my mistakes

[Finn Whelan]

MY MISTAKES

NEWBURGH, NEW YORK // JULY 31ST, 2017

The waves of the Hudson River lapped at the sides of the shoreline, dirty and murky as the humid and polluted sky above it. Rain pattered down into the water, leaving instantly removed indentations in the ever-moving stream. As corrupted as the water was, however, the cycle of life permeated its very being. Even in the most sacred of ancient civilizations, water symbolized life, a renewal of purity, and as it flowed, the river brought its cycle to death and ultimately . . . rebirth.

Rebirth.

Perhaps that’s now why Finn found himself on the shore, drenched head-to-toe, his eyes focused on the small waves as they rolled down the three-hundred-and-fifteen foot river. With his hands in the pockets of his denim vest, he stood still, black hair plastered to his forehead, water trickling down his face past healing scars inflicted from recent wars. His nose was purpling over, a gift from a ladder to the face, and his lip split where his piercing had once been. He was bruised and battered, but in all honesty, he didn't quite care. Each scar, each bruise, was a testament to his career, his livelihood. 

But now, his mind wasn't focused on his career. Too often, lately, he found himself thinking of everything else. Friends. Family. People he let into his life to make it grow and prosper. People he let into his life that perhaps he shouldn't have. But that was his cross to bear, and his issue to fix -- he’d proven in the past that once he was in the building, he could push out everything else. And he would push out everything else. But not right now. Not here.

Here, in this moment, his wife was injured. He’d had his tumultuous issues with her, too, but it’d been fixed. At least, so he thought. So he’d hoped. His mind was focused on her recovery -- for now. He wasn’t focused on his family falling apart -- for now. And he wasn’t focused on destroying the bastard that caused her to even be unconscious in the hospital.

Under the Coliseum Lights 6 was rapidly approaching. That’s where his mind needed to be. Not here.

“I’m surprised you even called.”

Finn didn’t turn his head, but knew who it was behind him. His relationship with his in-laws wasn’t the greatest, owing to the newest set of issues that’d been placed in front of their path. A man in an olive green military service uniform approached him from behind. The decorative eagle pins that were safely-tacked to his lapels signified him as a Colonel in the United States Army. He had a stern face, and that didn’t change when Finn turned to look at him.

“I try not to, Colonel.” He replied, dryly. “In fact, you know I prefer meeting with you to be as short as possible.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

Finn inhaled sharply through his nostrils and held his breath, the action causing pain to shoot through his ribs. Talking to the Colonel was like opening wounds on his feet and then having to walk across a bed of sharply-pointed needles. But it’d come to this. He exhaled slowly.

“But I suspect you haven’t called me out of the blue to simply have a chat, did you?”

“I did, actually.” There was silence for a few moments as the two men stared at one another. But it was Finn who broke it. “A long time ago, you asked me a question. It doesn’t take a genius to recall it, and in light of recent events, it’s been on my mind.”

“I’ve asked multiple questions of you, O’Hanlon.” The Colonel sounded tired, but he didn’t appear it. “Which one is it this time?”

“‘Who are you?’” When the Colonel’s eyebrow lifted, Finn looked at the man with a small smirk. It was all he could muster right now. “You asked me that when we first met. At the time, I probably responded with some smart-ass remark because I saw a man in a uniform and hated his guts automatically. But as I move through this sport, move through competition, I constantly ask myself that question every time I step in the ring. Who am I?”

“The smart-ass punk kid who--”

“Colonel. There’s a point.” Finn cut him off. “Every time I step into the ring, I go to a new company, whatever. . . I’m always confronted with the same opinion. A box that you, and everyone else, try to put me in. I don’t fit your mold, and I don’t quite particularly fit anyone’s mold. I’m pretty solid in knowing which way is up, and where I’m supposed to go. But lately . . . that question has popped up in my mind.”

The Colonel didn’t respond, but took a few steps closer, listening to his son-in-law. The one he’d disliked from day one.

“There was once a time where you asked me what my purpose is. What my goals, what my aspirations were. I’m not a man with a career mind. I make goals, but I don’t plan. I don’t think thirty steps ahead just to build one moment in time where I’m successful, to build a climatic moment and let it all fall away afterwards. But I used to be certain of my purpose in this world. I used to be certain of the person that I’d become.”

“You were shiftless.”

“Free-willed.” Finn replied, turning his head to look at the Colonel again. “There are always going to be negative connotations for the positive ones. You see the glass half-empty, but I see space that can be filled. I admit my failures, Colonel -- I’ll never fluff off my lack of achievement as an excuse. I’ve failed . . . but don’t we always come back better when we learn from our mistakes? Isn’t that what I’ve done?”

