Post by Deleted on Aug 6, 2019 14:09:05 GMT -5
Frank Lowe, the newest member of the Trinity roster, stood bent over in front of a closet, frantically rifling through boxes and bags on the closet floor. His big, booming voice shattered the otherwise serene quiet of his average Detroit family home in the still midday.
"Lacey! Where the hell is it?!”
Frank’s search became more and more frenetic as Lacey failed to respond. He angrily muttered to himself: "Goddamnit! I have to do everything my damn self around here!”
Lacey rounded the corner of the hallway and entered the room finding Frank in search mode.
"Did you call for me, Frank?” Lacey asked.
Frank stood swiftly and turned just his head to stare a hole through Lacey.
"Yeah.”
She looked at him confused. "...and what did you need, Frank?” she asked. He stood in seething silence, further confusing Lacey.
"...Frank?”
Frank turned his whole body to face Lacey, and in a glance at his reddened face and bulged neck veins, she saw his impending blow up coming.
"WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE I NEED?!”
In the white hot heat of Frank’s rage, she withered. This was clearly not the first time Frank had blown up on her.
"I just don’t know, Frank.”
"I asked you to find something for me. What was it?”
Lacey’s mistake dawned on her, and she remembered her promise to Frank that she would retrieve his wrestling gear in preparations for Frank’s Trinity debut. As a light panic washed over her, Lacey began to sweat the fact that she had inadvertently forgotten to accomplish the task.
"Now, Frank…" she pleaded.
Through gritted teeth, Frank demands, "What was it, Lacey?!"
Lacey continues pleading with Frank, "Please, Frank, calm down."
"The last time I ask, Lacey… What? Was? It?"
Lacey’s eyes are immediately glued to the floor as she answers timidly.
"I… I forgot to find your wrestling gear."
"Louder!"
Her voice gets louder but quivers as she speaks.
"I for...got… to find...your...wrestling gear."
"And now I’m stuck doing your work, Lacey! How do you think that makes me feel?!"
Lacey silently closes her eyes, neglecting to answer Frank’s seemingly rhetorical question.
"You know how it makes me feel, don’t you, Lace?"
She looks up to meet his gaze. She nods slowly and tentatively.
"Say it! It makes me feel like a…” He asked, elongating the “a” sound to force Lacey to fill in the gap.
She responded with great trepidation: "A… uh… a bitch, Frank. It makes you feel like a bitch.”
Frank instantly and angrily responds, "And what do I do when I’m made to feel like a bitch, Lacey?”
A tear runs down her cheek as she timidly begs him to calm down: "Please, Frank. Go take a seat in the living room, have a beer, turn on the TV, and relax while I find your gear.”
Frank stared at her coldly until Lacey doubled down on pleading. "Please?!”
Frank imminent meltdown was least temporarily avoided and cooled from a roiling boil, but his face wears a sickening, victorious smirk as he coughs out a sarcastic response.
“How sweet of you, dear. Yeah, that’d be lovely.”
Frank swiftly exited the room leaving the closet in utter disarray after his wild, floor-level search turned up nothing. Lacey stepped into the closet, paused for a moment to regain her composure, and proceeded to glance up to the shelf immediately above her head to see a box with an obvious label that reads: Frank’s Gear: 2 complete/coordinated sets of boots, elbow and knee pads, and trunks; 1 left knee brace; and various unsold merch. Lacey immediately put her head in her hands and sobbed.
The couple had unpacked so many boxes since moving back to Frank’s native Detroit. It had been a rough past few years. Frank was wrestling random indy matches night after night just trying to be seen by the right people. Tour after tour of the rust belt and the greater midwest region had worn Frank down to nothing. He was wrestling in bars, middle school gyms, and shithole clubs, the kinds of places where the HVAC ductwork hung low enough that there was a legitimate possibility that a simple vertical suplex would potentially bring the whole damn system down. Frank had done his time working rooms where he knew exactly what the gate was because he could count attendance using both of his hands.
In the weeks immediately after Frank decided to give up on the vague idea of making it in the wrestling business, the opportunity to sign with Trinity reared its head. For most couples, a thing like this would mean sitting down at the table and having a conversation about desires and needs, about bills and obligations, and about how such a monumental change might affect the Lowe Family. But Frank would be damned if that’s how he and Lacey would make decisions. Hell, Frank made certain that when it came to decisions that affected the couple, there would be no Frank and Lacey decisions; they’d all be "Frank decisions, damnnit!”
It was solely Frank’s decision to hang up - rather, box up - his boots, it was solely Frank’s decision to move the family back to his hometown of Detroit, it was solely Frank’s decision which home they would buy upon moving, and it was solely Frank’s decision to go back on all of his previous decisions to sign a contract with Trinity and to take Lacey on the road as his manager/valet whether she wanted to live the road life or not.
