Scott had thumbed through a philosophy book or two; once or twice. Each time, assuming he was smarter than he actually was and abandoning the text soon thereafter. The South Park Barnes and Noble receipt preserved forever in servitude as a makeshift bookmark. On one such occasion he skimmed the fragmented and highly contested work of Heraclitus; a Greek philosopher; whose life and death are nearly as muddled and contested as his work.  

As the Alaska Air flight Scott had boarded in New Orleans taxied into the Seattle-Tacoma International airport, he was reminded of one of those fragments that he had managed to retain from one such half hearted perusal.

“You could not step twice into the same rivers; for other waters are ever flowing on to you.”

You can’t step in the same river twice, green or otherwise ...

... and you can’t go home again … again.

Scott had returned home once before. Seattle’s Prodigal Son. Or at least that is how it was billed in the IWF. His past came flooding back instantly. The high school sweetheart, the best friend … the issues stemming from his impromptu exodus and subsequent return. It’s hard enough to step in that same river twice…

...much less a third.

The morning after MAXIMUM DEFIANCE, Scott Douglas has made the trek home to the Emerald City. Since his father's passing and Scott’s original disappearing act, his mother has become more doting than ever.

Originally painting his New Orleans trip as nothing more than a scouting mission, Scott signed to DEFIANCE shortly after DEFCON and hasn’t returned home since.

He’d like to tell himself; this trip was truly altruistic and for the sake of his mother and her neverending worry… but something at MAXIMUM DEFIANCE spooked him.

His brief and unfortunate exchange with the newcomer Midorikawa brought back memories and feelings Scott hasn’t felt or chose to deal with in a quite some time. His mind races with these old thoughts and feelings for the duration of his trip.

From his hobble of an apartment in NOLA to his mother's doorstep in the South Park Neighborhood of Seattle; it’s a whirlwind of concern, wonder, dread and regret.

He knocks lightly on her second floor apartment door as he leans in and the door creaks open.

Scott:
MA… !?

He can hear the sounds of pots and pans banging around in the kitchen.

Scott:
MA!?

A voice from the kitchen, just past the old yellowed hutch in all two feet of a foyer, calls back.

Voice: [excitement growing with each syllable]
Scotty?!

Scott crosses the threshold and his mother meets him before the second foot can further matt down the age old shag carpet beneath his feet.

Scott’s mother, Martha Litchfield Douglas, had met and married Scott’s late father in her twenties; as he was working the Pacific North West territories. Nate “The Great” Douglas would leave the sport in his late thirties with bad knees and an ailing back with few regrets. The two settled in Seattle and Nate would secure government employment as a mail carrier and put the business behind him and focus on his growing family. Martha was a sweet woman and never cared for the business but learned to live with her husband’s profession in the few years he had left after their courtship began. That being said she was never to keen on Scott’s passion for it.

Martha:
Scotty!

She lunges toward her wayward son and wraps her arms around his neck tightly. She savors the moment for only a second before pulling back and commencing to feign whipping Scott with the dish towel in her hand.

Martha:
Where have you been!?

Scott: [laughing]
Ma’ … ma’ … I told you; I’m working the Louisiana territory.

Martha:
Territory? [scoffs] Even your mother knows those are all but gone, Scotty. Went the way of your father. God rest his soul.

Martha turns toward the living room, directly off the foyer. Scott throws his arms around his mother's shoulder; as he towers over here. The two walk in tandem for a few steps.  

Scott:
Agreed. [chuckles] But there are a few pretty solid, for lack of a better term, regional promotions still plugging along out there. Where’s that tablet I got you? I can set you up with Hulu and you can watch your favorite son every week!

The two reach the threshold of the living room and the kitchen. Martha turns to her son.

Martha:
That was eight hundred dollars… I returned that. Paid the rent, almost twice over.

Scott:
Ma! If you needed money …

Martha: [interrupting]
It wasn’t a matter of need money, Scotty. It is a matter of principle… I don’t need a toy worth two months rent!

Scott throws his hands up in the air as he turns toward the living room proper. Martha heads to the kitchen. Scott pauses momentarily at his father's favorite chair. The moment lingers a little longer than it maybe should before Scott takes a half step or so and plops down on the plastic covered couch.

His mother can be heard in the kitchen banging around dishes and such as she calls out to her only son.

Martha:
I’ll make you a sandwich!

Scott reaches for the television remote as he responds.

Scott:
You’re a saint, Ma!

Scott attempts to relax and sinks back into the couch with the crinkle of the aging plastic crinkling with each movement. After a long flight and a hectic DEF schedule … it's a matter of second before Scott is out like a light. His mother enters the room, sandwich in hand.

Martha:
Here you are …

She realizes he is asleep and sets the sandwich and the plate it is sitting on down on the coffee table. Reaching over her only son, she pulls a quilt from the back of the couch. The corner catches underneath Scott’s shoulder and he instinctively moves toward the arm of the couch and lays out a bit more than before. She drapes the quilt over Scott’s body … his ankles and feet popping out the bottom.

Slow fade to black.

More Propaganda | View "Sub Pop" Scott Douglas's Biography