I’ve always wanted to be a professional wrestler. To know the antics of the ring. A public truly-madly-deeply love affair. The concrete knowing of who is good and who is bad.
I’ve wanted to be bad.
I’ve wanted to be good.
To have the shiny gold belt.
To break a chair over my enemy’s back.
To have the camaraderie of my fellow performers backstage–planning our next sequences, tending each other’s bruises, sharing our naked bodies as we take off or put on our personas.
To eat spaghetti and meatballs off a paper plate with my nemesis after flying off the ropes– atomic knee dropping them.
I go to the VFW every time they come to town. Muscle Beast is my favorite. He makes me feel…delicate when I’m next to him. Imagine, that—a woman my size! He signed my program after I bought a t-shirt last night. When he handed it back to me, I said, “What’s your real name?”
Muscle Beast bounced his tan pecks and growled, “Oh no, that’s not how this works, precious.” He got down on one knee and said, “What’s your wrestler name?”
The lights went down and a spotlight fell on us. Exalted, I grabbed the microphone from the announcer. This was easy. “Call me Beatrix the Banshee.”
The audience roared.
He waited for the crowd to quiet. “Oh, Banshee…” he said into the mic and then locked eyes with me. “I’ve never met anyone as beautiful and strong as you.” He rubbed his free hand up and down the side of my leg. I blushed. “Will you join us in the fight against the evil King Cobra and his band of snakes…as my bride?” Then he offered me his gold title belt.
Me?! Abandon for the moment coursed through me and let go of all hesitation. The crowd cheered me on. I took the belt and held it high in the air for all to see. “Yes?” I asked my fans.
An electric guitar riff and a wild laser light display confirmed my answer.
“Yes, a thousand times, yes!” Tears erupted from my eyes as Muscle Beast took the microphone and raised my hand in his for the crowd. He presented me like this in every direction and then tipped me back like a dancer and kissed me. I thought my heart would leap out of my chest. I could have stayed like this for an eternity held in his embrace. He broke the kiss, cradled my head to his smooth chest, and whispered, “When I let go of your hand, take two steps back.”
He kissed me again and then spun me out to face the crowd. I saw a glimmer of metal above my head. He let go. I stepped away. A folding chair smashed my beloved to the ground. As I reached for him, someone grabbed my arms. I turned to face my enemy but all I saw were massive arms covered in shiny snakeskin lycra before a black bag dropped over my head. I struggled against my captor as he dragged me out of the VFW kicking and screaming.
When the fire door closed behind us, I heard Muscle Beast roar, “I’m coming for you, Cobra. Banshee is mine!”
In the parking lot, he stood me upright and pulled the bag off. There stood the giant King Cobra with a gold snake coiled around his tree trunk neck. He panted as he patted me on my sweaty shoulder. “Banshee,” he laughed, “welcome to the ring!”
***
Nina Barufaldi is a Maine-based writer whose fiction explores metamorphosis, motherhood, and the body’s unruly truths. A graduate of Stonecoast, she has published widely in literary and speculative venues. She also runs The Practice of Writing, an online school for craft, community, and creative experiment and can be found on Substack and IG as @writingwithnina.
