What's that old Scottish saying again? "May the road rise to meet your feet"?

Maybe it's Irish... to tell the truth, I can't remember right now. I have other, more important things on my mind than the origin of an island witticism. All the same, the phrase is one of well-wishing, and that's exactly what I need right now. Instead of feet, though, the road is rising to meet the wheels of my Dart. As the yellow lines whip through my field of vision, they all start to blur together.

Uh-oh.

There's no way that can possibly be a good thing. Still, maybe the danger of drifting over those lines will keep me awake... though if you ask the people I was talking to several hours ago, you'd think I'd already overstepped my boundaries in some way.

Even with the fear of crashing, it's still difficult to keep my eyes open. Just... nowhere near as difficult as what I had done earlier. Perhaps I should start at the beginning...
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*ding dong*

The sound of the doorbell had pulled my wife and I away from our playful carousing in the main living room. With all of the precious items that had been removed from the walls and shelves recently, it was a very sparse area. Just as well, as that allowed us to go a little further in our games than usual.

*ding dong*

Yeah, so I was thinking too much. That little fellow always was a tad impatient. I excused myself from a still giggling Melissa and went to let him in.

"Tyler. Good of you to come on such short notice." Looking back in the direction I came from, I added, "But it would have been better for you to be late, like you usually are. I was taking care of some important business."

He looked at me oddly. "Import..." He looked past me mid-word and noticed Melissa approaching the door to greet him as well. "Oh. I see. Sorry."

"No, it's quite all right. I have something I need to discuss with both of you. It really could have waited another few minutes, but since you're already here, I may as well get this over with. Would you two join me in front of the fireplace, please?" I requested, beckoning with my hand as I led the way.

Tyler obeyed rather quickly. He was used to being given direction. After all, it's not a cameraman's job to dictate the direction of what he's filming. They just do what they're told. My wife, on the other hand, was far more apprehensive... or reluctant... perhaps trepidacious, if you're the type to use flowery language like that.

Oh... I bought a thesaurus recently, by the way.

"Um... Trent, honey..." Melissa began softly, "If this is such an important thing to tell us, why didn't you just tell me first, before he got here?"

I remember turning back to look at her. I remember how beautiful she looked at that moment, the sunlight coming in through the bay window of the vestibule.

I also remember the look she was giving me at that same moment. She was visibly worried. She knew something was up. I didn't want her to worry so, but I just couldn't bring forth any comforting words. Rather, what I said only seemed to intensify her emotional state.

"Because I know I can't bring myself to say it more than once."

Missy's eyes were downcast as she slowly padded her way back into the main room. I wanted so much just to reach out and hold her right then. But if I was going to be able to go through with this, I couldn't let anything get in the way.

We entered the room, and I pointed my wife and good friend to the sofa facing the fireplace. I, meanwhile, pulled a wrought-iron chair across the hardwood floor, making an obnoxious screeching sound. Tyler winced. Missy cringed. I turned away from them momentarily, knowing if they were reacting this badly to an aggravating sound that their reactions to my bleak revelation were going to be much more pronounced.

I sat down, facing them, staring at the floor and wringing my hands purposefully before looking up and speaking.

"Guys... it's only a few days away. There is less than a week until I can get my first taste of World Title gold."

Tyler looked at me quizzically. "FIRST taste? Hell, you've already been..."

I held my finger to my lips. Tyler took the hint and shut up.

"You were here yesterday, Tyler. You know how I'm approaching this thing. And you know how important that title is to me. So before I move on, I have a question for the two of you..."

They looked at me expectantly, Melissa growing more ill-at-ease every second. Finally, I asked the question that would set my difficult trial into motion.

"Just how important is it to YOU for me to win that match?"

"Are you kidding? It's been a long time since I last filmed the World Champion, dammit! Doesn't seem like any of the other guys care to be around me for too long. Guess I should stop trying to get them involved in my LARP group."

I chuckled. Well, that was one down. Though to be honest, Tyler isn't exactly the type to think things through before jumping on them. He's like... have you ever seen one of those mechanical chickens that dispense the plastic eggs with cheap toys inside? He's kind of like those... you get what you pay for, but it's poorly constructed.

"Well, that's one..." I said, looking expectantly at my wife.

She looked back at me, lost in thought. She stared at me in this fashion for several minutes, which was good. I absolutely did not want a quick answer from her. Finally, she piped up.

"I know how important it is to you, Trent. That's what matters. It's just like last year, when you had Tyler steal the belt from Kash... anything you feel you need to do to achieve your goals, I will support. Even if I don't like or agree with it."

