The Vintage Theorem
Jan 8, 2017 14:59:01 GMT -5
Wayne Richards, Dick Devereaux, and 2 more like this
Post by Deleted on Jan 8, 2017 14:59:01 GMT -5
"I Can't Be Saved..."
LOCATION - Martinez Estate, Beaverton, Oregon
DATE/TIME - January 8, 2017, 1:13 AM
VINTAGE - noun | vin·tage \ˈvin-tij\ - a period of origin
ERA - noun | ˈer-ə, ˈe-rə, ˈir-ə\ - a period identified by some prominent figure or characteristic feature
As I pass the plaques in the grand hallway of the Martinez Estate I begin to feel a little out of place. I begin to question my entire existence as the thoughts and images race side by side through my mind. Did I even belong to this family? Was I meant to be recognized as a member of this family? Sure I was... but did I capitalize on the many opportunities? ... Not in the past. As often as I ran my mouth who was I kidding? I had never held up the family name. ... Did I?
While scanning the championship belt replicas and specialty plaques I begin to realize something. I begin to realize why I am different. It hit me like a ton of anvils and then a stack bricks came shortly after that. This was unbelievable. I... Camila Martinez... had been the only one in my family to compete in the top division and fail completely.. Me? Little Miss Victimizer. Ha, I suppress my smile to a grin and take a trip down memory lane.
My subconscious jumps to 2012 when Platinum Dynasty Wrestling was at yet another pinnacle of awesome. Fresh off an upset victory over Inferno and there I was in the limelight alongside, Snake and Marc-Antoine Davenport. I grit my teeth at the idea or simple thought of, The Davenport Trust. "Arrgghh!" I snarl and send a chill down my own spine as it echoes throughout the large hallway.
My glory days were over and done just before they had ever begun. After that small moment of shining my candle had gone out just about completely. There was no way of changing that fact. I had elevated the family name to a new level only to put more pressure on my brother Cedro, who of course, was always kicking ass.
How could I have allowed this to happen? Where did it all go wrong? Where was my down fall? I ponder on this for a moment while heading to the door at the end that led to a balcony that wrapped around the entire third story. The snow was bright, even at this hour I was wearing my shades. My thinking would always be my undoing.
I make an effort to make it to leave the Estate as fast as possible. Back into the house and down the stairs into the garage adjacent to the kitchen. Upon leaving I notice RAUL, the family Chef of many years making Tamales and poke my head back in the doorway. "Are those beef of pork?"
Raul looks at me in silence. "No habla ingles."
"Oh come on Raul! You taught me english when mi madre brought me to the United States. Don't start that shit today." Raul was very irritating at times. "My Spanish isn't as good as your--" He was always quick to interrupt me.
"Pinche gringa! No mames!" Raul storms into the pantry to get more ingredients. Seeing him stress made me smile a bit and I hurry out into the garage and hop into the Land Rover. I just needed a little fresh air and a moment to think. I crank to volume to MAX and start the enginge.
My hands turns knobs at a mile minute, setting heat temperatures and defrosters for the windows before finally punching the garage door button and grabbing a half smoked spliff from the ash tray and speeding away into the night hours.