March 15, 2018
Candi Bratton is sitting at a bar as the cameraman enters the establishment, letting the brightness of the sunshine into the bar briefly as some patrons groan and squints. The cameraman walks over to her. All 250 pounds of her sitting on a barstool, beer in hand as she takes a drink ignoring the intruder. He braves it, asking, “Ms.. Bratton? Mrs. Bratton?”
Candi slowly turns and looks at him, slowly setting her beer on the counter. She’s dressed almost always the same. She has a keen and very small sense of fashion. Black stretch pants, t-shirt, shoes. Done. It’s obvious the fabric of both her shirt and her pants are being stretched to maximum. She turns back to her beer, finishing it and sliding it towards the bartender who immediate comes by to fill it. She finally turns back to the man, “I ain’t a Ms. And I ain’t a Mrs. My mom was a Ms and I ain’t never been married because I won’t marry a man who can’t whip my ass. And I ain’t met one yet who can.”
The bartender mutters under his breath, “That’s true.” Candi gives him a sideways glance, “Shut the fuck up,” then turns back to the camera, “He tried. Failed.” The bartender sighs, “You punched me in the nuts.” Candi just shrugs, “And?” He responds. “A man’s balls are tender as fuck, Candi!”
She slides off her bench, “And I’ve squeezed four oversized kids out of my vagina. I think I got you beat, motherfucker. So stop being a pussy!” She starts to go around the bar. “Unless you want another punch to the jewels…”
“Never mind! Just never mind,” comes the response as if he wouldn’t want her doing it again. She finally turns back to the camera.
“You said we were meeting at the gym?” asks the cameraman.
Candi just blinks at him with a blank stare and then everyone in the bar laughs out loud. Some comments are heard around the room. “Hahaha. Gym. That’s ripe.” Another, “He must never have met her before.” Tears are coming down Candi’s cheek as she reaches up and wipes them away, her laughing slowly starting to come down.
“I said Jim’s. That’s the bar. This place used to be a gym, but no one ever came.” She points to the corner where a bench press sits untouched.
“So, who’s Jim?” He asks.
“Goddamned! Are you ignorant!? There ain’t no Jim. They just didn’t want to give it a new name so instead of going to the gym, we say we’re going to Jim’s.” Candi looks a little exasperated as she shakes her head and moves towards the exit. “Don’t drink my fucking beer. I’ll be back.” She pushes the door open and immediately winces and covers her eyes. “Goddamned sun.” She grabs the sunglasses hanging down from the center of her collar and places them on her face and then starts walking.
“I’m supposed to get comments on your first opponent in Neo.”
Candi shrugs, “I’m sure that he…” The cameraman shakes his head. “She?” She asks quizzically. He nods. “I’m sure she’ll put up quite the fight. Sally..”
“I know, motherfucker. Lindsey whateverherlastnameis will give me quite the challenge, but I’ve got something to prove, goddammit.” There’s an old beat up truck parked next to the curb. As they get closer it’s recognized as an older 1975 International Harvester. Rust colored.
“Have you even seen her? Studied tapes? Matches?
She places her hand on the truck and turns to look at him, “Do I look like that kind of girl who studies anything, for crying out loud? GodDAMNED are you dumb.”
“Oh, you sure as hell are,” she interrupts. “Look what I know is that it’s a first blood match and all I gotta do is make her bleed. Hopefully, it’s not her time of the month. I could win before the match even begins.” She slaps her leg and laughs out loud. “Get it?”
“I don’t think you’re taking this serious at all.”
Candi stops laughing and just sighs. “I’m taking this very fucking serious. I was a former Battling Ring Angel’s World Champion. In 1998, I was voted #23 of the best women’s wrestlers in the world. That’s documented. Google that shit. I was rated above former world’s champions and this was two years before I wore my first championship. I’m a goddamned veteran now. Lindsey Whatsherfuck is going to bleed one way or the other and I’m going to win. I see groups running around jumping people in NCW and you know what? That’s the pussy way to do things. You want to be a bully. Do it your fucking self. You want to be a bully. I’m right here. Jump me. I. Fucking. Dare. You.
She walks around to the driver’s side of her truck and pulls open the door, “And you tell Linsday Whothefuckcares that she might want to invest in some vaseline for our match. Put it on her forehead really thick. It’ll at least give her a chance. Once thing is for certain, I’m not afraid to bleed. Ask her if she is.”
She climbs into the truck and shuts the door. “Want me to say anything else?”
“What about your beer?”
“It’ll be there when I get back or someone will drink it. Ain’t no one letting it go to waste.” She cranks up the engine. “And one more thing,” she adds as she puts the truck into gear. “Fuck off.” She flips him the bird.
With that, she drives that old truck on down the road, leaving the cameraman behind.