The hall of the hospital was very cold.
Jey was sitting on a hard plastic chair, looking at the white square tiles on the floor. He was wearing his black trunks and kickpads. He hadn’t taken the time to change in the locker room. He had not even picked up his gym bag or towel. There had been no time for any of that.
All the roar of the crowd had been replaced by a relentless, irritating buzz from the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. There was no scent of the arena anymore, just the pungent chemical odor of alcohol and bleach.
He hugged himself and shivered a little. By now the adrenaline of the game had left him. There was only the dull pain in his ribs, a rough reminder of his debut’s physical burden. But that was just physical pain, the weight that was sitting on his chest was a whole other level.
Staff wearing blue and green uniforms walked past him. None made eye contact with the young wrestler. Other emergencies were occupying their time, a lot of other families having the worst nights of their lives.
Jey felt nothing could be worse than the moment his father hit the padded floor outside the ring. Time had come to a standstill for him.
Finally, a doctor in a white coat appeared at the end of the long hall through a set of double doors. He was rubbing his nose and looking at his clipboard, which seemed to have a lot of stuff on it.
Jey stood up right away, but his bruised muscles protested.
From his papers, the doctor asked, "Are you the family of Lee Ray?"
"I’m his son," Jey said. His voice was hoarse and scratchy from the panic that ensued after the match.
The doctor said simply, "He’s stable for the time being. The words provided a small ray of hope. "It was a heart attack called a severe myocardial infarction, he is in a really delicate situation because he is so old, and because of all the physical stress his body has been under for years."
"Can I see him?" Jey asked quickly, taking a step forward.
The doctor slowly nodded. "Your mother is already there with him. He doesn’t have much strength to spare, please try to keep the room calm."
Jey didn’t wait for another word or an escort. He ran down the corridor, brushing his bare shoulders against the painted walls. Although it was only a few steps down the hall, Room 412 seemed a long ways away.
He forced the thick door open.
The light in the hospital room was very dim. All that could be heard in the room was the beeping of the heart monitor and the steady sounds of an oxygen machine.
The legend was in the middle of the room, on a narrow hospital bed. The man who had wrestled in steel cages, fought in three continents was now looking like a terrifyingly small man. The intense spirit that invariably surrounded Lee Ray had vanished. He looked fragile.
Linda was seated next to the bed.
She hadn’t been at the arena. She never came to the live matches anymore. She had seen enough violence and injury in her lifetime to last a hundred years. Now she was holding her husband’s big, rough hand in both of her hands. Her face was stained with tears, and her eyes were red and puffy from crying.
Jey stepped into the room, closed the door behind him and turned to his mother, "Mom," he whispered.
Linda looked over her shoulder. She studied Jey, who was laced with bruised ribs, the red handprint that was still visible on his chest, and the dried sweat on his forehead. She was not angry at him, but she was sad to the deepest depths of her soul.
"Oh Jey," she cried, her voice trembling with emotion.
Jey went to the other side of the bed. He looked down on his father. Lee Ray had his eyes closed. He had such shallow breathing. A plastic tube was taped underneath his nose to provide him with the proper amount of oxygen to breathe.
"Will he be all right?" Jey asked, but he knew the answer. The doctor’s grim face had said it out in the hallway.
"No...yes...I don’t know, Jey" Linda answered softly. She came down to her knees to touch his face and brushed some gray hair away from Lee Ray’s forehead. "I hope he’s fighting. He fights all the time. But this time... I’m not sure"
A huge lump grew in Jey’s throat. He extended his arm and touched his father’s arm. The skin was extremely cold.
"It was my fault," Jey said, looking down at the floor tiles. "It was probably too exciting, the match, if I hadn’t pushed him to be there...he hadn’t been near a ring in a long time."
Linda firmly shook her husband’s hand, "Stop it! Don’t blame yourself for him, he’s had a poor man’s heart for years now, he didn’t listen to anyone telling him to slow down his life, he didn’t listen to me, all I know is that he wanted to be there tonight for you more than anything."
The loud thud outside the wooden door of the hospital room caught everyone off guard.
The sudden noise made Jey flinch. He turned around to face the person intruding on a family moment.
Standing in the doorway was Billy.
Jey’s older brother. They were five years apart in age, and their relationship was now cut off. Billy was wearing a worn out leather jacket and a cheap graphically printed t-shirt. His posture was always crooked with a right knee that was three times surgically repaired and still could not bend right.
He had been pursuing the family legacy first, and had spent six miserable years toiling on the bottom of the independent circuit. He had worked his body for two dollars an hour, and had come to realize that he didn’t have the most important thing his father had...natural talent.
