Luchadora

September 30, 2018 by Patrick Starks

LUCHA LUCHAlUCHADORA-animation-giff

Sweat, baby oil, with a little blood was all that ever remained in the ring. The stadium was empty but still, the echoes ringed in my ears like the bell that started the match. And from the nosebleeds, I could see the section where my dad had taken me to my first Wrestlemania. Those were days—I could never deny that I had a pretty good childhood or that I was somewhat spoiled—a cherry frosty in my right hand and a chili dog in my left, what kid would ever complain. Although mom probably would’ve killed dad had she found out, dad and I were always good at keeping secrets between the two of us, sometimes.

And just three years later I never knew I would be seeing my own dad perform in the ring, like one of the pros. He’d become the greatest of them all, the longest reigning champ in fact, and a twenty-seven-time champion to be exact. But like many who rise to success, there will always be someone to talk crap about it.
“If he’s such a big shot then why can’t he hold the title long enough for it to be relevant,” said the man with the pork pig belly. “You know in America our champs sure know a thing or two about holding titles. We got Ultimate Warrior, Randy Macho Man Savage, Jake the Snake, I mean, should I even bother to continue.”
Mom rolled her eyes. I stood up and cocked back my usual cherry fountain of delight and, then mom would grab my hand in response as the curls in her hair bounced from east to west. Nevertheless, the night was heating up, the commentator was slurring over his own words to the madness that had been going on.
“He’s gotta be done! I don’t think I’ve ever seen La Mona Roja take such a blow!” yelled the commentator.
“Uno, dos, th… Ay Dios mio! He kicked out!” yelled another.

Mom was at the edge of her seat. She’d always cringe to the violence dad embraced in the ring, I don’t think she was ever really athletic in her day—mom was kind of a girly girl. But I, on the other hand, was screaming at the top of my lungs, something I knew I’d most likely regret later on.
Dad then climbed for the turnbuckle, he was preparing to do his big finisher, the “Moon Shaker”. Like mom, the crowd was at the edge of their seats as well, but for them, that was just sheer excitement at best. At that moment, we all took a deep breath and then held it in longer than any flawless singer could hold a note, longer than the great Selena for example. But before we realized, it was all over. Dad wasn’t moving. The man in black and white stripes then ran over to check to see if he was okay, he grabbed dads hand but dad never squeezed it to ensure that he was okay or could continue. Across from them, both dad’s opponent sat in the corner shaking as if he’d seen a ghost, but it wasn’t the day of the dead, not yet at least, and just saying the word “dead” made me freak out even more about the situation.
From the stands, medics stampeded through the crowd and, over and under the ropes. Dad was now being harnessed to a stretcher, while mom did her best just to be beside him. I was in so much shock, I honestly didn’t even see her leave. Great parenting huh? No, yes… yeah, let’s save that for another discussion.
“That’s my husband!” she yelled, and eventually, the two security guards dressed in all black would let mom be.
An hour later mom and I would be sitting in the waiting room of “Hospital Mexico Americano,” which was presumed to have some of the best reviews. Paparazzi and all of dads fans waited outside. And thousands of candle lights circled the exterior of the building. If only the jerk from before could see the impact that dad made, he would regret what he’d said about luchadors in general, however, outside of the window where he was holding a candle so massive that it took more than one hand to hold, tears expelled from his eyes. I’d learned at an early age when a man cried, he really cried. I guess ignorance can be turned in some form or fashion.
“Mrs. Martinez,” yelled a man. “Is there a Mrs. Martinez in the room.”
Mom then stood up as her legs wobbled in fear. “Si, ese soy yo(Yes, that is me),” she said.
The man stood confused, I could tell he wasn’t a local, nevertheless, he still knew what mom meant. I mean, who’d work in a Mexican hospital and doesn’t even know how to speak Spanish, that be a story for only the comedians to tell.
Mom looked nervous.
“Wait here sweetie, mommy will be back soon,” she said.
“With dad?” I asked, but Mom had already turned direction from the answer with just the blink of an eye. Only the curtains.
And there I sat in a hot hospital all alone. My back was sweaty, even my butt—I laughed, I guess this is what it felt like being in a ring. Although dads mask was all that I’d have left of him now, something I’d never thought I’d see departed from him—it was still drenched with testosterone, somewhat smelly, but it was dads typical odor, although, I don’t know how mom managed all of these years. Dad never took his mask off, not even in bed mom would say, and that was all she’d ever end the conversation with. Overtime mom and I would somewhat forget about what dad looked like for every picture we had of him were only with the mask on. I know he had some without the mask, but still to this day I have no clue of what he did with them, but mom would always say he was handsome and that that was all I needed to know. But I couldn’t bear to wait any longer. Dad needed his mask, and so, I made my way through the curtains.
Lips locked, saliva was swapped, while moms butt was being clinched in ways I couldn’t comprehend.
“Oh how I’ve waited for this moment to kiss your lips again,” said the doctor, with moms hands running through his dark brown hair.
“Oh my little Mac dreamy,” she giggled and blushed while reaching down into the Doctors pants.
I couldn’t move. Mom would never, but there I stood in my yellow overalls witnessing everything before my adolescent eyes. My hip then bumped the table from the side of me as I tried to back away. From it, a vase filled with red and blue roses fell, and then shattered—water then spread throughout the cold marble floor.
“What the… what was that?” said mom. “Oh get off of me already you pendejo! Go see what it was..”

