Post by Headmaster Bernard Core on Dec 27, 2015 2:34:21 GMT -5
December 19, 2015- Core Household, Albany, NY
Wolf’s eyes flutter open as he wakes up. The first thing he sees is the dim light from the lamp on the night stand next to him. He looks down a few inches and reads the time on the clock: 6:30 PM. He looks around the room. Normally, he would react to waking up in a bed other than his own by thinking “Where the fuck am I,” but over the past two months, he’s woken up in a different place every night, so he’s used to it. At least I’m in a bed and not on a bench.
Next to the clock is a remote control. Wolf doesn’t watch much TV, but he doesn’t really want to get out of bed.
Who the fuck knows what these people are like? Fuck it. I haven’t had a bed in a long time. If they want to see me, they know where I am.
He grabs the remote and sits up in bed. He’s a got a headache like Occulo just kneed him in the head, so he sits up gingerly. He turns the TV on. The first thing he sees is what looks like a reality TV show. It’s a young girl having a party, probably a Sweet 16. She’s wearing a beautiful dress and a tiara.
There’s got to be, like, 500 people at this god damned thing.
There’s a DJ, fondue at every table, a seven layer cake, kids showing up in stretch limos. The gift table has so many boxes on it that it looks like it could break. Nicki Minaj showed up to do a surprise performance. Wolf’s eyes widen. He’s truly stunned.
Nice fuckin’ rack.
Then he sees her ass.
What the fuck? Does she have ass cheek implants? I’ve lost my boner.
He's a boob man, but he likes tasteful butts.
At the end of the party, the girl’s parents bring her outside and show her a surprise gift. It’s a brand new red BMW.
Nice car.
The young girl loses her mind. And not in a good way.
“What the [bleep], Mom and Dad?! I wanted a Porsche, not a [bleep]ing BMW!”
Wait, what?
“Are you two [bleep]ing stupid?! How many times have I said it, Porsche, Porsche, Porsche, Porsche?! Do you two ever [bleep]ing listen to me?!”
“Honey, calm down.”
“No, I’m not going to calm down, Mom!”
“Hey, you can’t talk to us like that!”
“It’s my party, I can talk to you whatever way I want you dumb [bleep].”
Wolf can tell that the girl used the word “cunt.” The scene changes to the girl sitting in her bedroom talking into a camera, like those confessionals they do on The Real World. She’s crying.
“I just don’t know why they can’t just give me what I want.”
A voice off camera asks her a question.
“Didn’t they give you a huge Sweet 16 party that cost them $100,000 before they asked Nicki Minaj to make an appearance?”
“So what? It was all ruined when they gave me the BMW.”
The scene cuts back to the party where the girl is now screaming and smashing out the windshield of the BMW.
“I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”
A knock comes on the door and Bernard Core sticks his head inside.
Core: Hey! You’re awake.
Wolf sits up even straighter as if he were a private and Bernard Core was a drill sergeant.
Wolf: Uh, yeah, hey.
Core walks in and approaches the bed.
Core: I was just coming to check up on you. How you feeling?
Wolf: Like a hot pile of donkey shit.
Core: Donkey shit, eh? That’s a new one. Well, my wife Cora is bringing up some food for you. She’ll be up here any second.
Core turns around and sees the program Wolf has on TV. The girl is now yelling at her guests.
“Get the [bleep] out of my party! Get the [bleep] out of my party! Am I not speaking English to you [bleep]ing people?!”
Core: Do you actually like this show?
Wolf: No, not at all. It was just the first thing on TV when I turned it on.
Wolf turns the TV off.
Core: Oh, thank God. These reality shows really show off the worst of America.
Wolf: Yeah, this girl is freaking out because her parents threw her an expensive Sweet 16 and bought her a BMW instead of a Porsche. Shit, I wish my parents were able to afford throwing me a party when I turned 6, forget about 16.
Core looks intrigued at Wolf’s assessment.
Core: What would you do if that was your kid and she acted like that?
Wolf: Well, I probably wouldn’t spoil her like that in the first place, but if she did act like that, I’d probably put her fucking head through the hood of the car.
Core nods his head in approval.
Wolf: What’s fucking wrong with these kids today? They act so fucking entitled, like they get to have whatever they want. My dad never gave me a goddamned thing. Now, these kids get praised just for waking up and breathing. All these kids need to be smacked in the goddamn face.
