Them Changes

No one changes without impetus.

Into the grand equation of our lives has gone a specific mixture of ingredients that is difficult to redesign after the catastrophe of birth.

“I am, what I am,” the forearmed sailor would spout, and he’d eat a can of spinach to turn from wimp into muscled tough guy and wipe the floor with a room full of bullies or villains. But, Popeye still remained Popeye in spite of the miraculous transformation; same girlfriend, same family, same enemies, same hopes and fears.

But we’re not cartoons, or poorly drawn characters are we?

Are we not people with incapabilities and flaws?

I don’t believe we can change on a whim. I believe we can adapt to our circumstances. I believe that incremental change is possible. I believe in the ability to see things differently. I believe in shifts in attitude and mentality, and belief, and I do honestly hope that people can change after witnessing their faults affect others.

I hope that I can change.

But every time I hear the words, “I’ve changed”, I become skeptical by reflex.

Such an arrogant pronouncement without proof needs to be illustrated over time, never all at once.

Synnum De La Cruz, in our first encounter, you claimed the label of veteran to my rookie. You claimed an assured victory with your partner in The Sisterhood. You claimed it a disrespect that I alluded to your career outside of Boardwalk Wrestling while in the same breath you alluded to mine as though your reference was mutually exclusive. You believe that any probing into your career, or mention of you outside of the upcoming match as fandom rather than research and strategizing. You have recently, as you have in the past, claimed to be a different Synn than has come before.

A changed woman, you say. You hint at a change of heart, and “alignment”.

I won’t argue with you.

But, please, show us, don’t tell us.

I’m not here to tell you who you are, or ask for some proof, or argue any points about your identity, or try to shake you off your game with fierce psychological attacks the likes of which you’ve already seen elsewhere.

I’m here to show you why my game is better than yours. I’m here to show what change really looks like in practice. I’m here to prove that I take the circumstances, and opponents and tactics I don’t appreciate and use them to improve myself.

I aim to be the best I can be regardless of match stipulations, circumstances or who stands across the ring from me. At 6’2, Synn, you pose a physical challenge. In your words, you’ve been on Boardwalk’s middle of the road for, what, seven months or thereabouts? I’ve been chugging along through three federations now over the past six months with varying degrees of success.

Through everything I have forged for myself one goal in this business, regardless of where I am:

I aim to be formidable.

You can do your research, or be a “fan”, as you’d call it, and see the points at which I’ve been a stellar in-ring performer and outshone all others, and those times I’ve failed to succeed. That’s the point. I’m not going to ask you not to see my past failures in other federations and attempt to leverage them. Go ahead. Watch the tape. Do your research.

I’m not going to tell you I’m a changed woman.

I’m going to show you.

What you will see before you on Live is the change that’s culminated from all of my experiences, the woman who made it through a harrowing Battle Royal, and survived The Sisterhood, who’s had her heart ripped out and made it beat again countless times in and out of the ring, and who will continue to improve regardless of whatever else lands in my path.

At the risk of pointing out the obvious, you and your partner lost our tag match, Synn.

You said you wouldn’t. You did. You’ve said a lot of things, but failed to show me or anyone else that you can backup your words when it counts.

And so, I’m here to proudly sit wearing my rookie-in-training hat and allow you to teach me, oh veteran.

Show me.

You say you’ve changed, while I change and adapt after each match in order to be better than I was.

Hype it how you want, my dear.

Giant versus number; new-and-improved Synn taking on constantly improving Thirteen.

For me, this match is another learning curve, what'll it be for you?




“A little over an hour by train.”

Thirteen stood there in the Amtrak train station eyeing Sonny Lee’s tweet on the twitter app on her outmoded cell phone with apprehension. They’d met this way in spite of both being professional wrestlers in the same era for much the same time. Twitter had brought them closer through likes and retweets and trendy hashtags as it had for so many others, but up till today that was as far as the friendship had gotten. Her finger lingered and pulled down on the refresh several times in the vague hopes that maybe he’d cancel last minute.

The Ladies Night Battle Royal was hours away. Nerves were always there before a match. Thirteen could feel that calm sense of acceptance for whatever outcome would occur tonight in her wrestling career. She’d either leave with bragging rights and $100,000 in Bally’s Casino chips, or she wouldn’t. It was that simple. There was a time she’d rage after a disappointing outcome, either sit in angry silence or apply extra force to her punches into the heavy bag in the following day’s training. She didn’t feel that anymore.

