by Jacek Blaszkiewicz
This Sunday. Summer Splash. Falls count anywhere, for my Freakiest possession, the Interstate Championship, against Ypsilanti Joe—and Joe, falls count anywhere means there is nowhere in this world you can hide from me. They say all men are created equal. But you look at me and you look at Joe and you can see that statement is not true. See, normally, if you leave a man, he’s got a 50/50 shot of getting over it. But I’m not normal. I’m a Superfreak of big feelings, so my chances of getting over him drop to 12 percent. AT BEST. Now you add five-time Tag Champ Bully Big Dog to the mix—Bully’s due for her Kennel Cough shot, Joe, don’t forget again—and my chances of being fine drastically go down. Subtract the tea towels from that Sunday market in Cinque Terre and the one good skillet, 100 percent of the good skillets, gone, and you get a number so far in the depression hole they haven’t even named it. But then you add my 641 undefeated days, and I got a 141 and two-thirds percent chance of still being a Superfreak about this at 3 a.m. The numbers don’t lie, Joe. You want my Interstate gold, Ypsilanti Joe? You’re going to have to take it from me, like you took everything else. You could’ve had it all, Joe. A ring on your finger. A tag team champion by your side. But you had to throw it all away. For what, Joe? Bragging rights? A leg up with the boss? That jabroni from apartment 3D? It’s over, Joe. It’s over for you this Sunday at Summer Splash. I will drag you through every inch of the Downriver Convention Center. The parking lot. The boiler room. The tile floor of that below-market, one-butt kitchen. In front of the Door Dash guy. 641 days, Joe. It was a Tuesday. You whispered “I love you too” then paused, like you wanted to walk it back, to put your foot on the ropes, but couldn’t. I won this belt in a Ladder Match, Joe. When you lost us those tag titles. I know what it feels like to be left hanging. So let me break it down for all the freaks in the Southfield High School Gymnasium tonight. Would you rather have a shot at the belt? Or would you rather be with a champion who was undefeated until you came along, whose heart is now pinned 1, 2, 3? I know you’re not coming out, Ypsilanti Joe. All these freaks know you’re not coming out. Your music ain’t hitting. You made your choice, Joe. And that’s why I’m putting my Interstate Championship on the line—right here, tonight, in front of all you freaks, against the first man that walks down that ramp. Could be Bully Big Dog. Could be Downriver Dale. Could be the guy with the Maltese from 3C. I don’t care. And do all you fools know why?
Because I came out. Because I’m the one wearing the belt. Because I won. Now somebody tell me what I won.
Jacek Blaszkiewicz’s work appears in Gargoyle, Exacting Clam, Twin Flame Literary, Argyle, Midcult*, virgo venus press, and various academic venues. Instagram: jack.blaszkiewicz