The Woman I Remember - Printable Version

Jenny washes her hands and watches the water disappear down the drain. Airport bathrooms all look the same. Same dull tile. Same fluorescent lights. Same mirrors that somehow make everyone look a little more tired than they really are.

Leap of Faith is waiting for her at the other end of the flight.

So is the Anarchy Championship.

Jenny stepped onto the jet bridge, backpack slung over one shoulder, boarding pass folded between two fingers. About twenty feet ahead stood a little girl no older than eight. Cat ears sat on top of her head. Around her waist was a foam replica XWF Anarchy Championship belt nearly as wide as her torso. She proudly marched down the jet bridge like she was headlining.

Jenny stopped walking.

Blink.

Blink.

The child's father looked exhausted. The mother was filming the entire thing.

The kid raised both arms.

"LOOK MOM! I'M THE CHAMPION!"

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[Image: cbf61c16-701c-4d12-8e0e-5bc11ef9b6a6.png]

Cat ears. Championship belt. Complete confidence. Absolutely ridiculous. The little girl strutted forward another few feet. Jenny's lips twitched. Not because she was being mean. Well. Not entirely. Because the kid looked happy. The happiest person in the entire airport. And that somehow made it worse.

One week.

One match.

One championship opportunity.

And now every time she thought about the Anarchy Title, all she could picture was cat ears and a toy belt disappearing down the jet bridge.

Maybe that was the problem. Everybody was always so damn negative.

You lose one match? You're washed.

Win one match? It was luck.

Get an opportunity? You didn't earn it.

Miss an opportunity? You never deserved it.

Nobody ever seemed happy unless they were tearing somebody else apart.

The funny thing was Jenny wasn't innocent either. Hell, she practically had a doctorate in finding the worst possible interpretation of any situation. It was easier that way. Easier to expect disappointment than risk being surprised. Easier to laugh at something than admit maybe it mattered. Yet that kid hadn't cared about any of that. She wasn't worried whether the belt was real. She wasn't worried whether somebody online thought the cat ears looked stupid. She wasn't worried about rankings, records, politics, opinions, criticism, or whether someone else thought she belonged. For thirty seconds inside an airport jet bridge, she was a champion because she believed she was. And somehow that confidence made the entire world around her feel lighter. Jenny shook her head as she continued walking.

Maybe real anarchy was freedom. Freedom from all the people constantly telling you what you should be. Freedom from every miserable voice waiting to explain why something won't work. Freedom from carrying every loss like a cinder block around your neck. The little girl wasn't pretending to be somebody else. She wasn't apologizing for what made her happy. She wasn't asking permission. She just was. Jenny adjusted the backpack strap on her shoulder and smirked. Maybe a positive attitude couldn't change the world. But maybe it could change a career. And maybe that was enough.

"So many people want to point out the negatives! They're so negative! A loss to this person or that person. "Oh, Game Girl gotcha!" "Oh, Sammy D did ya dirty!" "Oh Dickie Watson shoved it in your ass". Great. Let them talk, because the more they bring up the more attention I get.

Why scream to the heavens for attention like a PICK ME when they PICK ME for me?

You know, the funny thing is... ... I don't actually know who Miss Furry is. I knew Miss FURY. And Miss. Fury? She used to play with fire. She walked into rooms looking for gasoline. She picked fights she didn't have to pick. She made enemies because she enjoyed the sound of the match striking.

I remember her.

Hell, before I left, Miss. Fury wanted me standing beside her. Wanted me chasing tag team gold with her. Wanted me in her corner. Thought it would be a nifty idea.

This isn't the woman I remember. This looks like somebody trying to remember her. Maybe that's unfair. Maybe beneath the cat ears and the mask and whatever identity crisis PetSmart is sponsoring this week, Ms. Fury is still in there somewhere. Maybe. Maybe it's a different bitch completely who just happens to like cats enough to make it her wrestling persona. Who knows?

But when I look at you, I don't see danger. I don't see the woman who wanted to burn the world down. I see somebody wearing a Halloween costume of somebody who used to matter. And that's not an insult.

See, that's the part you're expecting.

You want me to laugh at the ears.

You want me to make cat jokes.

You want me to tell everyone how ridiculous you look.

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Because if I'm laughing at the costume, then nobody has to ask why you're hiding behind it. Nobody has to ask what happened. Nobody has to ask when Ms. Fury became Miss Furry. Those are much scarier questions. Because costumes aren't usually about becoming something new. They're about escaping something old. And maybe that's what this is. Maybe the woman who wanted tag titles, wanted wars, wanted chaos, got tired. Maybe life happened. Maybe disappointment happened. Maybe failure happened. Maybe she looked in the mirror one day and decided it'd be easier to become a character than confront the person staring back.

I don't know.

Only you know that answer.

But I do know this.

The woman I remember didn't need cat ears to get attention. The woman I remember didn't need a mask to stand out. The woman I remember was already enough. Which is why this whole thing makes me kind of sad. Because underneath all of that all of that makeup, all of that performance...

I still think Ms. Fury is in there.

The question is whether you've buried her... like a fresh turd in a human sized litter box, or whether you're afraid she'll come back and see me as Anarchy Champion."