Vision Quest

Short fiction

Vision Quest

fastkilr 03-19-2006, 4:22 AM
Wrestling always came naturally to me. When I was out on the mat I forgot all pain, all distractions, all emotions. I never left anything on the mat. Right before a match my fears would subside and my nerves would tense. I'd feel naked in my singlet, in front of a large crowd. But these were the times when I felt most proud.

Coach James wrestled all through High School and some in College. At the beginning of the season, when I was still on Junior Varsity for the 160 weight class, Coach had little faith in my ability to perform on the mat. He held me in even less esteem on a personal level out of season. If I'd seen him around the School halls (he teaches Science), he'd often scoff at me.

Our Coach, James Russell, wrestled all throughout High School and had a short career in College. During the beginning of our season (when I was still on Junior Varsity for the 160-pound weight class), Coach had little faith in my abilities on the mat. He held me in even less esteem when we had chance encounters in the School halls. He took up teaching science only to find interest in once again emerging himself in Wrestling, by becoming our coach. But whenever I would pass by him, it seemed like I'd catch him scoffing at me.

But one day during practice he called me over while we were drilling technique.

"Bobby," he said, "do you want to challenge Arthur for the Varsity spot?"

"Yes Sir," I answered.

As practice drew to an end Arthur and I stepped into our own circle, the whole team watching us in amusement. He briefly shook my hand, displaying a great sense of faith in his facial expressions. Not long after we shook hands, he found himself pinned flat on his back. Although our match was short and unexpected Arthur carried a great deal of shame in consequence of that match. Our teammates talked a lot of trash about him afterwards. If I didn't feel so deserving of the Varsity singlet, I might have been mildly sympathetic for him. But I wasn't.

Before long I gained our Coach's respect and he was treating me more like a friend, rather than a stranger. Coach James's philosophy was one he carried over from his College Coach, who visited us during practices periodically, clearly impressed at our adaption of Greco-Roman techniques.

During the night of our first meet I had a gut feeling that things were going to start changing soon. My focus was set on jogging up and down a hallway, trying to shed a couple pounds so I could make weight. Once it was time for weigh-ins I stripped down to my briefs and found myself to be .5 lbs under 160. 'Thank God,' I thought, impressed that I could lose a couple pounds in such a short time.

As we warmed up, I noticed a crowd building in the bleachers. It grew louder and more diverse by the minute. 'Definitely not the same as Middle School Wrestling,' I thought. Speakers that hung up above the main mat played Red Rider's "Lunatic Fringe" which our team, The Red Riders, had adapted from the Wrestling film "Vision Quest."

My friend Jeremy was helping me with our partner warmup. Jeremy had light brown hair like mine and an indigent smile. He wrestled in the 145 lbs weight class. Pressing my stomach against his back, I spun around in circles holding my hands behind my back, straining my feet to spin me one way then the other, repeating the process for nearly a minute before we switched places. He was two years my senior, one year above me in grade. His stomach felt heavy on my back and I could barely hold his weight, curled up almost into a ball, my Varsity warmup zipper irritating my unshaven chin. Jeremy finished, heaving in an inhale, fighting for breath.

"To-night is the night," said Jeremy.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

He looked at me cross.

"It means that to-night's the night that you've got to prove yourself," he explained. "If you win your match, consider this your cordial invitation to one hell of an after party. That is, if we win the meet."

I found myself in the middle of a weight line in our schools auxiliary gym listening to an announcer in the main auditorium. Everyone in our room was quiet except for a couple Freshmen kids who'd find a lot to complain about in the next day's practice. The auditorium door swung open with a hefty muscled man behind it. He waved us forward and we walked single file behind the "home" set of bleachers. The room was very dark. Then a spotlight switched on, obscured from our view by the bleachers. Everyone seemed to be on their feet and the matches were announced. "For the 160-pound class we have Bobby Engels wrestling for Birch Wood High, and his opponent, Tony Blair, from Eastside High School." My stomach stiffened and the hair on my armed seemed as if it were standing on end inside my warmup suit. With some nerve, I jogged out into the middle of the mat, stood in what I considered to be an intimidating stance, and shook hands with my opponent.

Tony Blair had a very strong grip which I knew would work to his advantage. His eyes fell right underneath his eyebrows and he had his mouth closed for the duration of our meeting, but I assumed that he had bad teeth because of his rough lips. He nodded delicately to me and I returned the gesture. It felt good to feel respected. As I ran back to my team, Coach patted me on the back and shook my hand tightly. Our assistant Coaches stood out of the way.

After every upcoming match met in the center of the circle, the lights flashed on and the national anthem was sung by a lone cheerleader who was there with a rather large cheerleader friend, trying to support the Wrestling team. The former was pure eye candy.

