Title: "From His Perspective"        

         Alone.

         The gentle waters of the Atlantic slowly rocked his home back and forth as Lint sat on the edge of his bed. He was back in Maine, back in his houseboat, back in the obscurity and isolation that was his only life until recently. He had surfaced twice for appearances in the Ultratitle tournament, and disappeared in-between to San Francisco to pursue his reasoning for stepping back into the spotlight in the first place.

         It wouldn't be that easy.

         He looked down at the only photograph he had of his child, a boy nearly ten years old. A son he had only recently learned of. It had been so long ago. Seeing Carenthia again brought back a flood of memories from his life in California. His temporary life in Oregon. And the panic and distrust that pushed him far away, settling into a residence and employment at the other edge of the country.

         This was all a gamble.

         She wouldn't have reached out to him now if she didn't need him. No matter what she told him outside the doorway to his hotel room, why would she have contacted him now if she didn't want his help. If she didn't feel a purpose behind reaching him again. They hadn't left on the best of terms. But then again, they had no choice but to leave each other. For him to leave her. The truth overshadowed the lie they were forming together. She had family there.

         What is a family?

         Is it biological? Will there always be a connection to the people who bring a life into the world? Do they have a further responsibility? Lint questioned this reasoning. He never knew his parents. Adults in his life were a cascading arrangement of foster homes until law stated he was old enough to fend for himself. The people responsible for his DNA had no part in his life. He wouldn't call that family.

         And now he was on his way to creating the same history for his own son.

         Nature versus nurture. But what is it when nature doesn't know, and nurture is never given a chance? He travelled across the country for a night to sit in a hotel room and was not allowed to say the one thing he went to utter. To say “hi” to the son he never knew he had.

         Lint looked up at the clock. He had to report to the shipyard in twenty minutes. His employers had granted him a reduced work schedule while competing in the wrestling tournament. He was pulling double-duty. Bills still arrived each month. The prospect of winning a competition was no replacement for the day-to-day of manual labor. And if he did win, that money was already spent. Whether Carenthia wanted the help or not, the check would go straight to the surgery bills his son would need. His DNA was responsible for this situation. Nature and nurture could reconnect.

         He got up to put on his mud-stained pants and work boots. It was the fabled tale of the wrestler once the fans' applause dried up. What does a wrestler do when there is no arena left for him? As Lint grabbed a t-shirt, he looked back at his living conditions for that answer.

         In a week, he would return to that arena for his next match. A foot in height and an untold weight disadvantage outsized him. Good thing this stuff was booked, he thought to himself. All he could do was go in there and give the performance he knew he could. What he remembered he could do. The fantasy of wrestling, he thought, was that even someone like him, even as he put on his work boots to toil his day away as a ship builder, could somehow be the victor in front of thousands of fans. But he knew the person in that ring was never this man before him. That was the facade. This was real life. The means to make that possible.

         He took a deep breath. Over time, the gasps were able to be deeper and deeper. They were natural again. Before slipping on the shirt, he looked into a mirror at the scar running across his chest. He hadn't received medical clearance before stepping out to compete. This was part of the gamble he took upon himself. Ever since the surgery, or even before that when he was first given the diagnosis, each day was a quest to finish the night with another breath left to take.

         It was stupid to even be taking this risk.

         But he looked back at the photograph of his son. This child, one who he doubted even knew his existence, was cause for trudging forward. The difference between Lint and his birth parents was that Lint was coming back into this child's life. Was that the ingredients to a family? Was this a right he had for himself and what he created?

         He didn't blame Carenthia. He even knew why she would be hesitant. If roles were reversed, he wasn't so sure that he wouldn't do the same thing. It's not that she didn't want her son to meet Lint. It was because that was just the introduction. Behind this inconvenience was a well of truth left to be told. An unfortunate yet certain path that their child was on. It was a target neither knew rested ahead all of those years ago. If they did, certainly, things would be different. And the two would still be talking to this day.

         What is a family?

         Lint, Carenthia, and their child. In a number of ways.