But Sonny represented something else. A decorated Fight One performer, a rising star in 4CW, she’d casually seen a picture of him with his shirt off and clicked like and that started it. He’d agreed to meet her here and be her guest in attendance of her impending Battle Royal performance. Butterflies quaked in her tummy as she looked at the ETA for train arrivals from Philadelphia.

Only a few more minutes.

Unless the train derailed, or Sonny had wise second thoughts, or met someone else in the span of the 2 hours since they’d last made text contact. There was no end to the fabricated outcomes in her mind that would lead this man so promptly out of her life. Maybe it’d be better if that did happen?

She stood at the train station with folded arms and fenced-in expectations and a loud sigh that made passersby gain a bit of distance. The Philadelphia train pulled in as she waited. It let out a great sigh of its own as movement from within began.

Men, she huffed inwardly. The problem, the distraction, the guaranteed killer of dreams. She’d kept any man at arm’s length once she’d set her mind on her wrestling career. Here she was ramping up her ambitions in the squared circle once more and there was just so much that could go wrong with Sonny Lee, any man for that matter, in the picture.

Random people began to disembark from the train and she looked at the crowd, waiting to spot him. She felt the butterflies mounting within as she fought back crooked expectation.




Thirteen slid onto the side of the bed using the down comforter to cover her nudity and watched with a satisfied smile as Mike entered into the darkness of the room, illuminated by the spill of light through the Venetian blinds covering the ceiling windows from the street. He had a tray with two glasses of wine, and a lit candle. She could smell the aroma of strawberries and the sweetness of liquid chocolate resting on the tray.

Thirteen: Mmmmm.

Her smirk grew, watching his tall, muscular figure cut a handsome swathe in the dim moonlight of the room and softly with a whisper urged him not to turn on the light. She wanted to watch his bare torso course towards her and offer her his hard work.

Mike: WHOAA!

Of course, ill-advised blind walking through the bedroom heightened the threat of taking a tumble, which Mike did. The spill of contents managed to hurtle onto the bed. That red wine would leave a stain. The strawberries loudly thumped everywhere. Naturally, as Mike tipped sideways the hot wax of the candle and the chocolate found Thirteen’s naked skin.

Thirteen: Holy shi-oooowwwww!

The calamity was short-lived as the hot liquid quickly cooled thanks to kisses and male comfort. They shared a laugh between them in the darkness with their foreheads pressed to one another, and hands cupped together.

Mike: You all right?

She nodded gently and pressed her figure against his. He couldn’t see the smile on her lips.

Mike: Are you still glad you skipped that wrestling thing?

Her smile dipped ever so slightly in spite of his closeness. He brought her arms down to her sides and embraced her tightly. It had been a last minute decision to opt out of a match in favor of this rendezvous. She thought of the title on the line that could’ve, but now wouldn’t be hers, she thought of her career aspirations that were now on hold. She slowly nodded with a satisfied sigh.

Thirteen: Of course. We get to see each other so rarely--.

And then light scanned the room from car headlights pulling into the drive.

Mike: Fuck.

He pushed her away in a sudden, unexpected fit of repulsion. She fell backwards onto the bed and watched him stealth his way to the window to peek out. A car door slammed shut. He panicked.

Mike: What the hell is she doing home?!

Thirteen: What?

In a flurry of activity in the darkness Mike searched frantically and began tossing clothing items at her.

Thirteen: What are you doing?! What’s happening, Michael?!

The glint of furious terror in his eyes made her spine tingle in the cold.

Mike: Just get dressed and go. Now.

She found herself obeying, sliding on panties and fastening her bra as she frowned at his panic.

Thirteen: Who is here?!

In the sliver of moonlight, like a totally different person he froze and glared at her.

Mike: My wife.

Deflated. Defeated. Twice in one night, once in a fight she never had, and the second in a fight she couldn’t possibly win.

Thirteen: I…

Mike: I’m sorry, but you need to go.


She stood in a set of jeans, some sneakers and a safety-assured jean-jacket feeling forlorn and examining the faces of the exiting passengers with a blank gaze reminiscing a mistake. Was she about to make another. The train stopped. Nerves. Ladies Night Battle Royal. High stakes. And here she is meeting a man. She’s been in this position before. And as she watches passengers walk off the cars of the train she debates exiting.

Finally, Sonny Lee appeared, emerging from the train. He made his way down the stairs and it was as if he already knew where she was as he approached her promptly. He was dressed appropriately for the meeting and upcoming event in a charcoal Ermenegildo Zegna three piece suit. His eyes were hidden by dark black eye sunglasses. Within mere feet of contact with her, he removed them, revealing excited eyes which betrayed his straight face.

