John Cena's Arc

Chapter 5 of 6

Cena spent the weekend with a list of four names and a phone that rarely rang back. By Monday he had two soft yeses and two hard maybes. He needed three firm hands. He drove to the arch on Tuesday morning and stood under it in the cold. The blank stone hung between the others on its chains, a weathered metal panel scrubbed clean, waiting for a name. He stared at it until his fingers went numb. Then he went home and pulled a flat shape out of the bed of his truck. The shape was a stone marker he had paid a local mason to cut. River rocks ringed the base. Pine branches lay across the top. The face of the stone listed names that had nothing to do with wrestling. Teachers. A nurse. A volunteer fire captain. A girl who had won a state science prize in 1994. Every name came from Pinehaven. Every name had been refused a place on the arch since 2018. Cena loaded the marker onto a hand cart and rolled it into the council building before the Wednesday session. He set the stone at the front of the hall and spoke for four minutes. He said the seat had blocked more than entertainers. He said the town had a habit of saying no, and the habit had a record. He pointed to each name on the marker and said where that person still lived and worked. Two council members would not look at him. One wrote something in a notebook. The chair told him his time was up and asked him to leave the marker by the wall. Cena walked out without arguing. Triple H was waiting on the steps between the pillars. He held a paper coffee cup in one hand and his phone in the other. He did not smile. He said two members had called him that morning. He said one had read the voting tally from the old archive tablet front to back. He said the other had a daughter on the marker. Then he said the words plain. Three hands. The vote was Cena's. He drank from the cup and looked past Cena at the rain starting again. Cena asked how he knew. Triple H said he had counted twice. He said the session was Friday and he would not be in the room. He said he had already pulled his banner off the cabin fence so nobody could call the vote a favor to a friend. Then he walked to his truck. Cena stood on the steps with the rain on his shoulders. The stone at the arch was still blank. The vote was still three days away. For the first time since Harris had spoken his name across a desk, the count was on his side.