The Doc then gave mom a slap on the butt, followed by five more seconds of their lips touching. I wanted to puke. Although I’d see mom and dad do it all the time, that was just the problem, that load of a crap wasn’t my dad, I hoped.
The doctor was taller than he looked before, his head floated over the table I hid behind like clouds on a sunny day. His neck seemed to be as long as big birds from sesame street. And no, I don’t still watch it so keep your thoughts to yourself.
“Nothing here,” said the doctor. “Now, where were we?”
Mom rolled her eyes, but this time in more flattering ways.
“You pig, we don’t have time for that,” said mom. “What will you do about my husband?”

The doctor turned towards the door of the room and then locked it. Whatever he was prepared to discuss was obviously confidential.
“Well… We tried the turnbuckle scenario, but that didn’t work, at least not completely. Poor bastards still breathing, he’s got some heart. Kept asking where was Rosa, I mean, who the hell is Rosa?”
“It’s our daughter you… Haven’t I told you this like a thousand times already? Ugh men,” said mom. “So, what will you do now?”
“There’s always poison which I know for a fact will do the trick,” said the doctor.
“Okay. See that it does, I want to get a handle on this money before his lawyers get in my way.”“Don’t worry love,” said the doctor pulling mom closer to his chest. “We will be sipping on margaritas on cloud nine before you know it.”
Without hesitation I ran from around the table with dads mask on, I yelled and screamed like Xena the warrior princess and kicked the doctor in the place where the sun don’t shine—in the ring dad called it the shining wizard, which wasn’t really the actual move but he felt that kicking a man in the balls matched up better with the title. I was only ever supposed to use the move in a defense situation but screw it, what he’d just said were fighting words.
The doctor then screamed like a little girl, but never had I myself hit a pitch so high, it was amazing, he was a soprano for sure. Mom tried her best to grab me but I slipped from her grasp for she’d always wear too much lotion, lucky me I guess. I’d escaped the hospital in a matter of seconds and the rest was history but not in the books.
For weeks the cops hunted me down, using their top german shepherds to sniff me out. Trust me, I wanted to go, I really did but I figured they’d be crooked cops as that seemed to have been a common thing from where I was from. Every corner I turned blue and red lights flashed, it reminded me of the flowers I’d knocked down from earlier. Flyers of my dad’s death hung on the brick walls of the alleys, as well my own. It seemed that mom and the doctor had gotten what they wanted, but still, they had a loose end, which was me but out of it all I just wish I could’ve been there for dad. Just a few days later I’d be standing in the pouring rain at his grave. Again, the same dam red and blue roses, who the hell was bringing them… I’d altered dads mask a little. He probably would have suplexed me if he saw what’ve I done to it now, but I couldn’t help it, it definitely needed a woman’s touch.
To make a long story short, “they,” meaning my mom and the doc would find out my whereabouts one way or another. Let’s just say I drew a little too much attention to myself, as I was one of the first woman luchadors—luchadora’s they called us.
Again, the crowds cheered and the rumbling of their feet circled around the arena. I’d defended my title forty-nine times and was now on my way to obtaining the big fifty my fans called it. Dad would’ve been proud, although, not many of the men were, but who care’s, if they want the title so bad then maybe they should get good, as my uncle would put it.
And in the crowd that I gazed upon, there sat the two people I wish I could’ve body slammed through a table. Unfortunately, for my opponent that would without a doubt make them the sacrificial lamb for this.
Moms hair was now as grey as the chrome around my championship belt. The doctor as well grayed but only in certain spots, he reminded me somewhat of Dr. Strange or Rogue, but there was no way in hell that that douchebag was a superhero, not in the slightest. But out of all those years I really just wanted to know why mom did what she did. Did she not love dad?
The bell rang and then the lights went out, and I’ll let your imagination do the rest, whose voice do think was the first to shout?

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