He nodded, “At last, we meet in person.”

She sucked in breath through her nose in trepidation at his arrival.

“Of course.” She stood there eyeing him with curbed enthusiasm. He looked larger than life in person and hard to imagine him fitting inside of a touchscreen ever again. She blinked.

“So. Was it a good trip?” Immediately within she began to curse herself out for such a lack of tenacity or aggression. Was that too forward? Should she be? Nerves kept her in check.

A soft smirk overtook Sonny’s expression as he nodded again, “It was very nice, thank you. I trust you were not waiting too long?”

She shook her head gently, a soft smile creeping on her lips as she looked shyly downward.

“Do you need to collect any luggage, or…?”

He shook his head, “No, I did not stop to collect anything.”

Sonny stood looking for the right thing to say next, or just absorbing the reality of her presence. He settled for a smile, which began with his eyes and moved towards his lips. Pensively, shyly, nervously eyeing Sonny, she felt seemingly lost on options for how to proceed.

“Excuse my lack of articulation, but… It is quite nice to see you, face to face.”

“You, too” She tried to hide her blush, that little bounce of enjoyment suddenly hitting a proverbial brick wall inside her the more she thought of how all the wrong turns this meeting could take.

“So… Uhm… I hope… Uhm, you weren’t like planning on, like, spending the night were you?” She mumbled, instantly regretting it.

“I had no expectation, yet, I did not prepare to spend the night, no,” Sonny examined her expression, “I would suggest we find a cup of tea or coffee. Unfortunately, the selection of tea on the train was limited.”

“Right. Tea.” Breathe, Thirteen, she comforted to herself quietly. This isn’t then, this is now, she reminded herself and started to lead. “I’d like that. I think there’s a little shop inside the station. Let’s go there.”

Her smile had returned, pleasant enough to attempt to negate the previous presumptuous faux pas in regards to his intentions as they moved through the winding crowds of the terminal to find themselves inside a coffee shop where they ordered their drinks to go.

Heading towards the arena the two remained, what felt like, painfully quiet. Sonny took time to ruminate over potential conversation ideas, but found himself humbled by her presence, simply wanting to enjoy the silence, yet, all the while being aware of how ‘awkward’ it could become.

He finally broke the silence, “I imagine Atlantic City in its infancy. Now, it seems to be very much a representation of what it once was. Almost a caricature.” His eyes follow the crowd, “Now, not unlike Las Vegas, it seems to be an attraction for senior citizens and fools who do not fully grasp the concept of 'the house always wins'.”

She sipped her vanilla rooibos. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her form against the waves, far beyond the boardwalk they walked together. Her silence spoke volumes--telling him she was somewhere else. Despite his desire to break the silence with conversation, he questioned whether or not words were necessary.

“You speak as though you’ve been everywhere, seen everything.” She murmured, half to herself with her lips cradling the to-go lid and sipping lightly, her eyes finding it hard to find his amidst the din of the crowd, and her own pent up nervousness in his presence.

“To the peak of the highest mountain and the depths of the deepest trench, I have not been. Las Vegas, Atlantic City? I have. This profession we share has taken me many places.” He swished the ginger tea in his cup as he thought, “Perhaps, you find me to be pretentious?” He chuckled.

She eyed him half hating him. No perceived flaws to speak of yet, even a consideration of her opinion. She’d have been more comfortable if he’d announced his undying devotion to Baphomet, or behaved in some disrespectful manner. Still, he hadn’t. Instead she admired the dimple in his cheek and swept some hair behind her shoulder and smiled to herself.

“Do you find my opinion so worthy of concerning yourself with?”

“I very well may,” he admitted, “However, my concern may not cease there,” he unbuttoned his jacket with his free hand, “You answered my question with another question…”

They both detected the vaguest sense of her feet falling quicker towards the Boardwalk. Dark hair fell before her face to consciously hide her from what felt like some sort of invasion.

“I did, didn’t I?” She frowned behind those strands of hair and turned to glance at him carefully as they walked, “I must seem awfully stand offish. I promise it’s not meant to be a slight, Sonny. I just-- you know the impending sense you get when you don’t want something to go wrong, but you keep feeling like it will because that’s what happens all the time, so you just expect it, and prepare for it?”