Afterall, if Frank had said it once, he’d said it a thousand times: "Lowe Family decisions are for Lowe men to make!”
In the living room, Frank’s biggest decision at hand was whether to watch Sportscenter or a show about manly guys making swords from scratch. He opted for the former only to find the anchors discussing the dire projections for the impending NFL season of Frank’s hometown Detroit Lions. His face soured, and he reconsidered his options before turning the television to Forged In Fire.
Frank’s first beer had not remained full long enough to even develop condensation on the can, but he cracked open his second beer as the host introduced each of the show’s contestant blacksmiths. Frank looked content as the introductions revealed three men from various parts of the country, but as the fourth contestant - Amanda from just outside of Portland, OR - appeared on screen, Frank recoiled in revulsion.
He yelled out to no one in particular, “What the fuck has this world come to?! A lady blacksmith?! What’s next? A president on the fucking rag?! America is beyond saving.”
Lacey heard the outburst from the living room and immediately recomposed herself using a mirror in the bedroom. She let out a deep sigh before walking out to the living room to check on Frank.
“Is everything ok?” she asked quietly.
“No! Look at this bullshit! Can you believe it?!”
“I… I don’t see…”
“You don’t see what? A problem? You don’t see a problem?! What, are you stupid or just blind?”
Lacey’s voice was weak, but she retorted, “She’s just following her passion.”
Frank’s eyes lit on fire with anger, and he tore into his wife, “Her passion?! Her passion should be in her HOME with her FAMILY! Leave this hard work to men like it should be!”
Frank stewed on his anger for a beat before needling Lacey about something else.
“Did you find my gear?” he snarled.
“Oh, uh, yes. It was…”
Frank interrupted her. “I didn’t ask you where it was. I just wanted to know if you found my shit.”
Frank took a long chugging drink from his beer as the silence became pregnant with awkwardness and he broke it with a barked command. “Well, what are you standin’ here for? Go get my gear and pack our damn bags! We fly out in the morning. Don’t forget you have to look like a million bucks.” Frank paused for a second, letting a softer side of himself shine through. “That shouldn’t be too hard, right, Lace? Afterall, you’re the best damn looking woman and you’ll be on the arm of the realest damn man in the world.”
Frank followed his compliment with a playful swat on Lacey’s ass, and she smiled as she turned to take care of the couple’s packing.
"Lacey! Where the hell is it?!”
Frank’s search became more and more frenetic as Lacey failed to respond. He angrily muttered to himself: "Goddamnit! I have to do everything my damn self around here!”
Lacey rounded the corner of the hallway and entered the room finding Frank in search mode.
"Did you call for me, Frank?” Lacey asked.
Frank stood swiftly and turned just his head to stare a hole through Lacey.
"Yeah.”
She looked at him confused. "...and what did you need, Frank?” she asked. He stood in seething silence, further confusing Lacey.
"...Frank?”
Frank turned his whole body to face Lacey, and in a glance at his reddened face and bulged neck veins, she saw his impending blow up coming.
"WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE I NEED?!”
In the white hot heat of Frank’s rage, she withered. This was clearly not the first time Frank had blown up on her.
"I just don’t know, Frank.”
"I asked you to find something for me. What was it?”
Lacey’s mistake dawned on her, and she remembered her promise to Frank that she would retrieve his wrestling gear in preparations for Frank’s Trinity debut. As a light panic washed over her, Lacey began to sweat the fact that she had inadvertently forgotten to accomplish the task.
"Now, Frank…" she pleaded.
Through gritted teeth, Frank demands, "What was it, Lacey?!"
Lacey continues pleading with Frank, "Please, Frank, calm down."
"The last time I ask, Lacey… What? Was? It?"
Lacey’s eyes are immediately glued to the floor as she answers timidly.
"I… I forgot to find your wrestling gear."
"Louder!"
Her voice gets louder but quivers as she speaks.
"I for...got… to find...your...wrestling gear."
"And now I’m stuck doing your work, Lacey! How do you think that makes me feel?!"
Lacey silently closes her eyes, neglecting to answer Frank’s seemingly rhetorical question.
"You know how it makes me feel, don’t you, Lace?"
She looks up to meet his gaze. She nods slowly and tentatively.
"Say it! It makes me feel like a…” He asked, elongating the “a” sound to force Lacey to fill in the gap.
She responded with great trepidation: "A… uh… a bitch, Frank. It makes you feel like a bitch.”
Frank instantly and angrily responds, "And what do I do when I’m made to feel like a bitch, Lacey?”
