitchen’s chairs. Zurine found the cast iron skillet she was searching for and set it atop the stove. It wouldn’t take long for the gas range to heat it to the proper temperature.
“So your next fight, is it another Battle Royal?” she asked as she opened both doors to the refrigerator and gathered up what she would need to heat up the tortillas. Zurine might not have agreed with her son’s decision to wrestle for a living, but she was not so cold as to completely disregard that part of his life.
“No; it’s a singles match. I’m fighting a man named Tommy Stone,” Tornado said, peaking around the corner of the open fridge door and grabbing a water for himself.
“Is he any good?” Zurine asked before closing up the appliance and bringing a cookie sheet bearing the balled up dough for the tortillas and a tub of butter over to the island’s counter top.
“He was good. He’s won all kind of championships in his career. Now, I don’t know. I kind of think the fight’s gone out of him. He stopped wrestling for a while, and only recently took it up again. Since he’s come back he hasn’t had much success; I think he’s only in it for the money.”
“What other reason would there be to wrestle?” his mother asked incredulously. The flat edge of a knife was used to scoop up a dollop of butter flick it into the heated pan; reducing the lard rapidly to a sizzling puddle of liquid.
Tornado Desencadenado could have responded with a number of answers- pride, status, power, sadism- not all of which applied to him personally. He decided against it, however. His mother would have rejected those out of hand, and he wasn’t in the mood to debate the matter. Instead he simply noted, “There are easier ways to earn a living, Ma.”
To this she agreed, “Smarter too,” she replied, tapping a lacquered nail against her temple, “That’s what your father and I always said to you and your sister. ‘Get a job where you have to use your brain’.”
“Wrestling takes intelligence just as much as it does muscle,” The Fundamental Elemental objected with some steel to his voice.
Zurine could have responded to this statement in a way that was exceptionally cruel. Her son knew it too, but to do so would dredge up old wounds and conflicts that the pair had been having for nearly ten years; ever since he told his family he wanted to be a professional wrestler. In the spirit of comity, she refrained from challenging the assertion.
“So, do you have the intelligence and muscle to beat this Tommy Stone?” she asked while flattening out the dough that would then be fried up and served with the chilled deviled shrimp.
Tornado nodded, “Yeah. It won’t be easy: Stone’s got me beat when it comes to experience. Plus he’s known for being able to take all kinds of punishment. But I’m definitely stronger and faster. If I can avoid trading punches with him, and keep him grounded- he’s good with the acrobatic stuff- I think this match is mine to win.”
“And then what?” Zurine Mazara wondered as she dropped a nascent tortilla onto the griddle.
“Then,” Tornado Desencadenado said with a broad grin, “I come back here and try to give you and even bigger check.”
When Tornado Desencadenado stopped at his parents at the Old Metairie ranch style home where he grew up, he found his mother sitting cross-legged on the living room floor surrounded by piles of laundry.
“For the stores?” was how he greeted the small yet zaftig woman.
She nodded. Zurine Mazara was the owner of three local consignment shops that specialized in women’s fashion, “Abby Druisill finally admitted to herself she’s no longer a size six,” was her way of telling her son their neighbor had given her the clothing to sell.
Squatting down on his haunches, the young wrestler gave his mother a buss on the cheek, “I’ve got some business of my own to conduct with you,” he said, immediately getting to the point of his visit.
He fished into the back pocket of his khakis for his wallet, “Here’s some of the money I owe you and Dad.”
The women’s expression changed from bemused to disinterested, “Have you eaten?” she asked while rising to her feet. TD stood as well, making it even more obvious his size was a gift from the father’s side of the family as he towered over her.
“It’s not all of it,” he explained as he produced a check that came from the sum her earned in his first Alpha Wrestling match, “but it’s a start.”
He held the slip of paper out to her mother, who in turn flatly ignored the gesture.
“I made deviled shrimp for dinner,” she deflected, “I’ll fry you up some tortillas to go with them.”
Zurine then walked around her son and to the kitchen. He sighed heavily and shook his head.
“Ma, take the money,” he entreated as he followed her, still holding out the check between his thick, callused fingers.
“Keep it, Tony. You may need it.”
“I got plenty of money, Ma.”
Zurine stopped rummaging through the island set in the kitchen. She looked to her son, one of her well-manicured eyebrows arched sardonically.
TD relented to that withering stare, “Ok, ‘plenty’ is an exaggeration. But I got enough to get me through the month; and more’s on the way. I’m booked in another match, with the same people, and the pay’s just as good.”
“That’s great, Tony. But you can’t rely on that. Your grandfather thought he’d live fat and happy off his fight winnings, and that didn’t work out for him at all,” the woman retorted, knowing that by referencing her father-in-law’s status it would make her child aware of how serious she was. He took the hint; reluctantly, almost ashamedly stuffing the check away. Defeated, he slumped into one of the kitchen’s chairs. Zurine found the cast iron skillet she was searching for and set it atop the stove. It wouldn’t take long for the gas range to heat it to the proper temperature.
“So your next fight, is it another Battle Royal?” she asked as she opened both doors to the refrigerator and gathered up what she would need to heat up the tortillas. Zurine might not have agreed with her son’s decision to wrestle for a living, but she was not so cold as to completely disregard that part of his life.
“No; it’s a singles match. I’m fighting a man named Tommy Stone,” Tornado said, peaking around the corner of the open fridge door and grabbing a water for himself.
“Is he any good?” Zurine asked before closing up the appliance and bringing a cookie sheet bearing the balled up dough for the tortillas and a tub of butter over to the island’s counter top.
“He was good. He’s won all kind of championships in his career. Now, I don’t know. I kind of think the fight’s gone out of him. He stopped wrestling for a while, and only recently took it up again. Since he’s come back he hasn’t had much success; I think he’s only in it for the money.”
“What other reason would there be to wrestle?” his mother asked incredulously. The flat edge of a knife was used to scoop up a dollop of butter flick it into the heated pan; reducing the lard rapidly to a sizzling puddle of liquid.
Tornado Desencadenado could have responded with a number of answers- pride, status, power, sadism- not all of which applied to him personally. He decided against it, however. His mother would have rejected those out of hand, and he wasn’t in the mood to debate the matter. Instead he simply noted, “There are easier ways to earn a living, Ma.”
To this she agreed, “Smarter too,” she replied, tapping a lacquered nail against her temple, “That’s what your father and I always said to you and your sister. ‘Get a job where you have to use your brain’.”
“Wrestling takes intelligence just as much as it does muscle,” The Fundamental Elemental objected with some steel to his voice.
Zurine could have responded to this statement in a way that was exceptionally cruel. Her son knew it too, but to do so would dredge up old wounds and conflicts that the pair had been having for nearly ten years; ever since he told his family he wanted to be a professional wrestler. In the spirit of comity, she refrained from challenging the assertion.
“So, do you have the intelligence and muscle to beat this Tommy Stone?” she asked while flattening out the dough that would then be fried up and served with the chilled deviled shrimp.
Tornado nodded, “Yeah. It won’t be easy: Stone’s got me beat when it comes to experience. Plus he’s known for being able to take all kinds of punishment. But I’m definitely stronger and faster. If I can avoid trading punches with him, and keep him grounded- he’s good with the acrobatic stuff- I think this match is mine to win.”
“And then what?” Zurine Mazara wondered as she dropped a nascent tortilla onto the griddle.
“Then,” Tornado Desencadenado said with a broad grin, “I come back here and try to give you and even bigger check.”