Post by helenanoir on Sept 20, 2016 10:50:10 GMT
Saturday, 24th Septemper 2016
LAX, Los Angeles International Airport
12:15 PM
At least, there was no delay this time. And my luggage is right here, with me, where it's supposed to be. Thanks, American Airlines. But next time, please, I would appreciate if you do something more than offering your most sincere apologies via some smiling hostess, when I tell you that I have a problem with a kid that keeps screaming in my ears for six fucking hours how much of a coward I am for walking out from my previous company, and how much he hopes I get my ass kicked wherever I will go.
Wherever I will go...
Well this is the first stop of this new part of my carer, the sunny Los Angeles, California. Tonight I'll make my return in a wrestling ring under the Guerreros Of Lucha banner, in their World Cup event.
When I think back about it, I start having doubts on my mental health. I mean who, after three months away from competition, throws his body on the line to wrestle two matches in one night, a Last Woman Standing and a TLC Tag Match? Not to mention that tomorrow will be another tough day... Oh well, that's not going to be a problem though, if I can't reach the Arena... Why is it so hard to find a
“TAXIIIII!!!!!”
Finally, a yellow car stops. I can feel the looks of all these people weighing on me. This is the part of celebrity I will never get used to. Don't get me wrong, I am more than happy to sign autographs and even spend some time with fans at the events, but -Jesus Christ!- stopping me in the middle of the streets? I don't know what's worse: that or the people whispering behind your back “Is she really...? NO WAAAAAYYY!”. Or all the flash photography.
I hate smartphones and their hi-res cameras. You are just doing your things and some kid posts a picture of you on Instagram
“Hola senorita!”
What a coincidence! A mexican driver will be the one taking me to a Lucha event. At least he doesn't seem to have recognized me. He probably believes I'm just another turist, another frail girl... He's even helping me with my suitcases. What a... caballero? Is that the spanish word for gentleman? Damn... I tried to study some spanish, I thought it would have helped me relating with the Mexican part of the crowd... But then, a hurricane named Kiareq entered my life, and all my plans went south. That girl is really something else... And an amazing talent on top of that.
“Where can I take you miss?”
The heavy spanish accent makes me wonder if this is actually a licensed taxi driver, or some gipsy trying to put some food on his table. Not that I really care, until he can bring me safe to my destination.... Right... Where did I put the address? It's not in my pocket, I'm not a purse woman so... Oh fuck this!
“Some place called The Labyrinth, where a wrestling event is scheduled for ton...”
“MADRE DE DIOS!”
Great, now he just put two and two together... Silly Helena, you already stand out through a crowd, for being the only one wearing a hoodie. Not to mention the tattooes covering your arms, which you smartly decided to show off pulling up your sleeves. Now you told him to take you to a wrestling arena... Goodbye to your dreams of anonimity.
“Tu eres Helena Noir!! Oh my God, I'm a big fan of yourself! The Queen Of Pain, La Reina Del Dolor!”
I can't help a smile. Reina Del Dolor has a nice ring, I should start using it. The guy keeps talking in his broken english, slipping a bit too often in his native language. I have some hard times keeping track of what he's saying, so I just stop caring about. Limiting myself to nod now and then, fake a laugh when he says something he considers funny and watch the City Of Angels flowing from my window. Suddenly, a name grabs my attention.
“... Alejandro Svart...”
It's Alexander pendejo! And he's my little brother. Well, stepbrother, technically.
I am somehow able to prevent myself from speaking my thoughts in a loud voice. Alexander. I feel like shit for leaving him, once again, alone.
I am somehow able to prevent myself from speaking my thoughts in a loud voice. Alexander. I feel like shit for leaving him, once again, alone.
It seems like the story of our lives, every time we found each other, every time we found joy and happines, I, for some reasons, run away. Now some overpayed psychology in NY would say that it's all my fault, that I am the one fleeing from happiness, because I am more at ease in solitude and grief, and some more bullshit like that. He actually said it, one moment before I smashed his smartass face through his desk. I was pretty sure he would have sued me for that, but he didn't.
Maybe it's all part of the doctor-patient privilege.
Maybe it's all part of the doctor-patient privilege.
Truth is, it was never my fault.
Back in Sweden, I couldn't take any longer that creepy bastard of his old man, him beating my mother, guilty of standing up to protect her sixteen years old daughter, who caught the attentions of the old pig. I was just a teenager, what was I supposed to do? Beat the motherfucker to death, just like Alex did a couple of years later? Poor kid, I can only imagine the abuses he took from that bastard. And what he went through after that. I did the only thing I could do. Run away, even if it broke my heart.
Back in Sweden, I couldn't take any longer that creepy bastard of his old man, him beating my mother, guilty of standing up to protect her sixteen years old daughter, who caught the attentions of the old pig. I was just a teenager, what was I supposed to do? Beat the motherfucker to death, just like Alex did a couple of years later? Poor kid, I can only imagine the abuses he took from that bastard. And what he went through after that. I did the only thing I could do. Run away, even if it broke my heart.
And that was the first time.
