Post by Jesse Jamester on Sept 24, 2021 0:09:12 GMT -5
SLAAAAAM!
The door flies open as Julius Fristik walks in with two giant bags hanging over his shoulder, swinging them around onto the floor in front of his dad, Jesse. As soon as it happens, a quizzical look crosses Jesse Jamester’s face, his eyebrows ruffle in awkward angles as he sets his cup of coffee down and glances from the bags to his son.
Julius: You won’t believe what this is!
Jesse: Potatoes?
Julius: Even better, FAN MAIL!
Proceeding to ignore what he just heard, Jesse goes back to his cup of coffee, no-selling the whole surprise element in his son’s voice.
Julius: Aren’t you excited? Look at all these people writing you during the pandemic! I swear, this has to be a couple thousand letters!
Nodding, Jesse takes one more sip before placing his cup down.
Jesse: Aye, knock yourself out kid, go ahead and open them. But-
Before he can finish his sentence, Julius is ripping the first bag open like a kid opening a Christmas gift. Moments later, he is tilting the bag over and dumping the letters out across the dining room table. They spill in front of Jesse, who grabs his coffee, and proceeds to take a long sip as the pile grows larger, some postal packages and letters falling off the table in the process.
Julius rips open a letter with hearts all over it, and smiles at his dad, bigger than the cheshire cat. Pure joy in his face, he obviously was sheltered as a kid, from the look on his face.
Jesse: I wouldn’t-
Julius: Look! (Gags) Oh-
Jesse: I told you!
Julius: Oh my god, that smells like someone dumped a bottle of perfume on it! And…
Holding up a picture, Jesse eyes it up, tilts his head as he gets a different angle.
Jesse: What are those supposed to be?
Julius: I think her (motions at his chest) though it’s not flattering.
Audibly shivering at the prospect of elder breasts hanging lopsided. Jesse stands up and begins to walk towards the kitchen to refill his cup. Shaking his head as he does, all the while Julius proceeds to the next letter.
Julius: This one is from Kevin Fern of Michigan. He writes, “Thank you for the autographed shirt for my son Jesse, he really loved it for his birthday!” Aye, I didn’t know you sent merch to people? I knew you were a big softy.
Not responding, Jesse walks back around the table and nods as he draws on the cup of morning getty-up juice he poured, straight black.
Julius: This one…. Oh, this guy is nuts! A fan writes, “Lord Jesse, my horned leader of the underworld, my devil in tights! I have made the ultimate sacrifice - please take this offering for my service to your throne of darkness.”
Opening up the package that was taped to the letter, Julius hesitates as he pulls out a gauze wrapped up item, turning it to reveal a red stain on the bottom. His knee-jerk reaction is panic. Julius fumbles the wrapped item onto the table of mail, and it unravels to show a severed finger!
Picking it up without hesitation, Jesse walks over to the trash can and steps on the bottom lever to open the lid, dropping the finger in it. He proceeds back to the table, staring a hole through his son.
Jesse: This is what you deal with when you say stuff on national television, or YouTube. Fanatics kid, they are out there.
Julius: Was that NOT the first finger you’ve been sent?!
Jesse: First? (a smirk shows through his beard as he cackles) You wouldn’t believe what people will send in the mail. I’ve had an ear sent to me, this is lacking originality here. I’d put some gloves on if you are going to go through these. Who knows what filth is in those packages.
Julius: Uh, why don’t you want to open them?
Jesse: Look, when you’re a bad guy, this stuff gets ugly. I don’t want to see that right now. There are thousands of people who love me right now, because I’m getting over again… but for every thousand, there's a hundred crazies who threaten to kill you, your family-
Julius: Seriously!?
Jesse: Oh yeah. Wrestling fans are one of a kind my boy. Don’t ever underestimate their ability to do something batshit crazy.
Julius: Noted. Never going to forget a finger falling out of a package, that’s for sure.
Jesse: Aye, there's a first for your memoirs. But get this cleaned up okay, I don't want to see this when I'm done showering.
