Post by Buck U Productions on Apr 5, 2016 20:03:26 GMT
I let out a long sigh as I entered the cemetery. My family had encouraged me to come see her when I had been in Montreal for “Poutines and Planchas” but I kept putting it off. The reality of the situation was that I was scared. I had been in a dark place for so long that I feared that coming to see her would drag me back there. There was so much anger still left inside me, so much fear.
My right hand, holding the bouquet of flowers, wouldn’t stop shaking as I approached her grave. Not for the first time did I find myself wishing that Charlie could have made the trip with me but the ambassador, I refused to think of him as my father, was keeping her busy doing Embassy business. Not for the first time since I jumped on the plane to fly here to Montreal did I start thinking that maybe he was hoping this trip would cause me to lose control. He would never admit it but Holly told me that he preferred the psychotic El Tigre de Jengibre to the much less crazy Eli Buchanan, better known as Tiger Mask Red.
Letting out one last sigh, I kneeled down next to her headstone, wiped it clean and read the inscription.
NICOLE CLAIRE FLYNN BUCHANAN
04/06/1973-10/12/2002
Tears start flooding my eyes as I trace my finger through the letters and numbers. Aunt Marie and Uncle Pierre have done a great job of taking care of it. The inscription is still easy to read; like it was the day we buried her.
“Hi Mom, it’s your little tiger,” I say, the words sticking in my throat, “Happy birthday! Here, I brought you flowers.”
I place them in front of the head stone and begin weeping uncontrollably.
“I miss you, Mom! You’ve been gone for almost fourteen years but the pain won’t go away. I know I should have come sooner but I’ve been so messed up since I got back from Japan.
I take a few long breaths before I continue.
“Mom, I know that you tried to instill right from wrong in me; to always try to do what was right. I know Holly and I have probably broken your heart more than once over the last year or so and I’m a big enough man to admit that I can’t blame everything on the mental illness. So, here I am, asking you to forgive me for what I did and what I’m going to soon do.
“I tried doing what was right when I faced El Vainillo here a few weeks ago and I ended up losing. Mom, I can’t let that happen again. Not this time, not ever again. I know I promised you long ago that I would get justice for what he did but I need his help to get back the Supremo championship. This is going to sound selfish, so I don’t expect you to understand, but I need that title. It helps me stay focused and I’m able to keep from getting swallowed up by the darkness again.”
The sound of feet approaching causes me to turn my head and I see one of the Ambassador’s men approaching. He stops about ten feet away before addressing me.
“I’m sorry Mr. Buchanan, it’s time to go.”
I nod my head but don’t say anything. Let this boot licker wait a couple more minutes, I’ll go when I’m damn ready.
Bending close, I kiss the headstone and whisper, “I love you, Mom,” before standing up, walking over and kneeling near the one next to it.
“Hey Jacque, its Eli. Don’t worry Bro, I haven’t forgotten about you. Just wait a little longer and I promise that I will make that son of a bitch pay for what he did to you! I need him just a little bit longer, and then I’ll make sure he suffers. You have my word.”
I kiss my twin brother’s headstone and whisper, “I love you, Bro,” before finally standing up and walking away. As I pass him, I punch the Embassy agent in the stomach and keep walking. His groan of pain makes me chuckle as I pull out my headphones and put them in my ears. Soon the sweet sounds of Slash making his guitar sing drown everything out and I hum along to ”Sweet Child O’ Mine” as I make my way to the car.
Sometimes it’s good to be so bad.
My right hand, holding the bouquet of flowers, wouldn’t stop shaking as I approached her grave. Not for the first time did I find myself wishing that Charlie could have made the trip with me but the ambassador, I refused to think of him as my father, was keeping her busy doing Embassy business. Not for the first time since I jumped on the plane to fly here to Montreal did I start thinking that maybe he was hoping this trip would cause me to lose control. He would never admit it but Holly told me that he preferred the psychotic El Tigre de Jengibre to the much less crazy Eli Buchanan, better known as Tiger Mask Red.
Letting out one last sigh, I kneeled down next to her headstone, wiped it clean and read the inscription.
NICOLE CLAIRE FLYNN BUCHANAN
04/06/1973-10/12/2002
Tears start flooding my eyes as I trace my finger through the letters and numbers. Aunt Marie and Uncle Pierre have done a great job of taking care of it. The inscription is still easy to read; like it was the day we buried her.
“Hi Mom, it’s your little tiger,” I say, the words sticking in my throat, “Happy birthday! Here, I brought you flowers.”
I place them in front of the head stone and begin weeping uncontrollably.
“I miss you, Mom! You’ve been gone for almost fourteen years but the pain won’t go away. I know I should have come sooner but I’ve been so messed up since I got back from Japan.
I take a few long breaths before I continue.
“Mom, I know that you tried to instill right from wrong in me; to always try to do what was right. I know Holly and I have probably broken your heart more than once over the last year or so and I’m a big enough man to admit that I can’t blame everything on the mental illness. So, here I am, asking you to forgive me for what I did and what I’m going to soon do.
“I tried doing what was right when I faced El Vainillo here a few weeks ago and I ended up losing. Mom, I can’t let that happen again. Not this time, not ever again. I know I promised you long ago that I would get justice for what he did but I need his help to get back the Supremo championship. This is going to sound selfish, so I don’t expect you to understand, but I need that title. It helps me stay focused and I’m able to keep from getting swallowed up by the darkness again.”
The sound of feet approaching causes me to turn my head and I see one of the Ambassador’s men approaching. He stops about ten feet away before addressing me.
“I’m sorry Mr. Buchanan, it’s time to go.”
I nod my head but don’t say anything. Let this boot licker wait a couple more minutes, I’ll go when I’m damn ready.
Bending close, I kiss the headstone and whisper, “I love you, Mom,” before standing up, walking over and kneeling near the one next to it.
“Hey Jacque, its Eli. Don’t worry Bro, I haven’t forgotten about you. Just wait a little longer and I promise that I will make that son of a bitch pay for what he did to you! I need him just a little bit longer, and then I’ll make sure he suffers. You have my word.”
I kiss my twin brother’s headstone and whisper, “I love you, Bro,” before finally standing up and walking away. As I pass him, I punch the Embassy agent in the stomach and keep walking. His groan of pain makes me chuckle as I pull out my headphones and put them in my ears. Soon the sweet sounds of Slash making his guitar sing drown everything out and I hum along to ”Sweet Child O’ Mine” as I make my way to the car.
Sometimes it’s good to be so bad.