Sonny knew what she meant, but decided to take it a different way, “If you are nervous due to the upcoming contest in Boardwalk Wrestling, realize it is perfectly normal. If you were not nervous, perhaps then, there would be reason for concern. You are a very capable person, both inside and outside of the ring. There is no ‘happens all the time’ absolute, in life, or in wrestling. Occasionally, it can take a turn towards something much greater,” Her eyes had fallen on him as they moved, listening intently with an ever-growing peace-filled smirk.

Sonny paused to stop walking, the two face each other, “In this moment, for example, we have transcended text and shared a drink and… Everything “happened” exactly as it should have, I believe.”

Her smile grew, holding her takeout cup of tea close to her chest then sipped from it gingerly and eyed him more confidently.

“Yes. I believe you’re right.” The pause hung weighted between them. Two sets of eyes gazing into one another as life moved around them.




“We started off on the wrong foot, I’m afraid, Synn.”

Her shin connected to the heavy bag and made it swing from the impact. Her voice hoarse from exertion as she glared through gritted teeth at the brand new cell phone sat propped up on a dresser against the wall recording her with a high resolution lens. Behind her, in the quaint little freshly purchased cabin, moving men had begun replacing furniture and transporting items outside leaving open space. Donning a red baseball cap, her hair tied back into a pony, dressed in Fabletics yoga pants, halter sports bra with her fists clenched loosely inside the 13 oz boxing gloves Thirteen slammed into the newly purchased portable punching bag in the center of her living room.

“You mistook a very simple gesture of scouting your performance in the other federation you’ve recently ceased to be employed by as me following your career like I were a fan of yours.”

She stopped punching and glared into the camera.

“I’m not a fan of yours, Synn.

I’m a fan of the wrestler I want you to be, the wrestler you claim to be but seem unable to legitimately bring to the ring. I’m a fan of the wrestler I’m planning on drawing out of you come hell or high water, otherwise prepare to be embarrassed.”

She laid several low gut-punches into the heavy bag. She continued through the exertion, a look of determination on her face.

“I brought certain evidently unmentionable wrestling federations from your not-so distant past up because I was interested. I’m not one of your hangers-on. More of a curious observer, really. I knew who you were facing for your Fate Title, and having myself also recently faced one Marquis, Persephone, as I’m sure you know, I was interested to see how you’d fare against a competitor like her.”

Thirteen paused, rolling her neck glancing momentarily behind her to watch the movers ship her dinette table out through the patio doors and lead it out onto the truck outside. She looked back to the cell phone recording lens.

“With my recent lucky windfall at the Ladies Night battle royal, an event might I add you were conspicuously absent from, Synn, I’ve opted to change things up in here. Make it less like the cabin I rented, and more like the house I now own.

You know?

Cause when things change, Synnum De La Cruz, you don’t simply inform everyone that they’ve changed and then never actually show them changing. That makes you a liar. You can’t inform the world of a change of heart towards a more archetypally friendly alignment and then dirty tag as you did in our tag match. You can’t proclaim the use of a dirty pin as a perceived honest necessity against an opponent who is shorter and weighs less than you like Jan Van Der Roost does. That’s… not… change, Synn. That’s not what I’m really on about, though.”

Her gloved fists started back into the heavy bag with a gleam in her eye.

“I remember being booked against Persephone in a four-way elimination match for the Uprising Chivalry title. Of the three competitors slated to be my opponents for that match, Persephone was the one I knew least about. Imagine my surprise, Synn, when she started digging things up about me, pointing out flaws and inconsistencies in my past, my personal life, in my character, no less.”

Thirteen paused her workout, resting her sweaty forehead against the heavy bag in focused concentration. She gives a heavy sigh.

“I thought, ‘how dare this bitch come at me with that’? How dare she touch the untouchable, unassailable qualities I knew existed in myself, flaws and fallibility really, but never dreamed someone else would see them, too. How dare she penetrate my life beyond the mat and the camera and start, of all things, to pick at it in an attempt to manipulate me with what all she’d dug up.”

Thirteen raised her eyes to glare into the camera.

“I’d wager you thought the same thing, Synn. I am pretty certain you did. So, in bringing it up in our first encounter, I wasn’t so much following your career like a starry-eyed fan, I was more interested in seeing how you’d fare against a woman who respects no boundaries, and gives no quarter in her quest for a 'W'. Just like the woman you’ve, also, claimed to be.”

She stepped away from the heavy bag and toweled her forehead off. Letting her chest heave as the breath returned to her lungs.