“The most successful--”

“-- failed the first ten times before they made themselves better. And I only get better. I push myself. I always have. For my friends. For my family. But I have a dilemma. Lately, I feel like that’s been taken from me by people who seem to think they have more say in my life than they ever should have in the past. People thinking they can lead me back into their boxes. I’ve held myself as a man of moral character, that I’m always going to do the right thing, but I wonder if this time, I’m going to have to make a choice to do something for the better of my family.”

Finn’s tone was all off. It wasn't confident, but it was focused. As if he’d thought of this thousands of times before this moment. Like it was all he’d thought about.

“I’m alone, Pops.” He said, knowing the term was derogatorily taken. “I’m by myself. And like a wounded, lone wolf, putting me into a corner is the worst mistake anyone could ever have made.”

•••••

“Here we are again, Ana.”

Finn sits in the center row of what looks to be a run-down, abandoned movie theater, with his legs propped up on the back of one of the broken-down chairs in front of him. He sits with an old school movie projector, the reel running something that isn’t visible just yet. In his hands, he holds a bag of popcorn.

“You know, when it’s all said and done, we both knew that this would happen again. You versus me, for that title of yours. And like every single match you’ve gone into, you’ve gone in focused, prepared, and willing to bring down the house on top of whomever you seem to be facing. A determined wrestler. A focused individual with nothing more than a desire to keep ‘her’ title in ‘her’ hands. Like Gollum in Lord of the Rings, you hold your ‘precious’ keepsake close to your heart, and no one will take it from you, come hell or high water. It’s yours. You’ve earned it, you’ve kept it. You’ve held it close.”

He tosses a piece of corn at the camera, plunking it right in the lens with the fluffed kernel.

“I get it. I really do. I don’t know of you outside Phoenix, except for what I see on social media, and I doubt you care very little about what I do outside of this company as well. But what I do know, Anastasia Starling, is that you’re a diehard competitor, and you’re not giving up that title easily. You hold so many achievements, but that title . . . well, it’s your pride and glory. Look at the one, and only, time you lost it. Time limit expiry.”

He kicks on the projector, running the reel. The camera turns to face the torn screen, and the image of Anastasia versus Elena DeDraca appears across it, with the latter winning the title and holding it high in the air. The picture fizzles, and comes to the next one, just two minutes before Ana wins it back.

“You fought valiantly, but somehow, your opponent was able to beat you not through any pinfall or submission, but through time limits. It’s a rule to that title, is it not? But in your rematch . . . you earned it back by proving yourself in a viciously hard-fought battle against Elena. You nearly made the ‘submission queen’ tap.”

He hits the machine again, and it flips through a couple of more scenes of the Rising Phoenix champion defending the title. It looks like it’s a montage of her career so far. Surprisingly, the expression that crosses Finn’s face isn’t one of nervousness, or fear. It's determination, despite the cuts and scrapes.

“I don’t need to go through a list of your former competitors, of which I’ve been one. I know what you’re like, Ana, and in some way, I can be more prepared for this match. The last time we faced off, I brought you close to that ten minute time limit . . . by two seconds. But it is what it is, isn’t it? We both get better, do we not? Sad to say it, Ana, but I got better too. And I've got more desire to see your face eat concrete than I did before. Respectfully.

I think you have this perception of me that I’m just the same as my sister, that I’m willing to let myself fall into that ‘not good enough and quit’ speech. Tell me when I have, enlighten me. Maybe I’m just getting that from one singular interaction on Twitter where I was messing around because I needed laughter and you took it quite . . . literally. You know. Telling me I can be made a fool of, that it can be arranged that I fail?”

He shook his head, slowly from side to side, pushing against the chair in front of him with his foot.

“‘Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn’. Are you lacking in brain cells, Anastasia? Twitter means nothing, or have you not noticed? I don't make my promos on Twitter, I don't say the real shit on Twitter, because it doesn't matter. But take it to be truth, if you so believe. All it means is you haven't seen what I've done, what I've put myself through to get to where I am now. I am who I am, because I refuse to walk out. I made decisions to leave a toxic work environment for reasons that you don't even know, omnipotent bird. Face it: you walked right into what I knew you would -- bashing me over fifteen minutes of silliness on a website. Childish. You actually believe I think I'm lesser than you, when I've worked my ass off to get where I am again? Pathetic.

I'm not bitter. I'm focused. Irritated. But I wouldn't waste bitterness on a ten minute match for the rest of my career.

