Still waiting (3)
Giles had ice on his knees when Brett came to visit. Giles’s second main event in AWC had taken a toll on both his body and mind – two losses in as many main events against the highest competition in the club. He had shown resilience in battle, but, he was starting to get the impression that wins weren’t going to come easy. Tired and bruised, he was hoping to redeem himself come that week’s Fresh!; however, there were other things that needed his attention that had nothing to do with wrestling. There wasn’t much in Giles’s flat. It lacked a television and a computer. There was a bed, two tables, a makeshift kitchen. Normally, Giles could be found in the corner where he had set up a workout station; on this day, however, he didn’t have enough energy to get on the treadmill so he was on the couch, head back, with two packs of ice on his knees. Not being very familiar with Giles, Brett was reluctant to come inside. The first knock had no response; the second, Giles reluctantly answered. Brett came inside. Brett knew Giles through their mutual acquaintance, Danny, who Giles knew through Frank. With Frank gone, all three of them had been faced with changes: Giles, at the time, was planting the seeds for his developing career; Danny, thereafter, had started hanging out with a crew that sought trouble; consequently, Brett was left without a friend and seeking help from Giles. Slightly uncomfortable around people, Brett didn’t know how to approach Giles. After being at the wrong end of a confrontation with Danny, Brett was sporting a black eye and sore ribs. To Giles, they were noticeable, and upon Brett’s entrance Giles mentioned it immediately. Having worked as a trainer for over ten years, Giles could spot injuries; he could even tell when someone was trying to hide one. And Brett was. “Hurt your ribs?” It was a statement, not a question, but Giles’s casualness indicated otherwise. Brett nodded, somberly, but didn’t say anything. “Get into a fight?” Brett nodded again. Giles shifted in his seat and moved the ice bags higher on his thighs. “Somebody I know, I’m guessing.” “What are you, a mindreader?” Giles shook his head and put his foot up on the table, rubbing his knee. “You don’t have to be a mindreader to tell when something’s wrong.” Brett grinned. “Isn’t that how it always is?” Giles shrugged. “Sometimes it seems that way.” “Seems?” Giles thought about it for a second. “Nevermind. If something’s wrong, I guess you need to fix it, right? Brett hesitated, avoiding eye contact with Giles. Giles spoke first: “You can sit, you know.” He sat down and put his elbows on his knees, hands together, then said, abruptly, “I was kinda hopin’ that you could fix it.” Giles grinned. “What do I look like, a miracle worker?” He picked up his ice bags and put them back on his knees. “As you can tell, I’m not much of a ‘fixer’ right now, if that’s the kind of ‘fixing’ you want me to do.” “You really think I’d ask you to go fight my battles?” Brett asked, incredulous. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” observed Giles. Brett scoffed in frustration. “Listen, it’s about Danny. He’s off the rails, man. Hanging out with the wrong crowd, doing the wrong shit. And you’re the only one that can make him come to his senses.” Giles was quiet for a second. He thought back to the last time he spoke to Danny and couldn’t remember. It was Frank’s funeral and they had exchanged words, briefly, but it had not gone well. Giles suspected that Danny thought that he had let him down, but they hadn’t talked enough for Giles to even know. Giles got up and headed for the kitchen area. “Danny’s a good kid with a good head on his shoulders. He can look after himself.” He paused but continued to walk. “Want anything to drink?” Brett shook his head. “You don’t understand –“ Giles looked at him. “I mean … yeah. Do you have beer?” Giles nodded. Some time passed and Giles brought back two bottles of Blue that had been in his fridge for three months. He rarely had anything to drink at home. Brett took a swig. “Thanks.” He paused, then continued., “Look, I don’t mean to be a hot-head, but Danny needs help. Your help.” Giles took a swig of his own. “Your assuming that I have some special ability to help Danny. I assure you that I don’t.” He was tempted to say that he could barely take care of himself, but he let that thought pass. Brett was persistent. “You don’t know these guys like I do. They’re leading him down the wrong path.” Giles took another sip and thought about it. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do.” Brett was taken aback. “You will? That’s it?” Giles nodded. “So you’re going to talk to him about it?” “I said I’ll see what I can do,” Giles responded. Brett figured he wouldn’t push his luck. Giles told him that he had other things to do, so Brett left the apartment. Giles put the ice back on his knees and leaned back into the couch. For once, Natalie was home from work early. Jessica would be getting home from school, soon, and Natalie had enough time to get supper ready early. Being a “single” mother, Natalie naturally found her domestic duties to be soul-sucking, but, as a parent, they were utterly necessary. She sometimes wished that they lived with Giles so he could contribute more, but then she realized that was nonsense because he could never be around anyway. Right on schedule, Jessica stormed through the door. She set her backpack down on the ground and seemed surprised to see her Natalie there. “What are you doing, Mom?” Natalie smiled. “What, a mother can’t cook her own daughter supper?” “I – I thought that you wouldn’t be home from work …” “Got off early today. Home in time to make you supper! It’s been too long.” She seemed cheery about the whole thing, but to Jessica, a sharp 13-year-old, it seemed superficial. “Well, I hate to have to do this, but I sorta made plans to go out with Taylor,” Jessica mused, trying to avoid eye contact. Natalie smiled again. “That’s fine. You can go as soon as we’re done eating.” Jessica hesitated. “But she’s waiting for me outside ...” “Well, tell her to come in and eat with us. It’s not a big deal.” Natalie’s tone was less cheery. Less forgiving. “But her parents are driving …” “Fine.” Natalie said shortly, then regained her composure. “Have fun, dear,” she said, ever-so sweetly. Jessica was unconvinced and her expression was one of a guilt-ridden child, but, leaving her backpack on the floor, she left the house in a hurry. “So, what’s been on your mind, Trav? I feel like we haven’t talked in forever.” Giles thought about Mike’s question for a second then took a sip of his own drink. “Not much.” Mike frowned. “How’s Natalie?” “Doing great, I guess.” Giles took another drink. “What about that Danny kid that you always used to talk about?” Giles hesitated. “He’s fine.” He finished his drink and pushed a bill towards Mike. “I’ll see you later, Mike.” Mike looked in disbelief at Giles. A look of disappointment crossed his face as he grabbed the bill and put it in his pocket. It was as if they had just met.
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Giles was in the bar, now, and he hadn’t phoned Danny or Natalie since he last got back to town. His friend and bartender, Mike, sat across from him and they each had a glass full of ice and liquid.
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