“It’s quite a thing to have your flaws exposed in such an invasive, unwanted manner, Synn. I remember it well. I wanted to pulverize that ugly bitch’s face into the canvas I was so angry at being so blatantly disrespected. That’s what she wanted though. That’s, as far as I can tell, Persephone’s way of winning a wrestling match. She worms under your skin, crawls into your head and takes up residence then, like some sort of shit-slinging monkey starts to hit you with all your dirty laundry and the stuff you wished no one else would bring up.

I was really interested, Synnum De La Cruz, to see, firstly, how you’d respond. Maybe, out of hope and belief that someone would fare better than I did in the face of an onslaught like that. How dare she, right? The disrespect of dredging up the past, of drawing upon your performance in another federation, as though she were learning from it in a way to prepare herself for a match against you to knock you off your game.

Now, you’ve requested I don’t bring up the events that transpired in that other federation. Coincidentally, just like you did prior to the match in question to the woman whose lesson I’m utilizing, shortly before you lost your championship to her.

I ask you, why?

Why must we put aside the things that have happened to us which hold the potential to make us stronger?

Are you so weak in your technique that you must cordon off aspects of your career, deem items off limits to your opponent so that you can maintain a positive self-image?

What is there to be gained in training yourself to fight if you can only do it one way, your way, and all other ways must be discontinued because it doesn’t suit your ‘style’.

Why, Synn, am I going to expect any difference in your skillset than what I've already seen leading into this match after you so brazenly declare yourself a changed woman, then attempt the exact same defence you did the last time we faced, and in your match, in that other federation before that, by dictating terms, and determining what’s fair play?

Tell me, when you come down to the ring on Tuesday night, should I just march in there armed with a happy-go-lucky gumby-grin and the assumption that you’re a changed woman because you said so and I shouldn’t be on guard against underhanded tactics like you’ve used in the first match I faced you in? Are you honestly expecting me to rule out the possibility of your utilizing the ropes for leverage in a pin attempt on me because you claim to not be like that anymore?

When you’re building a wall for defense, I’m told, you don’t purposefully OMIT portions of it because you don’t like them, or because you don't expect someone will attack there. And when you’re mounting an offense, you better be prepared to utilize every weapon in your arsenal, even the ones you deem unsavory, if it comes down to victory or certain defeat.

That’s what I learned when I faced a woman like Persephone Marquis, Synn. I realized that some people in this sport don’t play by the same rules I do. I’m going to try my damndest not to lower to their level, but I’m damn well going to be ready for it when they come at me.

That’s what happens when you train endlessly and constantly in order to improve yourself, to fill in gaps in your technique and ensure the same way you were beaten before cannot and will not be the way you’re beaten the next time.

Who did you train under in Japan, Synn?

What did they teach you, exactly?

In your initial address to me you offered me information, Synn. Like you’d freely dish your own dirt to me, and I’d do the same, we could exchange recipes even and we could come down to the ring, shake hands, and then on with the clean and orderly contest.

Sorry, bitch, but I don’t even NEED to rely on your career in 4CW to know that you are a sneaky, dangerous woman inside a wrestling ring and I would be a fool not to take everything I’ve learned inside a Boardwalk ring and every other ring I’ve ever set foot in and use it to learn a way through every situation you can possibly throw at me

That’s half the reason I’ve joined other wrestling federations.

You told me your plan is to put Boardwalk on the map again, Synn. You’ve been here for seven months; I’m surprised you haven’t done that already. But, History aside, I know how much you’d like to ignore the big H, how, pray tell, do you expect to establish a new golden age here if you keep hashing out the same damn routine every match? The same training regimen, where everything's off limits unless you approve.

‘I’m a changed woman’, Synn says.

I say prove it.

I’m here to win.

I’m here to beat you.

To do that, I’m going to prepare myself utilizing everything I’ve learned in every shitty loss I’ve ever suffered, Synn. I’m going to watch what my peers have done to succeed against you and I’m going to learn how to adapt the parts of their technique I see as suitable to augmenting and improving my own.

This is me throwing down a challenge to you, Synn.

I will not pull any punches because you don’t want me to.

If you don’t like it, change it.”

She looked resolute into the cell phone as she stopped the recording and once more wiped her brow. The movers had finished transporting the last of her assigned items and as she heaved a sigh and glanced around her now empty living space. Contented, she couldn’t help but smirk and swipe her way into the Twitter app on her phone only to be disappointed that, after they’d parted ways following Ladies Night and a long, surprisingly peaceful walk along the beach, Sonny Lee had yet to make much contact beyond that.

Of all the things to fear, Thirteen surmised, was change in an unwanted direction, or no change at all.