Post by Charly Pavone on Apr 3, 2015 19:02:27 GMT -5
Charly: Little brother, I have to show you where I'm living now. Don't feel bad if you just start laughing at me.
In the middle of our FaceTime call, I show my brother Rodrigo the unfortunate realities of my day-to-day existence ever since I signed up with Wrestletown. An empty storefront. The “Steel Mill Tavern.” A big Holston Huskies sign. Streets without cars.
Rodrigo: That's pretty quaint. Where the hell are you?
Rodrigo's still going with the glasses and slicked back hair look. He's doing something with his chemistry degree, I don't think it's anything that glamorous. My brother isn't building bombs, curing cancer or feeding the country. But he has spent zero minutes and zero seconds of his life in Holston, Pennsylvania, so if there's any kind of competition between us then he just might have it won anyway.
Charly: I'm off the map! I'm nowhere! I'm in some tiny-ass town.
Rodrigo: Wow, when you said United States I thought you meant New York City.
Charly: Or Miami. Or Chicago. Or anywhere at all. Oh, brother of mine, how wrong you were.
Rodrigo: You took Eugenia to that town?
Charly: Oh yeah, she's just having the time of her life. There's just so much for a woman like Euge to do in a place like Holston, Pennsylvania.
Rodrigo winces; I find myself wincing along with him. Eventually, he changes the subject.
Rodrigo: You got to see the River match the other day?
Charly: We did, yeah. It was on one of those little boxy streams with ads that try to give your computer ebola, but it was good to see. Felt like I was back home for a couple minutes. Pablito Aimar, he was your favorite when you were a kid, right?
Rodrigo: Of course. I even grew my hair out. I looked like a freak, some kind of wild child.
Charly: I always knew he'd come back. I just want to see him play again.
I pan the camera down Main Street one more time.
Charly: We both had such an easy time growing up. We didn't have to sacrifice much of anything. I guess I think of this place as my own little sacrifice. One step back, two steps forward. It's harder for my wife, though.
Rodrigo: Yeah.
Charly: I'm here for my career; she's just here because she married me. And she's really self-conscious about her English, so it's tough. Our parents were so fanatical about that. English, English, English, you have to speak perfect English. Well, thanks, Dad, now I'm living in a shithole. We got a little job in a Mexican restaurant in the next town over.
Rodrigo: Just to give her something to do?
Charly: Yeah, basically. She's got a great attitude, though. She knows she's better than this and we're not going to live here forever. Just look at these streets, man.
I wave the phone around a bit, as if to prove the point – there's nothing going on around me at all.
Charly: This is downtown. Totally dead. Just a dead, sad town. I think it used to have some of the steel industry, but that's all in Asia now. I bet right now in Holston it's all about gossip, getting drunk and the stupid little high school wrestling team. I feel bad for the people who are from here. When we were kids in Recoleta, we had so much. They have a high school wrestling team.
Rodrigo: You know, Charly, if the wrestling thing doesn't work out, you should be a travel host. Or the opposite of a travel host. Just go to terrible places and complain about them.
I unbutton my top two buttons and take a few long, swaggering steps.
Charly: Coming to you live, from the ruined streets of war-torn Syria!
Rodrigo: I can't even get a good choripán!
Charly: What kind of a country is this? They should vote these guys out.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a fat, pasty man with a Holston Huskies baseball cap shuffling down the sidewalk. Finally, a sign of human life – but every step is its own struggle. As I point the phone at him and chuckle, I contemplate the daily miseries of life in his body.
Charly: Take a look at this one.
Rodrigo: Oh, wow.
Charly: Welcome to Holston.
Rodrigo: They don't all look like that?
Charly: I can show you the women next if you want.
Rodrigo: I'll pass.
To my abject horror, as the strange man is getting closer to me, I notice that he is making eye contact. He motions me to take my headphones off. He doesn't speak Spanish, does he? He doesn't know I'm talking about him? I look down at my boat shoes.
Strange Man: You're one of the wrestlers! You're one of the new wrestlers!
He looks absolutely giddy, but I don't want to talk to this guy. He doesn't mean anything to me. I want to talk to my brother. I roll my eyes and put on an improvised accent that is neither my own, Argentinian or probably even Hispanic.
Charly: I am just maintenance man.
I awkwardly make a screwdriver motion with my left hand while looking at Rodrigo on the phone.
Charly: I fix the things.
Strange Man: Maintenance man? With an iPhone?
Rodrigo is now openly pointing and laughing at me. The accent slips a little. A lot.
Charly: I like Apple products.