Core clutches his chest.
Core: A man after my heart!
Core laughs. Wolf looks confused.
Claudette Cornelius walks in with a tray full of food and places it on the night stand.
Wolf: Thank you.
She looks at him disdainfully and walks away without saying a thing. Core looks a little embarrassed.
Wolf: She doesn’t want me here, does she?
Core sits down on the end of the bed.
Core: It doesn’t matter what she wants. She’s a woman and I pay the bills. When those roles are reversed, then her input matters. Go ahead, eat.
Wolf: I don’t know. I don’t think I can hold food down yet.
Core: Well, keep it there. You might be hungry later.
Wolf: Yeah, sure.
Wolf takes a pause before asking the next question.
Wolf: So, why am I here?
Core: You’re here to get better.
Wolf: Yeah, but why did YOU decide to help me out? First, we’re fighting inside a bar, then you challenge me to a match, and the next thing I know, you’re putting me up in your house, giving me a bedroom and food to eat. I don’t get it.
Core gets up and starts pacing around the room.
Core: Wolf…
Wolf: You don’t have to call me Wolf. My real name is Daniel.
Core: Don’t be ridiculous. You’re name is Wolf. That’s who you are. That’s what’s inside of you. And Wolf is what I saw in that bar in Corpus Christi a few weeks back; but the Wolf that I saw, it was an endangered species. It was endangered by drugs and alcohol. I couldn’t in good conscience let that Wolf become extinct, especially not after what I saw on the WCF Network. You were magnificent in War. The way you just attacked your opponents without any fear or reservation was something to behold. And the way you fought that big man, Cletus T. Clyde? My god, you went toe to toe with him outside in the arena, inside the ring. I thought you had crushed his skull when you hit him with that chair!
Wolf: Yeah, that felt pretty good.
Core: I know it did, and isn’t that how you’d like to feel again?
Yeah, I would.
Then Wolf starts to think about the night of War and the telephone conversation he had with his father.
“If you think that I will ever, EVER, approve of you being a wrestler, then you can keep thinking because it will NEVER happen.”
Wolf shrugs his shoulders.
Wolf: What’s the point?
Core: What’s the point? The point is that you’ve got a gift. You may not be the most technically sound wrestler in the world, but I’ve found out very quick that being technically sound is not the only prerequisite for becoming a professional wrestler. What you are is a fighter. You don’t care what you have to do. All that you care about is being on top when the fight is over. You’re willing to do anything in order to dominate your opponent. You didn’t even care about winning that match against Cletus T. Clyde. As long as he was left laying and you got to walk out of the arena on your own two feet, you were satisfied; and that’s the kind of man I’m looking for, Wolf.
Wolf: For what?
Core: For my crusade.
Wolf: Oh, yeah, I heard about this in one of my rare sober moments. You’re into the whole Common Core thing, right?
Core: Up until a few days ago, yes, that was me. However, recent events and reflection has shown me that my crusade needs to go beyond that. The Common Core Learning Standards were a great remedy for the horrid education system in this country, but it seems as if the efforts of the parents, unions, and teachers have succeeded in persuading our weak-minded elected officials in Washington to gut it of its power.
Wolf: So why keep fighting?
Core: Because that’s what you do when you’re knocked down, Wolf. That’s what I’m trying to do for you. What if I hadn’t resolved to help you get back on your feet after that fight we had in Corpus Christi?
Wolf: I’ve been so fucking high over the past two months that I most likely wasn’t waiting for someone to come and save me from my lifestyle.
Core looks a little hurt by that last statement.
Core: Oh, I see then. Well, in that case, I’ll leave you alone to get yourself cleaned yourself before you go.
He goes to walk out of the room. Wolf leans forward.
Wolf: Wait!
Core stops in the doorway and turns around.
Wolf: I’m sorry; I wasn’t trying to show any…ingratitude towards what you’ve done for me. It’s just that, I’m not into the whole education thing. I couldn’t tell you the first thing about what’s wrong with education and what’s right with education. Hell, I didn’t even like school when I went. For all I know, kids like me were the problem with education.
Core sits back down on the bed.
Core: Wolf, I don’t need you to know anything about education. I’m not recruiting you on your knowledge of education. You can pick that stuff up later on.
Wolf: Then what do you need me for?
Core: I need you to enforce my message.
Wolf: What message? That people should go to school?