He was wounded, angry, and had a bitter, festering grudge against Jey for being able to have the very gifts he couldn’t.
Billy walked into the room, his eyes darted quickly from the beeping heart monitor to his mother, and finally settled firmly on Jey. He frowned and his expression became harsh.
"Look at you!" He spoke softly, but with deadly venom. "Still in your gear."
"Not now, Billy," Jey replied, his bare shoulders squaring up for a confrontation. The pain in his ribs suddenly became very strong, but he did not pay attention to it.
"Why not now?" Billy was taking another bold, lop-sided stride. With a scarred and crooked finger, he pointed at the hospital bed. "This is what this fucking business brings us, I tore my fucking joints in order to carry this name, and he never gave a shit, but you had to have your special moment, didn’t you? An old man with a damaged heart couldn’t simply stay away from that filthy arena, huh? You had to bring him back."
Jey replied, "He wanted to be there," as he walked to the center of the room to join his older brother. "He was proud of me."
"Proud of you?" Billy let out a snorty, hollow noise. "He felt he had to go and he went, because he couldn’t bear the idea of his golden boy being dropped on his neck without a father by his side on opening night, you wanted the attention and this was the price."
Jey’s fists were clenched at his sides. He was tired. He was physically battered. However, the rage was all too fierce, and it rose quickly from his heart. He wanted to swing. He wanted to give his brother a good right hook to shut him up.
"Say another word, I dare you." Jey hissed.
"Or what?" Billy sneered, giving Jey the contemptuous look. "You’re going to take a swing at me? You think you’re tough cause you beat your opponent on your debut? There’s no referees here, Jey. Remember how I always wooped your ass. You little selfish idiot that pushed our father to his death bed."
"Boys! Stop it!" Linda jumped to her feet, holding herself between her two sons. "No! This thing of yours will not occur in this room! If you’re going to tear each other apart, do it out of here! Not near him."
Jey slowly unclenched his fists. He took a deep breath, backing away from his mother to give her some space. He simply couldn’t do this to her. Not this night of nights.
Billy’s face hardened into a harsh expression, and he gave his little brother one last cold, disapproving look. "You’re a joke, Jey, you will never be him, he’s paying the price for you trying to be."
Billy passed them and gazed at his father with a complex mix of deep sadness and great unresolved resentment.
The room in the hospital became silent again. There was only the sound of the mechanical beep of the heart monitor. The minutes turned into hours. Jey made his way to a chair, and he sat down on the other side of the bed from his mother.
He was watching his father’s face in every detail, looking for every sign of life, for some muscle movement.
It was almost an endless night. The outside of the hospital window was dark signalling night. Jey’s eyelids became very heavy. He was being dragged into sleep by the fatigue of the wrestling match and the huge emotional downpour. He resisted it at all times, blinking fast, not closing his eyes for anything more than a second.
The heart monitor’s beat suddenly switched rhythm.
It was not a flat-line, but the beep started to get all crazy. It accelerated quickly, and slowed down to a trickle.
In his plastic chair, Jey sat up straight. Linda puffed out her cheeks, her husband’s hand in her hand. Even Billy came to the bed’s foot and for a split second his face broke into a frown.
Lee Ray’s eyelids fluttered.
It was a very slow and painful process, but the wrestling legend slowly began to open his eyes. At first, they were murky and totally out of focus, gazing at the acoustic ceiling tiles.
"Dad?" Jey leaned up against the bed rail.
Lee Ray slowly twisted his head on the pillow. At the foot of the bed he was looking at something other than Billy. He really didn’t seem to notice that his eldest son was there with them. His eyes were drawn to Linda. He gave her a feeble, faint smile. It was a smile of regret for all the years of concern he had caused her.
Next, his eyes focused on Jey.
The thick fog in Lee Ray’s eyes cleared for just a fleeting moment. The fearsome gaze of the great champion was restored. It was the same facial expression he had given Jey right before his finishing move.
Lee Ray opened his mouth. His lips quivered a little. He made a valiant effort to speak, but the only sound that emerged from him was a dry rasp in the quiet room.
Jey moved in closer, his ear to his father’s mouth. "I’m here, Dad. I’m right here."
Lee Ray raised his free hand off the mattress. This was a slow and painful movement for him. He put his thick, calloused hand against Jey’s cheek. It was a weak grip, nothing like the iron grip he was known for.
Billy’s eyes widen and his jaw clench as he watched intently from the foot of the bed. He was completely deprived of the intimate moment.
Lee Ray breathed in a shallow breath. He took a long, deep look into Jey’s eyes, beyond the bruises he could see and the dried sweat, and into his soul.
"Only wrestle if you love wrestling." He said.