Mommy Dearest

Have you ever been on a nice drive through the good part of town while visiting Indianapolis, Indiana? Even if you haven’t, you can surely imagine the flourishing suburbs as you pass by houses, assuming that they belong to doctors or lawyers. Perhaps you make your way to the business district, where family-owned and operated stores are thriving, seemingly untouched by a questionable economy. Of course there is the entertainment district as well, filled with bars, restaurants, and clubs, just within walking distance of the stadiums and arenas where the city’s sports teams compete.

The warehouse-turned-gym owned by obscure 1980’s journeyman, Doctor Dalton Miyagi, is not located within those parts of the city. Its non-descript exterior can be spotted alongside abandoned buildings and vacant factories. Rusted-out vehicles dot the littered street, as random strangers wander about, clutching bottles wrapped in brown paper sacks or pushing abandoned shopping carts. It’s not the kind of neighborhood one would expect to see a limousine driving through, let alone parked alongside the curb, and yet if you were to find yourself in this part of the city at this particular time, one such luxurious black vehicle would certainly grab your attention.

The middle-aged woman with an obvious taste for designer clothes who exits the vehicle, has a look of disgust upon her face, as if finding herself in such a neighborhood assaults her very soul. With a wide-brimmed hat and dark glasses, one may assume that she would prefer not to be recognized. After all, why would a United States Senator want to be seen in such a neighborhood unless it was for an organized publicity stunt? That is not what has brought Margaret Carmichael to Miyagi’s gym this morning, for her reasons are more personal and private in nature. She’s had her driver deliver her to this exact spot so that she can pay a rare visit to her estranged son, Nathaniel Demetrius Darling.

Inside of the gym, the young man in question is getting in a morning workout, not uncommon when one considers his drive to achieve the highest peaks in his chosen profession. Known to the world at large, or at least the percentage of the world that follows professional wrestling, as Indy Darling, he is a dedicated competitor in the midst of his rookie year. His fanbase has grown by leaps and bounds since his first appearance on a mainstream stage in late 2020, and while he has suffered more losses than wins, he has also been able to capture championship gold, a prize that eludes many of his more tenured peers.

Wearing a sleeveless hooded sweatshirt and sweatpants, it becomes clear that Indy has been engaged in his workout for some time already, as his short strawberry-blonde hair is wet with perspiration. His focus on training notwithstanding, he is surprised to notice the sound of the gym’s main door open and close. He scoops a remote off the canvas of his practice ring to pause his workout playlist, and watches as his unexpected visitor reveals their presence. Upon seeing his mother strut into the gym, Indy experiences a mix of disappointment and dread. His mother remains either unaware or unconcerned of his feelings, as she marches to the ringside area with a sense of purpose.

“I see you haven’t been able to add any charm to this dump since my last visit.”

Indy ignores his mother’s comment as he reluctantly rolls under the bottom rope, mentally preparing himself to deal with her interruption as quickly as possible so he can return to his workout.

“I’ll never understand why you lower yourself to...this. It makes one wonder if being a loser is genetically inherited.”

“Well, you are my mother…”

“I was speaking about your deadbeat sperm-donor and we both know it.”

Indy picks up a towel to wipe the sweat from his brow, ignoring the insult directed toward his late father, knowing that nothing he could ever say would change his mother’s opinion.

“Just cut to the chase. I’m sure you have lives to ruin or bribes to take…”

He tosses the towel over his shoulder and leans back against the ring apron, watching as Margaret continues to look around the gym with disgust.

“I must admit that I’m somewhat impressed by your determination. I expected you to fail when you were signed to work for a legitimate wrestling organization, and even though I was right, you continued to stick with it. Now, word has it that you’re branching out. Wrestle World is it?”

Indy reaches over to pick up the blue aviators that once belonged to his father and places them over his eyes, not due to the brightness from the lights above, but because he silently hopes that having a piece of his father close to him will give him the patience to deal with Margaret Carmichael.

“Still having your minions keep tabs on me? Don’t you have anything more important to do?”

