Post by Deleted on Sept 11, 2018 17:24:24 GMT -5
Rafa Whatley woke at 4am on September 11, read two chapters of Lonely Planet Japan, yoga’d for 20 minutes, and meditated for 10. He called his agent a quarter after 5, packed a bag and silently waited for collection.
By 6:30 Rafa and his agent Marion Payett were bound for Miami International Airport.
Marion couldn’t believe the morning had gone so smooth. Rafa's terrible fear of flying had been a minor issue in his pro football career, an annoying issue in his fledgling Lion’s Road career, and a crippling problem this past week. Once Marion informed Rafa that they would be touring Japan, he found out quickly that a flight from Miami to Tokyo is longer than 17 hours.
Chaos ensued. He threatened to quit. He threatened to fire Marion. He threatened to ‘bring Japan to Florida’ (Marion didn’t ask him to elaborate). It had been a ferocious war, but on this morning it seemed Rafa came in peace. Marion drove them to the airport in silence. They checked in with the front desk and located their flight’s terminal. Marion eyed Rafa nervously while they were passing through TSA, but Rafa made it through without issue. Marion chuckled quietly, recalling the plan he had formulated the night before. The six Xanax that he had snuck through security were still hidden in his sock.
The two made it to their terminal with time to spare, dropped off their bags, and were blowing time by loitering at a small café. Eggs and toast sat in front of a fidgeting Rafa. Marion sipped on black coffee. He required eyeglasses to read the news from his phone.
“I ain’t going,” Rafa broke the lingering silence.
Marion looked up from an article about the evacuations Florence was causing just a few hundred miles north.
“Fuck Japan, Marion. I ain’t going,” Rafa repeated, this time in breathless bursts. His face twitched uncontrollably. His muscles were taut.
“Just one day of flying—"
“FUCK JAPAN! I ain’t going!” Rafa said yet again, his voice booming throughout the café. He stood and stormed from the café in a panic. Marion rolled his eyes, threw a few bills on the table and sprinted after his prized commodity.
“Rafa!” Marion shouted lowly, doing everything he could to avoid alerting overzealous airport security. He didn’t catch up with Rafa until he stormed into a restroom. Marion followed him in, checking underneath the stall partitions to make sure they were alone. He bent down and took off his shoe, retrieving six, small, stick-shaped pills from between his toes. Rafa stared at himself in the mirror, his face dripping. Marion handed him the pills.
Rafa reached for the Xanax but Marion shut his hand like a kung-fu master. Rafa growled dangerously.
“This month is the most important of your career, and I’m afraid you aren’t taking it seriously. Yeah, we’ll be on the other side of the world, but there will still be American eyes on you. Lion’s Road will be watching. Mandy Nelson will be watching. Stephen A. Smith will be watching.”
The last two names caught Rafa’s attention.
“Not to mention the prominent figures that will be in Japan: Irvine, Seville, Knight, Pulver, Troy… the true players in Lion’s Road will all be there.”
“It’s just a bunch of bullshit tag matches though,” Rafa whined.
“Bullshit tag matches with former King of Lions,” Marion corrected. “Bullshit tag matches fighting for the Lion’s Road brand. Bullshit tag matches against the likes of the number one contender to the Lion’s Road title. These opponents are way more legitimate than Jason Cashe and Frank fucking Solomon. If you do what you’re meant to, you’ll see the glitter of gold on the horizon by the time we come home, my friend.”
Silence.
“Okay, fine. Let’s go to fucking Japan.”
Upon verbal agreement, Marion opened his hand. Rafa scooped the Xanax and threw them back in one motion.
“You’ll love Japan, Rafa,” Marion put his shoe back on and headed for the restroom exit. “They aren’t righteous like Americans are—”
Marion turned back around in time to see Rafa pull a pint of Tito’s Handmade Vodka from his trousers.
“Jesus Christ Rafa! How did you get that through security?”
Rafa took a hefty pull from the bottle, washing the pills down.