Julius: Look, I know you don’t like talking about it, but--
Jesse: I know what you’re getting at.
Julius: Mom’s grave. Can we go visit it? I don’t know where it is, and I'd like to pay my respects.
Staring down at the pile of letters, Jesse picks one up off the table, and opens it. Almost hesitant to answer Julius in his actions, Jesse pulls a letter out from the envelope. Reading the letter in one hand, coffee in the other, Jesse’s grizzled beard cracks a toothy smile, one of pure endearment, not a common look for the man who was used to wrecking the bodies of his foes.
Handing it over to his son, he looks up at him, waiting for his reaction. However, Julius begins to read it out loud.
Julius: From Ande and Bart of California, “Jesse Jamester is my favorite wrestler! Our dad took us to see you beat up Irwin Collins in NPW, and we became big fans! I can’t wait to see your son Julius wrestle! Will he have a mask like you?” signed with a picture of, what looks like us in the ring with tag team gold.
Nodding, Jesse plucks the letter from Julius’ hand and proceeds to unfold it as he heads to the fridge. Using a magnet he places it on the freezer door.
Jesse: Go pick some flowers and find a rake. You moved all my damn tools around when you bought my house, I can’t find anything around here - except my coffee.
Smiling, Julius took the win on this occasion. His dad had a way of not saying yes, but showing it with his actions. Under all those scars and tattoos, and all the hair and tough man persona he exuded, Jesse was a human being; a twisted one, but one nonetheless.
Standing upon a hill, on the back side of the property under a single oak tree, Jesse Jamester and his son Julius Fristik look over the property. The view was astounding, it saw the valleys and woods that accompanied the large home in front of it. As the sun was coming up now that morning was nearing an end, we saw the granite stone with the name of Jesse’s wife, ‘Julie Fristik’ etched on it.
Bending a knee, Julius clears a spot in front of the tombstone, and uses his hand to dig up a finger's length of dirt. He sticks the flowers in, and returns the dirt to keep them firmly upright.
“What was she like?” asked Julius, still bent at the knee, as he touched the stone, tracing her name with his finger.
“One of a kind, so supportive, beautiful beyond words… I felt like the luckiest guy in the world to be with her,” Jesse says, choking back a bit, as he clears his throat. He slides a pair of sunglasses off his forehead and over his eyes, turning from the grave to look out over the property.
“Did she love what you did?” Julius asked next.
“She did. Never missed a show if she could help it. She was the reason I followed this dream. Dropped out of school, took to the rode, her navigating the map next to me, riding town to town. She never wanted to be a manager or valet, or a part of the show, but she sat front row, and cheered or booed every guy who came out to the ring. I’d walk over to her after a match, wink in her direction. They don’t make’em like her any more son, they just don’t,” mutters Jesse as he clearly is in his memories with this, a water line coming down his cheek from under the sunglasses.
“I think she’d be proud to see us together. She’s probably looking down on us now, beaming, saying ‘look at my men, all grown up.’ I feel it,” Julius blurts out as he stands up next to Jesse. Their likeness was in the facial features, but more noticeably, the bright blue sapphire eyes that beamed a cold stare.
Throwing an arm over Jesse’s shoulder, Julius squeezes his old man.
“It’s okay Dad, crying doesn’t make you weak. It proves you have something to fight for,” says Julius, as his blonde hair looks brighter as the sun peaks over them.
“You’re getting too smart for your own good kid. Going to need to drop you on your head some more,” laughs Jesse as pats his son on the mid of his back, and looks down at the grave once more, although for the first time.
“But you’re right. She’ll always be the anchor to my career,” exclaims Jesse, as he turns and pushes Julius playfully.
“You best be doing your runs, I’m not going to watch you blow up in five minutes,” Jesse says shooting a side glance as they begin to walk down the hill towards the house.
“Race ya to the porch, loser has to cook dinner?”
Taking off with a head start, Jesse darts down the hill, and Julius smiles as he follows pursuit. Father and son leg racing towards the house.
