Post by Meatball-kun on Aug 30, 2014 11:49:29 GMT -6
Chuck Matthews: "I fucked up."
Fr. Michael: "You didn't. You've made mistakes, but I think it speaks in your favor that you're able to acknowledge them. You know you've done wrong. You don't try to justify it-"
Chuck Matthews: "But I've done nothing to make it right."
Fr. Michael: "Baby steps, Charlie."
Michael takes a deep breath. Chuck knew what Michael wanted to say. Hell, Chuck felt it himself. He'd fallen...and he'd fallen far. In a sense, Michael and Chuck were two sides of the same coin. They'd grown up together. They'd known each other their entire lives. They had almost gone into the priesthood together. But that lone dividing line...that fork in the road...that was where they were different. Michael went into the church. Chuck went into wrestling. From that point on...what? They had become near polar opposites. Michael was poor. He lived alone. But he was happy. He enjoyed his life. He'd lived humbly and honestly, and he was a better man for it. But Chuck? Chuck was a wealthy businessman. He was a highly intelligent individual, and he never let people forget it. He'd hurt a lot of people to get where he was. In some ways, sure, he was happy where he was. He enjoyed his position in his company. He enjoyed having a large house in Chicago. He enjoyed being able to travel as much as he did. But something was missing. Something always was. And this was not the sort of thing he could throw sex and money at to drive it away.
Fr. Michael: "It's never too late to make things right. You should know that better than anyone."
Chuck Matthews: "I don't know about that."
Fr. Michael: "You came to see me. That has to mean something."
Chuck Matthews: "You're a friend. You're someone I can trust."
Michael laughs.
Fr. Michael: "I'm a priest, and you're a practicing Catholic. I hardly think it's a coincidence that you traveled halfway across the country for a surprise visit with a friend."
Chuck shakes his head.
Fr. Michael: "So what is it really, Charlie? Why did you come down here? What is it you want? Forgiveness?"
Chuck looks up from the table, meeting Michael's eyes. He pauses for a moment, but when he finally speaks, there's a tone of surprise in his voice, as though Chuck himself can't believe what he's saying.
Chuck Matthews: "....no."
The priest leans back in his chair, looking a bit surprised himself. He crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows.
Fr. Michael: "Then what?"
Chuck thinks on it for a moment.
Chuck Matthews: "I think.......I just need...closure."
--------------------------------------------
A Hotel Room
August 20, 2014
Sacramento, California
It's another shitty hotel room. Chuck seemed to be spending a lot of time in these lately. He was closer now. He could see her, if he really wanted to. But did he want to?
Michael's words still ran though his mind. His advice. His road to Chuck's "closure." This was what Chuck needed to do...right?
No...no, he didn't. Why would he? Chuck was happy, right? He had a wife back home in Chicago-
'Who you haven't seen in months. Do you really think that's going to go over well when you finally show your face again?'
And yet, despite this nagging thought running through his head, Chuck felt...strangely indifferent. He felt bad, of course...who wouldn't? But did he feel bad because he felt true remorse for his behavior? Or did he feel bad because he knew he should? Was he forcing himself to feel guilt?
'Ah...now you're onto something. How does that feel? You have to force yourself to feel the most basic of human emotions: Guilt. Sadness. Happiness. Fear. You're hardly human.'
There was a painful truth in those thoughts. And yet...he knew he was. He could remember those moments. He remembered days when he felt bad when he did something wrong. He remembered moments where he truly felt crushed. And, on the flip side of that coin, he could remember the days he felt truly happy. Days he would give anything to relive.
And perhaps that was what had brought him back to Sacramento. Chuck didn't care much for the west coast as it was...and yet, if there was ever a place that felt as comfortable to him as Chicago, this was it. He used to spend a lot of time here...perhaps more than he'd like to admit now.
Chuck stares at his phone. One phone call. That's all it would take. That's all he needed. What was stopping him?
Slowly, he punches in the numbers. This was going to happen. He was actually doing it. The phone rings, but Chuck doesn't dare hold the phone to his ear. He stares at the screen, almost in shock at what he'd just done. The faint sound of the tone sounds through the speaker. Once....twice......three times...
A pause. Nothing. For what seemed like ages. Silence...and then...
Woman: "Hello?"
------------------------------------------------------------------
The camera opens to its ever-familiar scene: An empty room, highlighted by a lone light shining down on Chuck Matthews. Chuck stands, frowning, staring off somewhere beyond the camera itself. He seems perplexed, but the playful smirk that he tries to hide tells us he's bursting to say something, but for reasons only he knows, is choosing to keep quiet.
This bizarre behavior continues for a few long, seemingly endless minutes of dead airtime. Finally, he chuckles to himself, and utters a single word.
Chuck Matthews: "Nah."