More recently, well, that's a story for another time, I just couldn't stay in that company any longer. It drained me, mentally more than physically. So I took my chances, won the World Heavyweight Title on my last night and walked out, as the Champion.
Alex knows where to find me though...
Yeah about that...
Where the fuck are we going?
The city traffic is past behind us, I hope this muchacho isn't trying to pull anything weird.
I hope it for him, obviously...
I hope it for him, obviously...
This looks like some industrial area, not really the place were a wrestling venue...
Oh, wait. Nevermind. Ahuge advertisement poster dominates the parking lot, announcing that the Lucha World Cup scheduled for tonight and tomorrow is, obviously, sold out.
“Bienvenida en el Labirinto, senorita. Welcome to the Labyrinth.”
While he opens the trunk and retrieves my luggage, I'll get my money ready. The route wasn't expensive, and, after all, the driver was alright. Sure, I didn't understand much of what he said, but that was probably for the best. Not sure I could have kept up a conversation. Before leaving, he insists to take a picture with me, an asks me to sign him an autograph.
“Por mi hijo”
His kid. Yeah, right. He's in his sixties, far from being attractive, and he does a shit job for a bunch of money. Does he really expect me to buy that he has a kid at home? I'll sign it anyways, he will probably sell it on ebay as soon as the World Cup is over, he can get some money out of it.
I'll leave Pedro -it's just a guess, but half of the mexican are named Pedro- staring at the picture on his mobile, happy and satisfied as I approach the building, looking for the athlete's entrance. Those are usually on the back...
…
…
….
Nope. Absolutely nothing. Well I guess the main entrance will work just fine then.
The sight right past the doors leaves me speechless. An entire wall, fully covered in lucha masks of many colors and motives. Absolutely fantastic. You know, I always thought it was just a clichè, this whole stories of pride and traditions behind a luchador's mask. Well, I was terribly wrong. This is real, look at this. I can't even count them, but behind every single one, the name of the luchador who wore it. And I can easily see how lucha is something that goes from father to son. Just look at those names. El Hijo de, Jr... How many young men walked in their father shoes for the pleasure to fight and entertain crowds?!? I feel like a fish out of water. Not only because of the different background I'm coming from, but, especially, for the passion these men and women had for the business. A fire that I seem to have lost recently. Maybe this is exactly what i need to ignite once again tha fire that -I know for sure- is still burning under the ashes, buried by bitterness and disappointment.
How many memories, successes, hopes and crushed dreams are hanging on this wall. This is simply...
“Espectacular, isn't it?”
I was thinking about 'beautiful', actually, but it's hard to disagree with the man in a suit and lucha mask. Something in him looks familiar, but I can't really say what...
“These are the masks of our fallen brother and sisters, a constant reminder of their sacrifices for the Lucha. This is very important for us, miss Noir. I expect you, just like every other luchador who entered and will entry this temple, to show the same respect and gratitude for these heroes.”
His voice. That's what I found familiar. I am starting to wonder who the guy behind the mask is, and where did I met him before.
“Pardon me, I forgot to introduce myself. I am Chaos Dragon, proud General Manager of GOL! I wasn't expecting you this early, but I'm glad you are here. I need your signature on some papers... You know, burocracia...”
I hate the sound of that word. Even in spanish. One can't even imagine how many papers a wrestler has to read and sign everytime he joins a company. But I guess this solve the mistery of why the voice of this man sounded so familiar to me. He was the first one to call me after the expiration of my contract with my previous fed, offering me a deal to compete in the Labyrinth. And here I am, three months later, a couple of hours away from my long awaited and highly anticipated return to in ring competition.
“Well, I thought it would be nice for me to take familiarity with the place and the staff. Nice to meet you Chaos Dragon”
A firm and strong handshake. I like that in a man.
“As for the paperworks... Can't they wait like... ten minutes? I really need a coffee right now. The flight from New York has been hell. Literally."
“In that case, it will be my pleasure to take a coffe with la Reina Del Dolor”
And that makes two of it. I probably don't need to start using that nickname, seems like they are already doing it for me, as the advertisement of my upcoming match against La Cucaracha and Ursula Areno reads. We walk down an hallway reaching a cafeteria, and -guess what?- Even the waiter is wearing a lucha mask. We sit at the table, and soon the waiter is standing next to us.
“A coffee. Black”
“Is there another way to drink coffee? Black for me too, gracias”
I like this guy already. We spend the next fifteen minutes talking about GOL!, the upcoming events, the company's expectations on me. I was never afraid of pression, I can deal with it pretty well. So what's this vibe I am feeling. Is it... Excitement? After all this years in the business am I really this eager to step inside a ring to feel butterflies in my stomach like a rookie on his first day on the job? Can this really be the Espirito De Lucha, as Dragon said, running through my body?
“Helena? Miss Noir?”
His voice wakes me up from my thoughts.
“Time to deal with the papers.. Would you please follow me in my office?”
And so I do. It's going to be a long and tough night. I looked at my opponents, they are some really talented guys, champions and former champions. But I walk into these matches with the self awareness that I am second to no one.
And a new found desire to prove it.
And a new found desire to prove it.