The audience's veracity and sharp tone receded to a subtle growl as the first match began. A 103 lbs Tony Larson (of Birch Wood High School) successfully pinned his guy twenty seconds into the match. We all congratulated him with cheesy smiles. I didn't pay much attention to the other matches until the 145 weight class. When that match began, I stepped back behind our fold-out chairs and began jump roping. I shifted from my right to my left foot, pulling the jump rope around me over and over. After winning his match, Jeremy took seat in a chair and sat coolly, waiting to watch mine. My turn was almost up. I undressed quickly, leaving me in a singlet; leaving little to the imagination to the crowd. It had been a full year since I had competitively wrestled in front of an audience. Abruptly the 152 match ended. I was unsure of who the victor was when I made my way to the check in tables. I was much too focused on all sorts of moves I had planned to use the night before. Then I proceeded to the center of the mat. I was told by a very young British looking referee to wrap a red velcro marker around my right ankle.

Blair assumed his green ankle-decoration without direction. He held his hands on his hips, exposing the muscle which protruded from his forearms. It looked as if he was of great strength. I tried to rid myself of the idea that he was the stronger man, but I knew that Wrestling was always 50% technique, and 50% physical. "The smarter guy almost always wins," Coach once said to me. I nodded over to Coach James, got into Neutral position and at the sound of the Referee's whistle went shooting down first to my right knee, then followed through with my left, dragging it in tight and fast. I had successfully ducked underneath his arms and as he tried to sprawl, I quickly made to the left and got behind him, riding his legs on the ground. "Takedown. Two, Red!" announced the referee.

Once I got a lifted hold on his ankle I drove my knee right into his backside. He grunted forward and with little effort I had him on his side, moaning in agony, his arm interlocked with my own, a half nelson slung around his neck. Before even I came to the realization of my opportunity, I had already gotten the guy flat on his back. Within seconds the whistle re-sounded and I thought we were being called up to Neutral. At first I considered that I had probably fouled Blair, or maybe I had been stalling, but as the Referee raised my hand, a swelling prideful gasp of victory accidently emitted from my lips, almost like I was thanking the then ecstatic crowd. I shook hands with Eastside's Coach, who I didn't look in the face, then made my way back to be congratulated by my team.

We had won the meet thirty-nine to thirty-seven. If I hadn't won my match we would have lost. That gave me a great feeling of dignity as I met with Jeremy after we rolled up the mat. We were both on an energy high. After the team split up I got in his car and he drove me to his house despite my bickering and ordering that he take me to mine, or I'd walk home. Of course I wouldn't do so. It would have been a five mile walk. We entered his house and it was then that I had realized that his parents weren't home. Then I found many of our High School peers entering his door way, many with alcohol. At first I was scared to death. I had never drank anything in my life. Then Jeremy told me to relax, said he understood if I didn't drink, and proceeded to hand me a bottle of Bud Light. This feeling of friendly safety and reliability inspired me to drink. I got through five bottles easily and felt way too bloated afterwards. The whole varsity squad of the Wrestling team was there. There was no Arthur anywhere to be seen and here I was, a Freshmen, a beer in my hand, chatting up the cheerleader who I'd just been admiring at the meet. I certainly was reaping the rewards of our Team victory; my Vision Quest.

Re: Vision Quest

Jeremiah 05-11-2006, 7:39 PM
Well, first I feel like I should mention you have a paragraph that repeats, in a different form. The "Coach James wrestled all through..." paragraph, near the beginning.

Now, take all of this with a grain of salt, because I'm nothing special as a writer. You do have a story here, but I'm not getting the impression that this is the right way to get to it.

There's this long buildup, setting the stage, talking about the wrestling, and the punchline, the end, whatever, is this "and then I got drunk because of peer pressure" thing that's just depressing in a 'blah' kind of way.

And, having never seen Vision Quest, and never wrestled, I feel like I'm missing something important.

Re: Vision Quest

Page One 09-17-2006, 12:50 AM

When I was a freshman in high school, I had the opportunity to be

an assistant wrestling manager and it was a tough job. Interesting and

busy too. But one thing about wrestling that stuck out in my mind then

and now is that it isn't a team sport. It's all about the person in that certain

weight class, beating another trained person in that same weight class. It's

not a team sport like basketball or volleyball for example.

The article had a good start but to me it was too much about the person that

was involved in the sport and not enough interaction between the person and

the sport itself. Stand way over there in the corner and look back upon this article and perhaps you

can find a way to make it the more interesting and the less amazing.

Re: Vision Quest

Magenta 11-08-2006, 4:59 AM

Hi there,

I think you need to make your protagonist's quest more obvious. What is he striving against all odds to do? Does he want the acceptance of the coach, does he want to be accepted by his peers or does he want to make the varsity team? The answer to that is the climax to your story, and while he might have one or two glitches on the way, when he achieves that, then the story has reached its end - with a surge of addreneline and the cheers of the crowd ringing in his ears. You need to make the smell of sweat impossible to ignore and stress how hard it is to hold that slippery, struggling opponent still for the referee's count. You need to give the reader a reason to invest emotionally in the protagonist's struggle to reach his goal.

Hope some of that helps

Magenta