Scene fades.
The door flies open as Julius Fristik walks in with two giant bags hanging over his shoulder, swinging them around onto the floor in front of his dad, Jesse. As soon as it happens, a quizzical look crosses Jesse Jamester’s face, his eyebrows ruffle in awkward angles as he sets his cup of coffee down and glances from the bags to his son.
Julius: You won’t believe what this is!
Jesse: Potatoes?
Julius: Even better, FAN MAIL!
Proceeding to ignore what he just heard, Jesse goes back to his cup of coffee, no-selling the whole surprise element in his son’s voice.
Julius: Aren’t you excited? Look at all these people writing you during the pandemic! I swear, this has to be a couple thousand letters!
Nodding, Jesse takes one more sip before placing his cup down.
Jesse: Aye, knock yourself out kid, go ahead and open them. But-
Before he can finish his sentence, Julius is ripping the first bag open like a kid opening a Christmas gift. Moments later, he is tilting the bag over and dumping the letters out across the dining room table. They spill in front of Jesse, who grabs his coffee, and proceeds to take a long sip as the pile grows larger, some postal packages and letters falling off the table in the process.
Julius rips open a letter with hearts all over it, and smiles at his dad, bigger than the cheshire cat. Pure joy in his face, he obviously was sheltered as a kid, from the look on his face.
Jesse: I wouldn’t-
Julius: Look! (Gags) Oh-
Jesse: I told you!
Julius: Oh my god, that smells like someone dumped a bottle of perfume on it! And…
Holding up a picture, Jesse eyes it up, tilts his head as he gets a different angle.
Jesse: What are those supposed to be?
Julius: I think her (motions at his chest) though it’s not flattering.
Audibly shivering at the prospect of elder breasts hanging lopsided. Jesse stands up and begins to walk towards the kitchen to refill his cup. Shaking his head as he does, all the while Julius proceeds to the next letter.
Julius: This one is from Kevin Fern of Michigan. He writes, “Thank you for the autographed shirt for my son Jesse, he really loved it for his birthday!” Aye, I didn’t know you sent merch to people? I knew you were a big softy.
Not responding, Jesse walks back around the table and nods as he draws on the cup of morning getty-up juice he poured, straight black.
Julius: This one…. Oh, this guy is nuts! A fan writes, “Lord Jesse, my horned leader of the underworld, my devil in tights! I have made the ultimate sacrifice - please take this offering for my service to your throne of darkness.”
Opening up the package that was taped to the letter, Julius hesitates as he pulls out a gauze wrapped up item, turning it to reveal a red stain on the bottom. His knee-jerk reaction is panic. Julius fumbles the wrapped item onto the table of mail, and it unravels to show a severed finger!
Picking it up without hesitation, Jesse walks over to the trash can and steps on the bottom lever to open the lid, dropping the finger in it. He proceeds back to the table, staring a hole through his son.
Jesse: This is what you deal with when you say stuff on national television, or YouTube. Fanatics kid, they are out there.
Julius: Was that NOT the first finger you’ve been sent?!
Jesse: First? (a smirk shows through his beard as he cackles) You wouldn’t believe what people will send in the mail. I’ve had an ear sent to me, this is lacking originality here. I’d put some gloves on if you are going to go through these. Who knows what filth is in those packages.
Julius: Uh, why don’t you want to open them?
Jesse: Look, when you’re a bad guy, this stuff gets ugly. I don’t want to see that right now. There are thousands of people who love me right now, because I’m getting over again… but for every thousand, there's a hundred crazies who threaten to kill you, your family-
Julius: Seriously!?
Jesse: Oh yeah. Wrestling fans are one of a kind my boy. Don’t ever underestimate their ability to do something batshit crazy.
Julius: Noted. Never going to forget a finger falling out of a package, that’s for sure.
Jesse: Aye, there's a first for your memoirs. But get this cleaned up okay, I don't want to see this when I'm done showering.
Julius: Look, I know you don’t like talking about it, but--
Jesse: I know what you’re getting at.