Core: I wish going to school were that easy, Wolf. Schools used to be institutions where people could get rid of the chains of ignorance that shackled them. Now, school is the last place to do if you want to learn anything. You’re better off getting an education with Punkin as your private tutor rather than in school. Schools today are treated like one big six hour hangout session, and the teachers don’t care enough to make school worthwhile for these children. They’re content with a culture of little to no accountability, where they can sit back and pop in a video or have kids do work out of a textbook for forty minutes. Common Core and the regulations set down by the state and federal governments were not enough to change these mores. If someone wants to change education, they can’t just sit in an office somewhere and come up with a bunch of rules and standards or try to advise these ineffectual leaders in our schools. They need to get off of their ass, roll up their sleeves, and get their hands dirty.
That’s what I’m doing, Wolf. My approach wasn’t working, so now I’m changing it. It’s like the saying “If you want something done right, do it yourself.” I’m going to right the course of education in this country instead of mandating that other people do it.
Wolf: How?
Core: I’m starting my own school- and I want you to work for me.
Wolf: Work for you? What do you mean, like a teacher?
Core: No. I want you to be my dean.
Wolf just stares at Core blank faced.
Wolf: What the hell is a dean?
Core: Well, in my school, you’d be the dean of discipline. Any discipline issues in the school would come straight to you, and you’d be expected to handle them.
Wolf: Discipline? You mean like punishments and shit like that?
Core: Yes. Discipline is one of the leading problems of our schools. Children lack it and parents and teachers refuse to enforce it. If our schools were in order and the children were obedient and held accountable for their actions, you’d see an improvement in their overall education. You would be responsible for making sure that students obey the rules and regulations. If any student steps out of line, I expect you to handle that student and correct their behavior.
I am so goddamned confused.
Wolf: Again, not that I don’t appreciate the job offer and all that, but why me? I’m a fucking alcoholic and drug addict. I dropped out of college one semester before I graduated, and I wasn’t necessarily a model student before that anyway. Fuck, I was a terror in high school. I got into fights all the time. I was a principal’s worst fucking nightmare. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I am the least qualified person for this job you’re talking about.
Core is becoming visibly frustrated by Wolf’s resistance.
It’s like dealing with a one man union.
Core gets up from the bed and walks towards the wall, rubbing his forehead with one hand and leaning the other up against his hip.
Core: You know, Wolf, there are a lot of people I could consider for this job. People that are more qualified than you. People that I know a lot better than you. I would have considered my son for this position, but he’s not mature enough yet. I’ll have him as my administrative assistant, but I can’t give him any responsibility over anything in the school. Imagine my son trying to handle discipline? He doesn’t even have enough courage to tell the man who pumps his gas at the gas station that he gave him back the wrong change.
The other people that I’d consider, the education professionals that I’ve met over the years, they’re eggheads. They spend too much time researching and speaking and writing and thinking about the best ways to educate children and handle discipline in schools. These people have spent too much time out of the real world of education that they don’t know that their methods don’t work, and that’s coming from me, someone with a doctorate in education. They believe that children should set the agendas in the classroom and decide how and what THEY want to learn. Can you believe that? Adults actually believe that children should be able to have a say in their education. Some think that playing “good behavior games” in the classroom will convince these kids that they shouldn’t act like unruly savages when they enter the school building. These are the suggestions coming from people who spent years studying education. I don’t need people like that, Wolf. I need people who know how to deal with problems using common sense and aggressiveness, not research and passivity.
It’s hard to find a good partner, someone who you can trust to carry out their responsibilities. Take the partners I have in the torneo cibernetico at One, for example. Have you heard about this? Of course not, you’ve been out of it for the last five days. It’s an eight man tag team match where my team has to eliminate the members of the other team before we begin fighting each other to be the last man standing. Now, I know I can beat my teammates. That’s no problem; but I have to rely on them to eliminate the four guys on the other side of the ring first. I didn’t get to choose these men like I have the luxury of choosing you. These men were assigned to me and from what I know about them, I don’t know if I can trust them to help me eliminate the other team.
Wolf: I don’t like having partners either.
Core: That’s because you never had the right one before. I wish I could have you by my side in this match. Instead, I have to partner up with Rage Maxx, a guy who wears cutoff cargo pants and a sleeveless undershirt to the ring. Can I trust a man that wears that kind of attire to a wrestling match? Jesus, at least buy a pair of shorts if you don’t want to wear a whole pant leg.