Strange Man: You're all dressed different – you're one of the foreign wrestlers, I know you are!
I shake my head, smile faintly and walk on by.
In the middle of our FaceTime call, I show my brother Rodrigo the unfortunate realities of my day-to-day existence ever since I signed up with Wrestletown. An empty storefront. The “Steel Mill Tavern.” A big Holston Huskies sign. Streets without cars.
Rodrigo: That's pretty quaint. Where the hell are you?
Rodrigo's still going with the glasses and slicked back hair look. He's doing something with his chemistry degree, I don't think it's anything that glamorous. My brother isn't building bombs, curing cancer or feeding the country. But he has spent zero minutes and zero seconds of his life in Holston, Pennsylvania, so if there's any kind of competition between us then he just might have it won anyway.
Charly: I'm off the map! I'm nowhere! I'm in some tiny-ass town.
Rodrigo: Wow, when you said United States I thought you meant New York City.
Charly: Or Miami. Or Chicago. Or anywhere at all. Oh, brother of mine, how wrong you were.
Rodrigo: You took Eugenia to that town?
Charly: Oh yeah, she's just having the time of her life. There's just so much for a woman like Euge to do in a place like Holston, Pennsylvania.
Rodrigo winces; I find myself wincing along with him. Eventually, he changes the subject.
Rodrigo: You got to see the River match the other day?
Charly: We did, yeah. It was on one of those little boxy streams with ads that try to give your computer ebola, but it was good to see. Felt like I was back home for a couple minutes. Pablito Aimar, he was your favorite when you were a kid, right?
Rodrigo: Of course. I even grew my hair out. I looked like a freak, some kind of wild child.
Charly: I always knew he'd come back. I just want to see him play again.
I pan the camera down Main Street one more time.
Charly: We both had such an easy time growing up. We didn't have to sacrifice much of anything. I guess I think of this place as my own little sacrifice. One step back, two steps forward. It's harder for my wife, though.
Rodrigo: Yeah.
Charly: I'm here for my career; she's just here because she married me. And she's really self-conscious about her English, so it's tough. Our parents were so fanatical about that. English, English, English, you have to speak perfect English. Well, thanks, Dad, now I'm living in a shithole. We got a little job in a Mexican restaurant in the next town over.
Rodrigo: Just to give her something to do?
Charly: Yeah, basically. She's got a great attitude, though. She knows she's better than this and we're not going to live here forever. Just look at these streets, man.
I wave the phone around a bit, as if to prove the point – there's nothing going on around me at all.
Charly: This is downtown. Totally dead. Just a dead, sad town. I think it used to have some of the steel industry, but that's all in Asia now. I bet right now in Holston it's all about gossip, getting drunk and the stupid little high school wrestling team. I feel bad for the people who are from here. When we were kids in Recoleta, we had so much. They have a high school wrestling team.
Rodrigo: You know, Charly, if the wrestling thing doesn't work out, you should be a travel host. Or the opposite of a travel host. Just go to terrible places and complain about them.
I unbutton my top two buttons and take a few long, swaggering steps.
Charly: Coming to you live, from the ruined streets of war-torn Syria!
Rodrigo: I can't even get a good choripán!
Charly: What kind of a country is this? They should vote these guys out.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a fat, pasty man with a Holston Huskies baseball cap shuffling down the sidewalk. Finally, a sign of human life – but every step is its own struggle. As I point the phone at him and chuckle, I contemplate the daily miseries of life in his body.
Charly: Take a look at this one.
Rodrigo: Oh, wow.
Charly: Welcome to Holston.
Rodrigo: They don't all look like that?
Charly: I can show you the women next if you want.
Rodrigo: I'll pass.
To my abject horror, as the strange man is getting closer to me, I notice that he is making eye contact. He motions me to take my headphones off. He doesn't speak Spanish, does he? He doesn't know I'm talking about him? I look down at my boat shoes.
Strange Man: You're one of the wrestlers! You're one of the new wrestlers!
He looks absolutely giddy, but I don't want to talk to this guy. He doesn't mean anything to me. I want to talk to my brother. I roll my eyes and put on an improvised accent that is neither my own, Argentinian or probably even Hispanic.
Charly: I am just maintenance man.
I awkwardly make a screwdriver motion with my left hand while looking at Rodrigo on the phone.
Charly: I fix the things.
Strange Man: Maintenance man? With an iPhone?
Rodrigo is now openly pointing and laughing at me. The accent slips a little. A lot.
Charly: I like Apple products.
Strange Man: You're all dressed different – you're one of the foreign wrestlers, I know you are!
I shake my head, smile faintly and walk on by.