Note: I may share my sister’s beliefs, and I may listen to her, but here’s the thing that you, and every person in Phoenix Wrestling needs to realize right now: I’m not her -- I’m not Elena DeDraca. We are two separate people, and I’m not going to disappear because I haven’t done what I said I would. If that were the case, I would have been gone when I lost to you the first time. I would have been gone the second that any punk from the backstage area, including Mason Daniels, decided to come at me from behind. I can handle that bullshit, and why? Because I know my worth. I know who I am. There’s literally nothing any of you can tell me that’s going to change that.”

Another piece of corn thrown at the camera, and Finn grins lightly.

“I’m the dude who has earned the chance to face you again. Ever since my injury, I've done literally nothing but keep my sights set on this match. My goal has been on that title, and I don’t see myself stepping back any time soon. I’ve fought tooth and nail to get back to where I was, and like hell am I going to back down. Neither one of us are a hundred percent right now, but you know what -- my goal isn’t to simply put on a good match for the people in Las Vegas. It’s to put on the best match possible, regardless of my current rating of health.

I’ve had fucking lighting rigs fall on me. I’ve had sneak attacks, frontal attacks, everything thrown at me in the past month and a half that there isn’t much left that can be done to me. Mason Daniels tried to put me out of commission, but I’m still here. Elsewhere, I’ve had ladders thrown at me, matches interrupted, everything in order to make sure I wasn’t going to succeed. And for what? To shut me down? To make me ask for my contract resignation? I told you all I was here to stay, and I set my sights for that championship. Your championship.

Last time, you told me you didn’t respect me. That you didn’t respect anyone that was coming for your title . . . and that’s fine. I don’t need your respect to face you, or for me to change my modus operandi to something less than who I’ve been. I still respect you as a competitor, Anastasia. I respect you as a human being. Nothing changes that. Should I defeat you, I promise I won’t sit there and gloat. You can believe me when I say it won’t be a taking of the title -- it’ll be an earning of the Rising Phoenix Championship. Come Under the Coliseum Lights 6, we’ll figure out where I stand in Phoenix. And if I should fail again? It’s no matter. I’m here to stay.”

Finn smiles, leans forward, and puts up two of his fingers.

“Round Two, Ana. And if it takes round three, or four, or seventeen . . . it takes what it takes. I know who I am, and it’s more important to me to put on the best match of the night that I have in me than it is to give you words of venom and spite. Go ahead and tell me I have nothing to win by. I’ll come back with everything I have. I enjoy facing you -- you bring out the best in me. I’ll see you on August sixth . . .”

He pauses, and then shrugs.

“Again.”

•••••

Finn pulled out his cell phone, and thumbed through it, before he handed the device to his father-in-law. A picture of his Japanese mentor appeared, almost as if he were snarling with his sociopath demeanor. The Colonel stared at the picture.

“This was the man who appeared in Aaron’s match against Elena. The one who--”

“Put Aaron in the hospital.” Finn finished for him, shoving his hands back in his pockets. “This is Kei Hideshima. He’s been my mentor for the past two years. I always admit my mistakes, Colonel, and this is my mistake to rectify.”

“He could have killed her.”

“It was his intention.” The younger man paused, looked down at the picture for a moment, and then back up. “I have a match in Las Vegas on the sixth. I need Aaron to be safe while I’m gone. I’m sure you can arrange that.”

At this, the Colonel scoffed. “O’Hanlon, I’m a Chemistry Instructor at West Point, not the U.S. Marshals. I’m not that high on the totem pole.”

“He’s Yakuza.”

Silence greeted Finn’s words. He knew he had him there.

“The government won’t catch Kei. He’s a snake, and he won’t stop until Aaron’s gone. She’s his target because of me. All I’m asking is that you keep her secure until I'm back. Keep her safe so I can focus on my career. When I’m done, I'll take care of it. I know how to find him. I know how to get rid of him. He is my mistake to rectify.”

“Callien--”

“My mistake. I fix my mistake. I'll fix my errors against Anastasia, and come back with a championship. I'll fix my errors against Kei. I don't know who I am right now, but I know that failure isn't an option. Underestimation isn't an option. But Aaron needs to be safe. I don’t trust anyone right now, Colonel, not even my own family. I need outside sources with no investment. Do this, and I promise, Kei Hideshima won’t be part of the equation.”

The Colonel opened his mouth once more, but Finn’d already begun to walk away.

“Do it for your daughter, Colonel. Just like I would for her.”




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Thanks for the fun.