Nobody takes pride in the way they look anymore. Everyone wants to be an individual who has their own style. Does Barack Obama show up in front of national television wearing an undershirt and cutoff jeans? No, because people that look like that don’t succeed. If children were taught from a young age that they should aspire to look presentable, then they wouldn’t grow up to be unemployed or homeless. That’s why when my school gets started up, there will be a dress code; jacket, tie, vest, and dress shoes. You would be in charge of enforcing that as part of your duties, Wolf. None of this pierced crap, no graphic t-shirts, no mohawks or other weird hair styles. Every student will look like a professional in my school, not like some trailer park piece of trash who sits at home all day and drinks beer.
And he’s from Memphis, Tennessee, not far from two other beacons of education, Arkansas and Mississippi. I love my country, Wolf, but I would love it even more if we could get rid of this cancer known as the South. It’s dragging this country down faster than the Titanic. Have you ever seen the people that come out of the South? Bill Clinton, a man who was honored twice by the voters of this country with the presidency, only to repay their generosity twice by getting himself involved in an embarrassing sexual scandal that made the rest of the world laugh at us. What about that fat little girl, the one they called Honey Boo Boo? Here was a five year old that was being fed spaghetti with butter and ketchup on it on a nightly basis. Her mother was a disgusting, corpulent waste of flesh that was sending her daughter down the same trail. That’s the type of people that the South has produced. They are a sub-human race of people that are so simple that they give into their base desires without using reason.
If I were Rage Maxx, I would get out of the South as fast as humanly possible and get rid of all evidence of my southern roots. I would take classes to get rid of the accent, get false teeth to plug in the gaps of my mouth, and learn how to read.
I hope he knows how to wrestle. He’s got that stupid finishing move he calls “Last Resort,” a flying leg drop bulldog. Great idea. Jump from the top rope and injure your tailbone. I hope he doesn’t try that stupidity at One and get himself eliminated by the other team. Jesus, it’s like Teo Del Sol and La Gama Blanca. Why do these people try these high risk moves off the top rope? Do they know the risk? Most of the time these moves are telegraphed. By the time they jump, I’ve already got it in my head how I’m going to counter it. And Rage Maxx isn’t a small guy. He’s bigger than the masked idiots, so he doesn’t have the ability to be as light in the air and graceful as them. He should just follow my example and stay on the mat; but he’s from the South. “Dem proud southern boys” don’t like when you try to expose them to something new, like civil rights or dental care. Well, it’ll end up being the same for Rage Maxx just like it was for his ancestors in the Civil War or the 1960s who wouldn’t catch up with the times. He’ll be stubborn, he’ll try to fight, and then he’ll lose. And if he lets his stubbornness get him eliminated before the other team is gone, then it’s going to take more effort from me to win this match. It’s not like I can trust B’wana Bludde and Loco to pick up the pieces when Rage Maxx gets himself eliminated.
B’wana thinks he’s Teddy Roosevelt with all the references to hunting. There’s a difference between B’wana Bludde and Teddy Roosevelt. Teddy Roosevelt was actually an accomplished man who helped out his country. He was born with asthma and overcame it by putting himself through strenuous physical activity. He was the police commissioner of one of the most corrupt departments in the nation, New York City, and cleaned it up. He advocated a stronger American navy, which led to us becoming an imperial power. When he became president, he got legislation passed that protected American consumers and advocated on behalf of workers, (although I think workers today have gained too many concessions from their employers). He was a war hero. A peace maker. When he was shot during the 1912 presidential election, he simply said “I’m stronger than a bull moose” and carried on an eighty minute speech, all while the bullet was still lodged in his chest. Teddy Roosevelt was an American icon and a man’s man. America was a better country because of him.
What has B’wana Bludde ever done besides go to exotic lands, bring back dead animals, and wear them on his feet?
Some people might think that I should be worried about him making it to the end of this match after what he did to some poor sap named Chad Cruise. I saw that match and what he did once the bell rang. He took the man, who was already down after a three count, and began hitting him with a microphone before dropping him on an exposed turnbuckle. Ooo, what a tough guy, maiming someone he’d already beaten. How did he follow up that prime display of manliness? By failing to get the pinfall or submission in his next match, a match that took place after having a week off! Great way to follow that beatdown up, if you ask me.
