▶Coda: I Am Enough
Me and you…
Me and you…
I awake as I often have, with a small furry appendage bapping on my face. My eyes open, slowly, to see Toasted Almond looking at me. I know what she’s thinking, too.
“Mother. Spare human filled my bowls and emptied my litter, but he does it wrong. Mother, get up and serve me.”
“Calm down, ma’am,” I say, softly, sitting up in bed and pulling her into my arms, rocking her like a literal baby. As opposed to the elderly baby that she - like all cats- always are.
I close my eyes and bury my face in her soft fur, slowly reacclimating myself to the rhythms of home. Sunlight streams in through the windows; diffused by the privacy shades that are still down despite it being past 10 AM. Of course, being on the first floor, with the bedroom at the front of the apartment does require a bit of adjustment.
I put Toasty down and reach for my phone; my class schedule showed up in my email last night but I was too exhausted to even look at it.
Sixteen text messages, though. I guess the word is out.
I only really scan to two threads, though. The first is from my mom.
“Hey sweetie, just letting you know your father and I picked up uncle TJ at JFK and we’re going to be getting some lunch in Brooklyn before heading back home to start sessions. Call me when you feel like it, hope you’re resting and relaxing. Love you.”
I laugh. Every time Valerian’s Garden gets home from a tour, they swear they’re going to take six months off to decompress and do nothing. Ever since I was like, ten years old, without fail, Mommy and uncle TJ are in the studio less than a week later working on something new.
The second one I check is a text from my manager at Vinnie’s.
“Hey, lmk when you wanna b back on the schedule.”
Right to the point, Gus. Cool beans. You, I can talk to later.
I hear some clanging in the kitchen and decide it’s time to face the day. Pulling an oversized, stretched out T-shirt over my head, I walk into the hallway to face the day. I’m comforted by the cool wood floor against the soles of my feet: after six weeks of the nicest hotels with the worst, roughest carpets ever, this is home.
Kevin is talking to someone. I smell bacon. And coffee. And strawberries.
Wonder if this time I'll prove
Somehow I'm enough for you
Do you know how much you do?
Do you see that I do too?
“Yeah… no, we got in late last night,” he says to someone, while he looks out the window into the backyard, “She was wiped the fuck out, my guy.”
You’re darn tootin’ I was.
“Probably not today,” he continues, “I’ve got crepe batter in the fridge that’s just about ready, so we’re gonna have some breakfast as soon as she’s up. Beyond that? I’m not committing to any plans until I know where she’s at.”
I pick my favorite coffee mug off the rack and pour myself a cup. Kevin hears and turns, sees me and smiles. “Listen, I’ll text you, okay? Yeah I know, I know she probably wants to see you guys too, but I’m not committing to anything today unless she feels up for it… Yes. Heard.”
He disconnects, and walks up to me. He takes the coffee from my hands and plants a long, gentle kiss on my lips.
Gentle because he’s a gentleman.
And also because my jaw is still killing me after that Queen’s Gambit.
“Who was that?” I ask.
“Will,” says Kevin, “He and Sadie wanted to invite us over for game night, but I said I wasn’t making that decision until you told me how you were feeling.”
“Sore,” I admit, “Can you believe I used to do this twenty two days a month?”
He shakes his head. “I got tired just watching. I thought prepping for four hours and working the line for six was a hard day’s work.”
“It is,” I insist, “and it’s a lot smarter work than hitting.”
He kisses me again, and lets me go. “Why don’t you get comfortable where you feel like getting, and I’ll bring out a tray once breakfast is ready?”
Am I am I am I
Am I enough?
Today, that means the front porch. The neighbors can stare all they want at my pasty legs, the sun is warm and I’m not going to waste it with pants. But I take a seat on the wooden rocking chair, and sip my coffee.
Waitressing can wait. I’m still black and blue all over, and I decided - with Kevin’s tacit approval - that it’s probably best to give it a day or two so nobody thinks he’s beating up on me.
‘No, I swear - this smokin’ hot blonde woman from London gave me a whuppin’. No, I didn’t need to pay her after. No, she isn’t accepting new clients. Freak.’