A tear runs down her cheek as she timidly begs him to calm down: "Please, Frank. Go take a seat in the living room, have a beer, turn on the TV, and relax while I find your gear.”
Frank stared at her coldly until Lacey doubled down on pleading. "Please?!”
Frank imminent meltdown was least temporarily avoided and cooled from a roiling boil, but his face wears a sickening, victorious smirk as he coughs out a sarcastic response.
“How sweet of you, dear. Yeah, that’d be lovely.”
Frank swiftly exited the room leaving the closet in utter disarray after his wild, floor-level search turned up nothing. Lacey stepped into the closet, paused for a moment to regain her composure, and proceeded to glance up to the shelf immediately above her head to see a box with an obvious label that reads: Frank’s Gear: 2 complete/coordinated sets of boots, elbow and knee pads, and trunks; 1 left knee brace; and various unsold merch. Lacey immediately put her head in her hands and sobbed.
The couple had unpacked so many boxes since moving back to Frank’s native Detroit. It had been a rough past few years. Frank was wrestling random indy matches night after night just trying to be seen by the right people. Tour after tour of the rust belt and the greater midwest region had worn Frank down to nothing. He was wrestling in bars, middle school gyms, and shithole clubs, the kinds of places where the HVAC ductwork hung low enough that there was a legitimate possibility that a simple vertical suplex would potentially bring the whole damn system down. Frank had done his time working rooms where he knew exactly what the gate was because he could count attendance using both of his hands.
In the weeks immediately after Frank decided to give up on the vague idea of making it in the wrestling business, the opportunity to sign with Trinity reared its head. For most couples, a thing like this would mean sitting down at the table and having a conversation about desires and needs, about bills and obligations, and about how such a monumental change might affect the Lowe Family. But Frank would be damned if that’s how he and Lacey would make decisions. Hell, Frank made certain that when it came to decisions that affected the couple, there would be no Frank and Lacey decisions; they’d all be "Frank decisions, damnnit!”
It was solely Frank’s decision to hang up - rather, box up - his boots, it was solely Frank’s decision to move the family back to his hometown of Detroit, it was solely Frank’s decision which home they would buy upon moving, and it was solely Frank’s decision to go back on all of his previous decisions to sign a contract with Trinity and to take Lacey on the road as his manager/valet whether she wanted to live the road life or not.
Afterall, if Frank had said it once, he’d said it a thousand times: "Lowe Family decisions are for Lowe men to make!”
In the living room, Frank’s biggest decision at hand was whether to watch Sportscenter or a show about manly guys making swords from scratch. He opted for the former only to find the anchors discussing the dire projections for the impending NFL season of Frank’s hometown Detroit Lions. His face soured, and he reconsidered his options before turning the television to Forged In Fire.
Frank’s first beer had not remained full long enough to even develop condensation on the can, but he cracked open his second beer as the host introduced each of the show’s contestant blacksmiths. Frank looked content as the introductions revealed three men from various parts of the country, but as the fourth contestant - Amanda from just outside of Portland, OR - appeared on screen, Frank recoiled in revulsion.
He yelled out to no one in particular, “What the fuck has this world come to?! A lady blacksmith?! What’s next? A president on the fucking rag?! America is beyond saving.”
Lacey heard the outburst from the living room and immediately recomposed herself using a mirror in the bedroom. She let out a deep sigh before walking out to the living room to check on Frank.
“Is everything ok?” she asked quietly.
“No! Look at this bullshit! Can you believe it?!”
“I… I don’t see…”
“You don’t see what? A problem? You don’t see a problem?! What, are you stupid or just blind?”
Lacey’s voice was weak, but she retorted, “She’s just following her passion.”
Frank’s eyes lit on fire with anger, and he tore into his wife, “Her passion?! Her passion should be in her HOME with her FAMILY! Leave this hard work to men like it should be!”
Frank stewed on his anger for a beat before needling Lacey about something else.
“Did you find my gear?” he snarled.
“Oh, uh, yes. It was…”
Frank interrupted her. “I didn’t ask you where it was. I just wanted to know if you found my shit.”
Frank took a long chugging drink from his beer as the silence became pregnant with awkwardness and he broke it with a barked command. “Well, what are you standin’ here for? Go get my gear and pack our damn bags! We fly out in the morning. Don’t forget you have to look like a million bucks.” Frank paused for a second, letting a softer side of himself shine through. “That shouldn’t be too hard, right, Lace? Afterall, you’re the best damn looking woman and you’ll be on the arm of the realest damn man in the world.”
Frank followed his compliment with a playful swat on Lacey’s ass, and she smiled as she turned to take care of the couple’s packing.