The problem for B’wana is that I won’t be in a vulnerable position like poor old Mr. Cruise. If B’wana and I end up in the ring together at the end of the match, I will have total control the entire time. I’m not some defenseless, unsuspecting animal out there in the wilderness. I’m a highly trained wrestling machine. Maybe he hasn’t heard that while he was in the Serengeti hunting wildebeests, I was at SUNY Cortland winning the D-III heavyweight championship. While he’s at home admiring his beaver skin slippers and his giraffe skinned underwear, I’m in my gym training day and night to dominate the competition in my hardest match yet. Despite what he may think, I’m nobody’s trophy. If he wants to “hunt” me, let him. I can smell crap wrestlers from a mile away. His scent will give him up.
The same goes for Loco. He tries to come off as scary with the whole gang look, but I’m not buying it. I see him as the mold that’s causing this country to decay. He walks around flashing gang signs with his fingers, grabbing his crotch, and cursing out the fans in another language, as if that’s supposed to make him sound terrifying. You know what I do when I see mold like Loco? I do something to eradicate it.
You know what? Mold is too nice of a way to describe Loco. What he is is a truculent little kid. He got it in his head one day that if he walked around acting angry and yelling at people, he could do whatever he wanted. I bet he was a nightmare in school. The teachers told him to do something and he just stared at them with a mean face and they backed off because they allowed themselves to be easily intimidated. I don’t get intimidated by him. I don’t care if his name means “crazy” or he actually is crazy. I don’t care if he has the police code for murder on his t-shirt. I have my skills and talent to back me up. The front that he puts up will be torn down once I have him restrained and he’s tapping out.
That’s if he makes it that far. I could see him being eliminated beforehand. I don’t know how he expects to work with his team when he doesn’t speak English. God, that bother me more than anything. You’re in America. I know it’s not the official language, but speak English! How am I supposed to give him instruction from our corner if he doesn’t have the common courtesy to speak the language that all the rest of us are speaking?
We do too much in this country for Spanish speaking people who come into this country and don’t bother to learn English. No wonder they don’t learn. Everything in this country now has to be translated for them. Even in schools, it’s happening. Instead of teaching the kids English like they’re supposed to, Spanish speaking kids are now taking classes to learn how to read and write in their native language. Their old countries had such poor education systems that the kids didn’t learn to read or write. Some didn’t even get past a certain grade in middle school. The eggheads say that research shows that Spanish speaking kids will learn English better if they learn to read and write in their own language better. Who cares about their language. They’re in America, now. Learn the language that we’re all using!
Guys like Loco could be role models to the Spanish boys and girls out there watching him on TV. Learn English. Act mature. Dress in a respectable way. Use appropriate language. Be a good teammate, a better teammate than he was in his debut tag team match. The problem is, Loco’s trying to grab attention to himself and make a name, so he’ll do all the sensational stuff that makes him look like the bad Latino man. He won’t have time to be a team player and try to be a positive influence on his people. The saddest part is that the kids will buy it up and try to emulate him. Hell, Teo Del Sol and La Gama Blanca are better Hispanic guys, and THEY’RE WHITE! Soon enough, we’ll have kids walking around our neighborhoods and our schools’ hallways wearing “187” shirts and tying handkerchiefs around their face to look “gangsta.”
I really don’t want to have to do this all on my own, but I’m prepared to if it has to be that way. I already know I can beat the Irish schizoid Punkin, the ignoramus Lucious Starr, the emasculated Andre Holmes, and of course, the legendarily insecure Doc Henry, or Mervin the Merkin as I believe he should rename himself.
The way the match is set up, Wolf, I may have to go it alone. All the other men in this match are so far inferior to me both physically and mentally that they’ll have to rise to my standard, but to beat seven men in one match in one night is not going to be easy. That’s just the way it is.
When it comes to my school, though, I am in charge of its organization. I control the responsibility that I put on myself. I control who I get to share my responsibility with. That’s why I have chosen you to be my dean of discipline. I need someone who is tough enough to do the job. Someone I can rely on to take on the responsibility of whipping a whole student body into shape, both figuratively and literally.
Wolf doesn’t say anything. He looks overwhelmed by the proposition, as if he’s feeling pressure to say “yes.” Core walks over and kneels by the bedside.
Core: Wolf, I want you to know that I know more about you than you think. I know about your record in high school. I know about the bullying you went through. I know about all the fights you got into between April 2000 and June 2001. Who were you fighting, huh? Was it all the kids that made your life a living hell for so many years?