With that, he shuts off the camera, and the screen goes dark.
Fr. Michael: "You didn't. You've made mistakes, but I think it speaks in your favor that you're able to acknowledge them. You know you've done wrong. You don't try to justify it-"
Chuck Matthews: "But I've done nothing to make it right."
Fr. Michael: "Baby steps, Charlie."
Michael takes a deep breath. Chuck knew what Michael wanted to say. Hell, Chuck felt it himself. He'd fallen...and he'd fallen far. In a sense, Michael and Chuck were two sides of the same coin. They'd grown up together. They'd known each other their entire lives. They had almost gone into the priesthood together. But that lone dividing line...that fork in the road...that was where they were different. Michael went into the church. Chuck went into wrestling. From that point on...what? They had become near polar opposites. Michael was poor. He lived alone. But he was happy. He enjoyed his life. He'd lived humbly and honestly, and he was a better man for it. But Chuck? Chuck was a wealthy businessman. He was a highly intelligent individual, and he never let people forget it. He'd hurt a lot of people to get where he was. In some ways, sure, he was happy where he was. He enjoyed his position in his company. He enjoyed having a large house in Chicago. He enjoyed being able to travel as much as he did. But something was missing. Something always was. And this was not the sort of thing he could throw sex and money at to drive it away.
Fr. Michael: "It's never too late to make things right. You should know that better than anyone."
Chuck Matthews: "I don't know about that."
Fr. Michael: "You came to see me. That has to mean something."
Chuck Matthews: "You're a friend. You're someone I can trust."
Michael laughs.
Fr. Michael: "I'm a priest, and you're a practicing Catholic. I hardly think it's a coincidence that you traveled halfway across the country for a surprise visit with a friend."
Chuck shakes his head.
Fr. Michael: "So what is it really, Charlie? Why did you come down here? What is it you want? Forgiveness?"
Chuck looks up from the table, meeting Michael's eyes. He pauses for a moment, but when he finally speaks, there's a tone of surprise in his voice, as though Chuck himself can't believe what he's saying.
Chuck Matthews: "....no."
The priest leans back in his chair, looking a bit surprised himself. He crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows.
Fr. Michael: "Then what?"
Chuck thinks on it for a moment.
Chuck Matthews: "I think.......I just need...closure."
--------------------------------------------
A Hotel Room
August 20, 2014
Sacramento, California
It's another shitty hotel room. Chuck seemed to be spending a lot of time in these lately. He was closer now. He could see her, if he really wanted to. But did he want to?
Michael's words still ran though his mind. His advice. His road to Chuck's "closure." This was what Chuck needed to do...right?
No...no, he didn't. Why would he? Chuck was happy, right? He had a wife back home in Chicago-
'Who you haven't seen in months. Do you really think that's going to go over well when you finally show your face again?'
And yet, despite this nagging thought running through his head, Chuck felt...strangely indifferent. He felt bad, of course...who wouldn't? But did he feel bad because he felt true remorse for his behavior? Or did he feel bad because he knew he should? Was he forcing himself to feel guilt?
'Ah...now you're onto something. How does that feel? You have to force yourself to feel the most basic of human emotions: Guilt. Sadness. Happiness. Fear. You're hardly human.'
There was a painful truth in those thoughts. And yet...he knew he was. He could remember those moments. He remembered days when he felt bad when he did something wrong. He remembered moments where he truly felt crushed. And, on the flip side of that coin, he could remember the days he felt truly happy. Days he would give anything to relive.
And perhaps that was what had brought him back to Sacramento. Chuck didn't care much for the west coast as it was...and yet, if there was ever a place that felt as comfortable to him as Chicago, this was it. He used to spend a lot of time here...perhaps more than he'd like to admit now.
Chuck stares at his phone. One phone call. That's all it would take. That's all he needed. What was stopping him?
Slowly, he punches in the numbers. This was going to happen. He was actually doing it. The phone rings, but Chuck doesn't dare hold the phone to his ear. He stares at the screen, almost in shock at what he'd just done. The faint sound of the tone sounds through the speaker. Once....twice......three times...
A pause. Nothing. For what seemed like ages. Silence...and then...
Woman: "Hello?"
------------------------------------------------------------------
The camera opens to its ever-familiar scene: An empty room, highlighted by a lone light shining down on Chuck Matthews. Chuck stands, frowning, staring off somewhere beyond the camera itself. He seems perplexed, but the playful smirk that he tries to hide tells us he's bursting to say something, but for reasons only he knows, is choosing to keep quiet.
This bizarre behavior continues for a few long, seemingly endless minutes of dead airtime. Finally, he chuckles to himself, and utters a single word.
Chuck Matthews: "Nah."
With that, he shuts off the camera, and the screen goes dark.