I nodded slowly. Then came the question I dreaded having to answer. And it almost came from both of them at the same time.

"Why do you ask?" came the question from Tyler.

"So... just what ARE you planning to do this time?" was Missy's query.

I cleared my throat. What is it about tense, emotional situations that make you need a drink of water more than you ever have in your life?

"Let me start out by reminding you both of what I've been doing these past few days. I've attacked the guy who taught me the ropes of this business in his own gym and left him laying. I've struck the walls of this very house bare to remove any hint of my past career. There is, however, a third step I must take to complete the process. And it's going to be the hardest one of all..."

I took a deep breath. Melissa held hers. Tyler looked on obliviously. It was the moment of truth.

"... I'm leaving you both behind."

The silence was deafening. What a paradox that was. They didn't seem to be reacting too poorly. After all, I had made one or both of them stay back at the hotel in the past when I had had dangerous opponents. This time was going to be different...

"And I mean right here. Starting now."

That's when the wave crashed. Tyler's jaw dropped, his mouth agape. Melissa fighting to choke back her tears was a sight I just couldn't stand. But before I left, I knew I would have to explain myself to them.

"Oh, you almost had me there, buddy! I'm a WWA employee! Even though I'm your personal cameraman, they sign my checks. You can't make me stay away from one of the biggest shows of the year!" Tyler said smugly.

I guess I needed to explain to one more than the other. I had prepared myself for the possibility that Tyler figured that out, so I reached into my pocket and tossed a folded piece of paper at him.

"What's this?"

"Congratulations, Tyler. Two weeks' paid vacation. I had to pull some strings for them to let you go the week of Birthday Bash, considering they need all the cameramen they can get... but it came through. Use your time wisely. Just away from me."

Tyler unfolded the paper, reading over it. He scowled, and stood up angrily.

"You know what? I don't care. You do what you want. I don't have to stay here and put up with this. I'm going home."

With that, he whirled around and strode quickly to the front door. It opened and shut rather forcefully. Now came the real hard part. I turned to face my wife.

"You understand why I have to do this, don't you?"

She nodded, a single tear rolling out of the inside corner of her eye.

"And you said you'd support me in it, whether you liked it or not. Believe me, I don't like it either. But Mal has defeated me three times. Two victories within a week of each other when it was just him and me. The other time, there were five men. And the little criminal is correct... there are going to be 20 men in the Brawl match, which is going to make things harder many times over. I need to free myself of distractions. I can't go worrying about every little thing when I have so many other contenders to deal with. You know that, right?"

She nodded again, sniffling a little.

"Good. Just trust me when I say that I will make all the trouble worth it. When I come home, I will have that belt with me. Then... and only then... can we celebrate in our own special way."

"But... what *sob* about Tyler *sniff*?" Melissa choked out.

"Don't worry about him. I'll cover damage control once I've pulled that strap down from the ceiling and brought it back here."

Missy pulled out a tissue and held it to her face. As much as this hurt her, it may have been hurting me even more just to see her like this. I looked up into her eyes.

"You going to be all right?"

She nodded again. I didn't really buy it, but I humored her anyway.

"So... I guess it's time for me to leave."

As I rose to my feet, she followed suit immediately. I walked over to the hallway that leads to my front door, only to feel a tug at my coat sleeve. I turned around and looked down at what will surely be the sight that will haunt me on my death bed...

... my wife, holding her arms out, looking at me expectantly. Why was this so nightmarish, you ask? Because of what I did next.

"I'm sorry..." I said, straining to hold back my own tears, "... I can't. Not today."

Missy fell to her knees on the floor, unable to control herself any longer. I walked to the door, took what I hoped to be the last look at my home and my wife without bringing the belt back, and went through it.
------
So here I am, several hours later. I'm tired, I'm depressed, and I'm driving to Chicago much earlier than I should be. When I get there, I'll sleep. Until then, I'll have to just drive and think about what I've done... and what I'm going to do.

I am going to fight in the Birthday Brawl.

I am going to walk away from it with the World Title in my possession.

I have done everything I can to erase my past, and treat this as a brand new goal.

I have assaulted the old man who taught me wrestling.

I have hidden away my title belts.

I have sepearated myself from friends and family... I hope that's just temporary.

In short, I have erased my past.

The funny thing about personal history... in order to overcome it, you must confront it. This is something that Mal Somers needs to understand before he can bring himself out of his funk... he needs to stop running from his past and face it head on. This is exactly what I have done.

So why does it feel like I'm the one running?

I just hope it's toward something good, not away from something better.