Wolf bites down hard on his lip to fight back the rush of angry memories that are filling his head. The football teams and his teammates that left him behind or laughed at him when he messed up. The assaults in the band room by Mark Castellanos, Joe Fager, and Chris Swenson. Jake McIntyre pulling his hair behind the teachers’ backs.
Core: What did you do, make a list of anyone who ever wronged you and go after them?
Wolf is still biting his bottom lip and now he’s shaking. He nods his head.
Core: Why didn’t you just let it go? Why didn’t you just turn the other cheek.
Wolf begins to breathe in and out through his nose.
Core: It’s because you wanted respect. You wanted them to respect you, and the only way that was going to happen was by beating it into them. It’s the same thing you were looking for at War. No one was taking you seriously. Everyone thought you were a lightweight with no motivation. You showed them, didn’t you?
Wolf: You’re goddamned right I did.
Core: But just as quickly as you gained everyone’s respect you lost it when you got hooked on pills and alcohol.
Now Wolf is starting to clench his fists.
Core: Right now, you’re a laughingstock. I hear how people talk about you in the locker room. You’re a fucking joke. You’re Wolf Ryder, walking around in a haze screaming “Awoo woo woo- I SMOKE IT!” People keep talking about what you could have been. I’m giving you the chance to gain their respect back, to do something noble for yourself and the entire country. I’m giving you the chance to fix America’s greatest problem, the brains of her children. And do you think this offer is only limited to my school? No, I am willing to take you under my wing in the WCF as well. The dreams that you held as a wrestler can still be achieved. Think of the rewarding, personal fulfillment you can have by becoming a part of something bigger than yourself. Do you want that?
Wolf calms down. He looks at Core.
Core: Do you want that for yourself? Do you want to look in the mirror and see a man that is doing good for himself and others, or do you want to look at a face the reminds you of failure? You used to tell people to seek the wolf in themselves. You used to seek it in yourself. Well, seek it again! Seek the change that you want, just like you did when you had enough of being treated like a nobody!
Maybe the wolf is gone. Maybe I am just a failure.
Wolf doesn’t answer. Core stands up.
Core: I’ll give you one week to make a decision. The charity you’re getting is temporary. Give me an answer by next Saturday or I will have to ask you to leave my home.
He walks out and closes the door behind him.
Wolf leans his head up against his hands. He thinks of all the disapproval his father has shown him as a young man and as an adult.
“You want to work a job where you clean up after people that think look down on you because you’re 'just a custodian?' Is that what you want, because that’s sure as hell not what I want!”
“Did you win the World Title?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“Now you’re in a profession where one accident can mean the end of your career, and what do you have to fall back on? Nothing! You’ll end up doing a job like me where people look down on you because they think that the only skill you have is emptying out their fucking garbage!”
“If you think that I will ever, EVER, approve of you being a wrestler, then you can keep thinking because it will NEVER happen.”
But he also thinks about a time when he thinks his father was proud of him.
“Those boys won’t be bothering you anymore?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Bernard Core’s words from a minute ago reverberate in his mind.
“You used to tell people to seek the wolf in themselves. You used to seek it in yourself. Well, seek it again! Seek the change that you want, just like you did when you had enough of being treated like a nobody!”
He looked down at his right forearm and lifted up his sleeve. There it was, his motto, his prayer, his mission statement, the life preserver that kept him afloat. It was funny how he hadn’t looked at it in two months despite it being tattooed to his body. Maybe it was out of shame. He hadn’t been living up to the standards that he had set for himself. Now, it was like the words were staring back at him, disappointed that he had neglected their powerful influence for so long. He tried to repent by repeating the words over and over again in his head, hoping that they would be there for him in this, a dark hour, a crossroads in his life. The chant started off slowly.
Seek…the wolf… in thyself.
Seek… the wolf… in thyself.
Then it became faster.
Seek the wolf…in thyself.
Seek the wolf…in thyself.
Then even faster.
Seek the wolf in thyself.
Seek the wolf in thyself.
Then louder.
SEEK THE WOLF IN THYSELF.
SEEK THE WOLF IN THYSELF.
Finally, so loud and so fast that not another thought had a chance of entering his brain.
SEEKTHEWOLFINTHYSELF.
SEEKTHEWOLFINTHYSELF.