“I did six Xan, 20 hours ‘til we land. Got me out like a light—like a light. Slept through the flight.” Rafa sang playfully.
By 6:30 Rafa and his agent Marion Payett were bound for Miami International Airport.
Marion couldn’t believe the morning had gone so smooth. Rafa's terrible fear of flying had been a minor issue in his pro football career, an annoying issue in his fledgling Lion’s Road career, and a crippling problem this past week. Once Marion informed Rafa that they would be touring Japan, he found out quickly that a flight from Miami to Tokyo is longer than 17 hours.
Chaos ensued. He threatened to quit. He threatened to fire Marion. He threatened to ‘bring Japan to Florida’ (Marion didn’t ask him to elaborate). It had been a ferocious war, but on this morning it seemed Rafa came in peace. Marion drove them to the airport in silence. They checked in with the front desk and located their flight’s terminal. Marion eyed Rafa nervously while they were passing through TSA, but Rafa made it through without issue. Marion chuckled quietly, recalling the plan he had formulated the night before. The six Xanax that he had snuck through security were still hidden in his sock.
The two made it to their terminal with time to spare, dropped off their bags, and were blowing time by loitering at a small café. Eggs and toast sat in front of a fidgeting Rafa. Marion sipped on black coffee. He required eyeglasses to read the news from his phone.
“I ain’t going,” Rafa broke the lingering silence.
Marion looked up from an article about the evacuations Florence was causing just a few hundred miles north.
“Fuck Japan, Marion. I ain’t going,” Rafa repeated, this time in breathless bursts. His face twitched uncontrollably. His muscles were taut.
“Just one day of flying—"
“FUCK JAPAN! I ain’t going!” Rafa said yet again, his voice booming throughout the café. He stood and stormed from the café in a panic. Marion rolled his eyes, threw a few bills on the table and sprinted after his prized commodity.
“Rafa!” Marion shouted lowly, doing everything he could to avoid alerting overzealous airport security. He didn’t catch up with Rafa until he stormed into a restroom. Marion followed him in, checking underneath the stall partitions to make sure they were alone. He bent down and took off his shoe, retrieving six, small, stick-shaped pills from between his toes. Rafa stared at himself in the mirror, his face dripping. Marion handed him the pills.
Rafa reached for the Xanax but Marion shut his hand like a kung-fu master. Rafa growled dangerously.
“This month is the most important of your career, and I’m afraid you aren’t taking it seriously. Yeah, we’ll be on the other side of the world, but there will still be American eyes on you. Lion’s Road will be watching. Mandy Nelson will be watching. Stephen A. Smith will be watching.”
The last two names caught Rafa’s attention.
“Not to mention the prominent figures that will be in Japan: Irvine, Seville, Knight, Pulver, Troy… the true players in Lion’s Road will all be there.”
“It’s just a bunch of bullshit tag matches though,” Rafa whined.
“Bullshit tag matches with former King of Lions,” Marion corrected. “Bullshit tag matches fighting for the Lion’s Road brand. Bullshit tag matches against the likes of the number one contender to the Lion’s Road title. These opponents are way more legitimate than Jason Cashe and Frank fucking Solomon. If you do what you’re meant to, you’ll see the glitter of gold on the horizon by the time we come home, my friend.”
Silence.
“Okay, fine. Let’s go to fucking Japan.”
Upon verbal agreement, Marion opened his hand. Rafa scooped the Xanax and threw them back in one motion.
“You’ll love Japan, Rafa,” Marion put his shoe back on and headed for the restroom exit. “They aren’t righteous like Americans are—”
Marion turned back around in time to see Rafa pull a pint of Tito’s Handmade Vodka from his trousers.
“Jesus Christ Rafa! How did you get that through security?”
Rafa took a hefty pull from the bottle, washing the pills down.
“I did six Xan, 20 hours ‘til we land. Got me out like a light—like a light. Slept through the flight.” Rafa sang playfully.