Shawndrina the Ventriloquist Wrestler

Chapter 1: The Wrestling Venriloquist, a blackout & an enormous stuffed animal

Opening Image

Shawndrina hated hand exercises. In the background Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” was playing and with a sock over her left hand, she went through the motion of trying to make the sock look like it was singing. It was a detached sort of exercise, staring at the reflection of her hand in the mirror as it swayed and bopped along to the song and belted out the main lyrics. The edge of the mirror was lined with small, printed pictures of Shawndrina from her various wrestling matches across the country. Each image was a different match, and in each image she was expressing a specific emotion: happiness, sadness, anger, surprise, outrage, shock, fear, and so on. It wasn’t just her face that showed shock or fear. It was her entire body. Shawndrina had the song on repeat, and she’d heard it so many times, she hated it now. But it helped her sing with the sock puppet in any emotion she wanted to create.

“Sock,” she said.

The sock had the word “sock” written across its head. It turned to her obediently.

“Sing the entire song in a happy mood.”

The sock mutely but enthusiastically nodded. Easy.

“Sock. Do fear.”

The sock obeyed.

Not that she performed with a sock. This was a basic exercise. She was doing what she’d been taught to do by her teacher, and she knew it made sense to do this. So, she sat on her plain stool, her toes grabbing onto the thin horizontal dowel, her torso upright but relaxed (because rigidity would make throwing the voice difficult). Her arm slightly out to the side, the elbow a little lower than a full right angle to keep her arm from getting tired too quickly. All the lessons were in her head but fully ingrained now. She wasn’t reciting them out of necessity, but to respect her teacher. She could see the old man’s face studying her technique carefully.

In her mind, the old man calmly critiqued Shawndrina while in the mirror, the sock screamed at the top of its lungs, “Can you do the fandango!?!”

At least in her head, the sock looked like it was screaming the song word for word, inflection by inflection. The truth was only Freddy was singing. This was a hand exercise, not one that required she summon one of the voices inside her.

Shawndrina then caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her chin was tucked into her chest and her head tilted to the side. Her left arm was horizontal, and her forearm was vertical, pointing to the ceiling, while her hand looked like her fingers and thumb were plucking something from the air. The mirror showed the rest of the room behind her, and she stared at it. Was it all really there behind her? This touring bus? Was there a window, a door, a worn-out rug, an open book, an empty bowl, and a spoon? She leaned forward and peered into the mirror and inside its edges to look at more of the room, and she realized the music had stopped playing.

“Who’s back there?” she called out. There was rustling and movement, a ripping sound, but no one spoke.

Shawndrina threw the sock aside and stomped to the back of her tour bus. There was a man, a stranger, tearing apart one of her enormous stuffed animals, a plushy replica of one of her female dummies. One of the side windows of the bus was open enough to have let someone in. She rushed the man with a growling scream.

“Motherfucker! Get your hands off my shit!”

He was fast. Her arms were outstretched to confuse him, and she had lowered a shoulder to body check him. But he adroitly slipped right under her arm and kicked her in the back. She slammed into the back of the bus. Then he punched her on the right side and followed with another punch on the left. The pain was excruciating, but Shawndrina trapped his fist against her side and tried to spin him around with his own momentum, but he didn’t budge. She ended up wrapped in his iron embrace.

His eyes, crystal, clear, and blue stared at her. One eye twitched.

“You!” she screamed, and he crushed her in his arms. Shawndrina tried to kick him, and she felt herself gasping for air. She looked around for something she could use to hit him. The only thing was her giant stuffed animal, now ripped open and all her bear stuffing on the ground. It was her favorite plushy because it was her favorite dummy to have at ringside. She never lost with her psycho, psychedelic-rainbow female bear in her corner. As the last of her breath was squeezed out of her body, she called to her bear.

“Redrum… redrum,” and the world went black.

At least, for an instant it went black. Because, suddenly she opened her eyes, and she was right back in her stool as if she’d still been practicing. Freddy Mercury was singing at the top of his lungs, and she couldn’t fight the urge to sing right along. But she wasn’t facing the mirror. She was facing the bowl and spoon, so she turned herself to look back into the mirror.

Only it was Redrum who stared back from the mirror, not Shawndrina, and the bear wondered, where had Shawndrina gone? For that matter, why weren’t they at ringside? The only time Redrum came out was to watch Shawndrina fight in the ring. It was the best seat. Thinking about their favorite lyrics, and waiting for Shawndrina, waiting. And when Shawndrina had beat the tar out of her opponent, and they were lying on the mat, she’d run over to Redrum and put her hand inside. She’d reach for a microphone, and Redrum’s scratchy voice would fill the arena.

“My tapeworm tells me what to do!”

Like magic, the audience always knew Redrum was going to say that, and they’d start up a chant. Then Shawndrina would pounce on her opponent and give them a massive wedgie before pinning them to the mat for the win.

Redrum stared into the mirror, and it didn’t make sense. Her chin was tucked in like Shawndrina’s, Redrum raised an arm, and stuck out her hand. She listened to Freddy Mercury sing, and she agreed with his sentiment.

“Nothing really matters to me.”

Redrum stood up and walked to the back of the bus. There were signs of a scuffle, but the window was closed now. No Shawndrina. Redrum walked to the front of the bus. No one was here either. Well, they travelled alone. Shawndrina didn’t like having company.

Redrum saw the keys in the ignition, and she knew where the next fight was going to take place, so she sat down and strapped herself in. She got the bus on the road and headed for Atlanta. Shawndrina had to be there.