SEEKTHEWOLFINTHYSELF.
SEEKTHEWOLFINTHYSELF.
Christmas Eve- Core Household, Albany, NY
Bernard Core, Jeff, and Cora are seated around a table in the dining room for Christmas Eve dinner. Their butler, Briggs, stands off to the side, waiting on the family. They are not talking to each other. They’re not even looking at each other. Claudette becomes impatient.
Claudette: Is our “guest” joining us for dinner or are we going to wait until midnight before we have the chance to eat?
Core: Settle down, Claudette. If he isn’t down here in the next minute, we’ll begin the meal.
Claudette rolls her eyes. There is silence for a few more seconds, and then the sounds of footsteps comes rushing down the stairs. All three of them look to see Wolf dressed in a white Christmas sweater and a pair of khakis. His hair is combed and parted to the side. He rushes to his seat at the table.
Wolf: I’m sorry I’m late. It took me a while to comb my hair. I haven’t done it in a long time.
Core: It’s okay, don’t apologize. We’re just glad you made it to dinner, aren’t we, honey?
Claudette: Thrilled.
The chilliness between Claudette and Bernard Core is hard to ignore. Wolf looks across the table at Jeff. Jeff just shakes his head in response to his parents loathing for each other.
Core: Well, Briggs, start serving the meal.
Briggs unveils a host of warm food, including roast beef, corn, potatoes, broccoli, and popovers. He serves everyone.
Core: This looks delicious, Briggs.
Briggs finishes up and goes back to his spot in the room.
Core: Before we begin, I’d like to make a toast.
Everyone raises their glass of water, except Claudette. She reaches from under her seat and grabs a wine glass and a bottle of wine.
Core: Claudette, what are you doing?
Claudette: I’ve decided that I’d like to have a glass of wine with dinner tonight.
Core: Honey, do you think it’s a good idea, seeing as we have a recovering alcoholic sitting at our table.
Claudette: Oh, well, he doesn’t have to have any if he doesn’t want it.
Wolf looks down.
Just seeing the bottle might make me relapse.
Core: Claudette, you will not be drinking that at our table tonight.
Claudette: Fine, whatever you wish, dear.
Claudette proceeds to dump the glass of wine out onto the tile floor. Core tenses up and holds in an outburst that he can feel coming on. Briggs goes to clean up the mess.
Core: No, Briggs. She’s a big girl. She will clean it up herself when she finishes her dinner.
Claudette speaks under her breath but loud enough that Bernard will hear it.
Claudette: Like hell I will.
I’m going to lose it on this fucking bitch.
He raises his glass and begins the toast.
Core: First, I’d like to thank Wolf here for joining us for Christmas Eve dinner. I hope this next year coming up finds him in a better position than he was two weeks ago.
Core fixes a stare at Wolf. Wolf, humbled, nods his head.
Core: Secondly, I want to toast my son, Jeffrey, who is now officially a college graduate. Congratulations, son.
Jeff: Maybe I should be toasting you, Dad, since it was your money that got me there.
Core smacks his hand down on the table. Everyone, including Wolf, is startled.
Core: God damn it, Jeffrey! Can you just be appreciative for one day, please?!
Claudette: It’s okay, Jeffy, you don’t have to appreciate the fact that your father lied to you for years about how he was paying off all your schools to advance you to the next grade. You tell him how you feel. Honesty is always the best policy.
Core: Don’t do that, Claudette! Don’t undermine my authority like that!
Claudette is reveling in Bernard’s frustration.
Claudette: Aww, what’s the matter? Bernie can’t handle someone else having a mind of their own.
Core: I’ll give the both of you a piece of my goddamned mind right now!
Core goes to get up but Wolf beats him to it. Everyone stops and stares at Wolf.
What is happening right now?
In his unsure state, Core sits back down. Wolf raises his glass of water.
Wolf: I’d like to make a toast, too. I’d like to thank all of you for allowing me into your home. The last two months haven’t been easy for me, and you put me back on the right track. I haven’t spent a Christmas with my family, let alone anyone else, for the last nine years, so I’m glad that I finally get to spend a Christmas with anyone’s family.
Even this one.
Wolf: So….thank you.
Bernard Core, Jeff, and Claudette all look at each other. They silently decide to put their disagreements temporarily behind them for the sake of the toast. Everyone at the table clinks glasses.
Wolf: Oh, and I have one more announcement to make…