Julius: Mom’s grave. Can we go visit it? I don’t know where it is, and I'd like to pay my respects.
Staring down at the pile of letters, Jesse picks one up off the table, and opens it. Almost hesitant to answer Julius in his actions, Jesse pulls a letter out from the envelope. Reading the letter in one hand, coffee in the other, Jesse’s grizzled beard cracks a toothy smile, one of pure endearment, not a common look for the man who was used to wrecking the bodies of his foes.
Handing it over to his son, he looks up at him, waiting for his reaction. However, Julius begins to read it out loud.
Julius: From Ande and Bart of California, “Jesse Jamester is my favorite wrestler! Our dad took us to see you beat up Irwin Collins in NPW, and we became big fans! I can’t wait to see your son Julius wrestle! Will he have a mask like you?” signed with a picture of, what looks like us in the ring with tag team gold.
Nodding, Jesse plucks the letter from Julius’ hand and proceeds to unfold it as he heads to the fridge. Using a magnet he places it on the freezer door.
Jesse: Go pick some flowers and find a rake. You moved all my damn tools around when you bought my house, I can’t find anything around here - except my coffee.
Smiling, Julius took the win on this occasion. His dad had a way of not saying yes, but showing it with his actions. Under all those scars and tattoos, and all the hair and tough man persona he exuded, Jesse was a human being; a twisted one, but one nonetheless.
____________________________________________________________________________
Hour Later
Standing upon a hill, on the back side of the property under a single oak tree, Jesse Jamester and his son Julius Fristik look over the property. The view was astounding, it saw the valleys and woods that accompanied the large home in front of it. As the sun was coming up now that morning was nearing an end, we saw the granite stone with the name of Jesse’s wife, ‘Julie Fristik’ etched on it.
Bending a knee, Julius clears a spot in front of the tombstone, and uses his hand to dig up a finger's length of dirt. He sticks the flowers in, and returns the dirt to keep them firmly upright.
“What was she like?” asked Julius, still bent at the knee, as he touched the stone, tracing her name with his finger.
“One of a kind, so supportive, beautiful beyond words… I felt like the luckiest guy in the world to be with her,” Jesse says, choking back a bit, as he clears his throat. He slides a pair of sunglasses off his forehead and over his eyes, turning from the grave to look out over the property.
“Did she love what you did?” Julius asked next.
“She did. Never missed a show if she could help it. She was the reason I followed this dream. Dropped out of school, took to the rode, her navigating the map next to me, riding town to town. She never wanted to be a manager or valet, or a part of the show, but she sat front row, and cheered or booed every guy who came out to the ring. I’d walk over to her after a match, wink in her direction. They don’t make’em like her any more son, they just don’t,” mutters Jesse as he clearly is in his memories with this, a water line coming down his cheek from under the sunglasses.
“I think she’d be proud to see us together. She’s probably looking down on us now, beaming, saying ‘look at my men, all grown up.’ I feel it,” Julius blurts out as he stands up next to Jesse. Their likeness was in the facial features, but more noticeably, the bright blue sapphire eyes that beamed a cold stare.
Throwing an arm over Jesse’s shoulder, Julius squeezes his old man.
“It’s okay Dad, crying doesn’t make you weak. It proves you have something to fight for,” says Julius, as his blonde hair looks brighter as the sun peaks over them.
“You’re getting too smart for your own good kid. Going to need to drop you on your head some more,” laughs Jesse as pats his son on the mid of his back, and looks down at the grave once more, although for the first time.
“But you’re right. She’ll always be the anchor to my career,” exclaims Jesse, as he turns and pushes Julius playfully.
“You best be doing your runs, I’m not going to watch you blow up in five minutes,” Jesse says shooting a side glance as they begin to walk down the hill towards the house.
“Race ya to the porch, loser has to cook dinner?”
Taking off with a head start, Jesse darts down the hill, and Julius smiles as he follows pursuit. Father and son leg racing towards the house.
Scene fades.