I sit in the sun, rocking and scrolling my phone. Stories are coming out about the party at the Legacy, and they’re… interesting, to say the least. Wouldn’t trust anything to eat or drink at one of those parties; probably hopped up with Ozempic and Thorazine and whatever hallucinogens convince you that you’re immortal. No ma’am.
It’s funny how it’s just been a few days, but it feels like I haven’t been In The Life for months.
Somehow there's a road I see
Finding my way back to me
(back to me)
Even when I'm lost in the dark
I still feel the beat of this heart
The door opens next to me, and Kevin emerges with a tray of food. I’m not used to being spoiled like this - typically, when we’re both home we make breakfast together - but I don’t hate it.
“Babe,” I say with love, looking at the crepes stuffed with cut fruit, goat cheese, and honey. The crepes stuffed with bacon, roasted vegetables, scrambled eggs, and potatoes.
“So,” says Kevin, between bites, “What does MJ Flair want to do today?”
“MJ Flair is locked in the basement,” I reply, “Mariella wants to do this. Leisurely breakfast, leisurely coffee, leisurely crossword puzzle.”
I hold my foot up and look at the hot pink polish, growing out and chipped. “And if Mariella puts pants on at all today, it’s to get a pedi.” I look at him. “You in?”
He smiles. “I talked to the ladies at Perfect Polish before I flew north; they said they’ll work around your schedule when you’re ready.”
Am I am I am I
Am I enough?
“You are… amazing,” I reply. Unlike so many men, Kevin knows the value of a pedicure. Even if he says a polish job would be wasted on him because he’s on his feet twelve hours a day, he knows the value of getting his feet taken care of, specifically because he’s on them twelve hours a day.
Again, we sit in blissful silence for a few minutes; eating, drinking, watching the people walk past. Some give a smile and a wave. Some have a kind word. Put friendliness into the world and it comes back to you.
My phone beeps. I check it.
“Oh,” I say, “Caledonia and Dan just landed in Atlanta, she said the invitation is still open, next time you and I both have a few days off.”
“Great,” says Kevin, “But a double date. Eris is a fine person but I don’t need to read another chapter of #HighLaCroix, at least not on an empty stomach.”
I laugh. “Eris is good people, babe. They’re a little odd, but they really grow on you.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” replies Kevin, “Did they go to the get-together?”
“I dunno,” says MJ, “Maybe? Not really their scene, though. Culty kinda party hosted by an amazonian that’s definitely not a hundred forty five pounds, and their soulless lifeless music? And you know my feelings on overindulgence.”
He nods.
Kevin was worried when some girls from school wanted to take me out on my twenty-first birthday when he had to work a double. I told him I understood, he had literally just started his job and he didn’t have the stroke to get time off anymore. I don’t think he was worried that I would do something I’d regret, but I think he was still surprised to see me shepherding six sloppy women back home after they drank two too many of the aptly named Mind Erasers.
My parents were both experienced drinkers in their day, and when I started wrestling, Daddy told me a priceless piece of advice. “You’re gonna get some drinks after shows, because that’s what happens. It’s no use telling you it’s a bad idea. But trust me: drink until you’re mellow. Anything after that, it’s not worth it.”
And he was correct.
“I tell you one thing,” I say, standing up with my empty cup, “I definitely have enough in the tank to have a full show at the end of the semester. So, winning?”
He laughs as I take his cup. One more refill each and we can get on to our day of nothing.
Me and you
Me and you
But as soon as I get to the kitchen, my phone buzzes again.
“Hey, I’m so sorry to bother you, but do you have a minute or two? This is P-”
Of course it is. I made sure to add them to my phone before leaving Worcester.
I am I am I am
I am enough
I just need to tell the man that our day of nothing will need to start a little later.
“I gotchu in my phone, don’t worry, hun. Give me a minute and I’ll buzz you.”
Deep breath. This may be the most important conversation I have all year. And I might have spoken too soon.
Am I finished with professional wrestling? For now, at least, probably.
Is MJ Flair really locked in the basement?
I am I am I am
I am enough
That wily bitch still owes something to the world.
Me and you...
Me and you...