“Actually, this couldn’t be more important…”

Senator Carmichael brings her gaze upon Indy, her spiteful glare visible through her own dark glasses.

“November’s election was dangerously close, and having word leak out that I have a son who makes his living rolling around in tights with other men didn’t do me any favors. Your national exposure is becoming problematic, and now that you’re branching out, I expect it to only get worse. That’s why I’ve decided to put an end to your ridiculous adolescent fantasy once and for all.”

As his mother begins to dig through the bag hanging over her shoulder, Indy seriously considers the possibility that she may very well pull out a gun and shoot him dead. While the idea comes with its share of concern, he also finds it preferable to enduring further conversation. Yet instead of a gun, Indy watches his mother produce a simple piece of paper. She holds it toward Indy expectantly, and when he doesn’t immediately reach out to take it, she waves it impatiently.

“What is it?”

“It’s blank is what it is. I’m assuming even your little mind can come up with a suitable number.”

Somewhat confused, Indy finally reaches out to take the piece of paper in his hand. Briefly looking it over, he realizes that it is in fact, a blank check.

“Are you...trying to pay me off?”

Senator Carmichael looks away again, as if such accusations are beneath her willing attention.

“Call it overdue allowance. Call it early retirement. Call it whatever you want, as long as it’s enough to get you out of that repulsive business once and for all. I won’t even complain if you come up with a number that helps you move out of the country. Go visit your father’s dysfunctional family in England for all I care.”

Indy’s eyes travel from his mother’s emotionless face to the blank check in his hand. As anyone would, he instantly starts to think of the number he could write upon it. Then he considers what number it would take to make him forget all that he’s learned and achieved. He wonders what it would take to give up on the only dream he’s ever had. How much money would be needed to not only bury his father’s legacy, but to close the door on those countless life lessons shared while traveling from one town to the next? How much is one man’s future worth? His passion? His destiny? His soul?

As these thoughts pass through Indy’s mind, he slowly closes his hand around the check until it is wadded up within his fist. Then, without a second thought, he flings it back toward his mother. The crumpled check bounces off the tip of her nose and falls to the floor, forcing Senator Carmichael’s grimace to intensify.

“You stupid little shit. You’re as dumb as your father ever was. You could have paid off your trainer’s mounting medical bills with that. You could have started a new life. You could have started to be something other than a loser chasing a dead man’s dream.”

Senator Carmichael breaks her glare long enough to bend over so that she can grab the check off the dirty gym floor. For a split second, Indy considers taking advantage of the moment to hit his mother with a DDT, but ultimately decides that assaulting an elected government official would not be in his best interests. Margaret straightens back up and shoves the check into her bag, once again looking upon her son with complete disdain.

“Even being dead for ten years, dad still has more honor and compassion in his little finger than you’ll ever have.”

She smirks at Indy in response, and it is not the kind of smile meant to comfort or reassure her only child.

“Don’t expect that offer to ever come again. Even if you are homeless and starving, I won’t offer you a dime. Not even if you beg. And before everything is all said and done...you will beg.”

Senator Carmichael does not wait for Indy’s response as she spins on her heels and marches back toward the gym entrance. He watches her leave with an uninterested expression, internally happy that her visit has come to an end.

“Always love our little talks, mom! Try not to get impeached on the ride back across town!”

The slamming door is all Indy hears in response, but it manages to bring a smile to his face. After a few moments, he rolls back under the bottom rope, determined to finish his morning routine. Meanwhile, outside of the gym, Senator Carmichael is greeted by her driver as he opens the limo door. She wastes no time in entering the vehicle, digging through her bag as she takes her seat. Seconds later, she produces a cell phone and begins to make a call as the limo door is closed behind her.

“He refused, just like I thought he would…no, I’m done trying to reason with him…just make the other offer…the one we discussed…And make it discreet…”

Margaret wastes no time with a formal goodbye as she pulls the phone away from her face and hurls it back into her bag. She then turns to take one final look at the decrepit gym as her driver pulls the car away from the curb, and with a gleam of pure evil in her eyes, she smiles with confidence.