A Flight to Forget

40,000 Feet in the Air

You always plan for what to do on a flight, but it never quite goes according to plan. The red eye to Detroit was not very full. That meant that it was quiet, which was good for sleeping. The lights had been dimmed and the only sounds where from the plane engines and the snoring man on row 35. Sometimes, the shuffling of feet could be heard as someone would get up to go to the washroom, but otherwise quiet. Your body usually lets you know that you need to recharge energies to continue, you start to feel… sleepy.

Almost like a curtain keeps closing over your eyes.

Your head sort of begins to lose it self, almost like a doll, as your neck loses strength and it sort of… gives in.

Then your mind is right there where you started. Overthinking. El Profesor is a master at the art of thinking about things way too much. Even as a kid, he remembers one moment when he thought someone was saying hi to him from afar and he thought the person was greeting him and he waved back.

It still haunts him. Too many memories still haunt him as he sighs and grabs the little bottle of rum that was given to him by the flight attendant.

“Fuck this.”

There was no way he could sleep anymore. He had made a pit stop back in Puerto Rico after the show in Pittsburgh. Even though he hated that she was always right, he had to go check up on his daughter. She was already in college, studying to become a doctor. Who would have thought? That was definitely coming from her mother’s side. El Profesor knew Isabel was too grown up for her own good. He felt like she wasn’t really taking advantage of being young. That said, after the injuries, she had to grow up fast.

He took out a book from his backpack. Some speculative fiction book he could disappear into and forget all the noise that was going on around him. It was still silent in the plane, and if he got too much in his own head, he might wake up everyone in there. He started to read the book. A couple of pages into him, he started to feel sleepy. His eyelids felt heavy…

--*--

“I know, Mom. I understand what you are saying, but I just can’t abandon him. I know it is affecting my life, but I can’t give up on him. He seems to be getting better. Ever since he signed that contract with the pro wrestling company from Las Vegas. I just hope he doesn’t hit the poker tables too much … Yeah, luckily, he was never much of a gambler. *she laughs* He WAS terrible at Blackjack.”

There was worry in her voice, but also hope. El Profesor stood listening near his daughter’s door. He knew it was a bad idea and that she would kill him if she ever figured out that he was listening to her conversation with her mother, but he worried about her. Even though everything else seemed to be falling apart around him, he knew that he needed her to be good.

He moved to the kitchen and opened a beer. If I’m going to be taking this pro wrestling thing seriously again, he had to do it right. There was only one person he could call and that he could trust. There were some bridges than needed to be rebuilt, but maybe… maybe his uncle could help him out.

He picked up the phone and dialed his uncles’ phone number. Not surprisingly, the call went straight to voicemail. “Hey, Eduardo, I know my voice is the last thing you want to be listening to, but I’m extending an olive branch. I would like to talk, at our usual spot. I’ll be there tonight at 7pm. I hope you can make it.” He hung up and sighed. He heard a random explosion outside. Must have been an electrical transformer or something.

A few hours later, El Profesor arrived at the pro wrestling school where he learned the craft and later taught at for a little bit before his injuries made him into someone not worth listening to. He still had an old key. They hadn’t changed the locks. His uncle Eduardo was also a trainer here and he was the best, at least he used to be.

There is something about the smell of a wrestling ring that is unlike anything else in the world. It is the smell of success and dreams fulfilled and gold. It is also the smell of crushed dreams, broken bones and concussions. He turned the lights on and sat down on the edge of the ring. He hoped he didn’t have to wait too long.

The school was looking a little shabby nowadays. There were always a bunch of young people in Puerto Rico who wanted to become professional wrestlers. That said, it was hard to keep a place like this in top condition when the electric bill came higher and higher every year and when you never knew if you were going to have running water in the bathroom. He loved his island, but it was a hard life.

After 30 minutes of waiting, he sighed and opened a Medalla. He needed to calm down because he didn’t know how mad he would get if his uncle never arrived. He wasn’t sure how he would react to anything anymore. Most of the times it was uncontrollable rage that seemed to be coming from deep within. He hated what he had become, but he couldn’t control himself.

When El Profesor was ready to leave, he heard the front door open. Tío Eduardo was a very tall man and wiry. They used to call him “El Flaco” because to people, he seemed too skinny to be in the wrestling business. There was no doubt that he was, but he was also scrappy and would never give up. Even at his seventies, he could still take down younger men. His long white hair was tied back in a ponytail. He loved that thing, no matter how many times people told him he looks like a double at a Willie Nelson look-a-like contest.

“You really made me wait all this time?”

He laughed. It was a deep laugh, surprising how deep his voice is compared to his body type. “After the way you treated me, I should have just left you waiting here. ¿Qué carajos quieres?”

He was really angry at Profe. After the divorce, El Profesor wasn’t really there. He was like the walking dead. Tío Eduardo knew that his nephew wasn’t really doing well money wise. The many doctor appointments and tests he had to do to prove he could still wrestle were disheartening and expensive. Eduardo called in a bunch of favors in order to get him a few appearances as a manager. That would have been a little extra money. El Profe never showed. If there was one thing Tío Eduardo hated was for people to break their word.

“I know you are still mad at me. I understand that...”

“Oh no you don’t. Don’t give me all that bullshit. Tell me what you want to tell me.”

“When was the last time you followed PRIME?”

“It’s been a while. Way back when there was another Boricua guy called the PRIME Killer.”

“I signed a contract.”

“And? Why should I care what you do?”

“As a wrestler.”

He looked visibly shocked. “How could they do that? How could you do that? Are you stupid?” He shook his head, maddened by what he had heard. He put his hands on the back of his head, incredulous. “What if you get another concussion?”

“I’ve been cleared by a couple of doctors…” he tried to explain.

“Cleared! Yeah, you won’t fuckin’ die in the ring, maybe, but what will happen to your body after that? Did you even think about that?”

Tío Eduardo was shaking his head, frustrated. “Do you understand what you are burdening your daughter with? If something were to happen to you, she would be the one saddled with caring for your sorry ass. You know her. She will drop everything in her life to do it, too. How can you be so selfish?”

“You don’t understand. You had your career, and you retired of old age because you didn’t want to do it anymore. I WAS THE BEST. It was all taken from me. I am nothing without that ring. I might as well go to an old folk’s home and slowly waste away to nothing. I NEED it.”

“None of that is worth your health. Why do you need it so much?”

“I am nothing without it. You don’t get it. That feeling of worthlessness. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat sometimes. And then what did they all do to me, they threw me away after all I did. I bled for them! I did everything to make that company what it is now.”

Tío Eduardo sighed deeply. “What they did to you was shit. They screwed you over. There’s no doubts about that. That doesn’t mean that you need to kill yourself over it.”

“I need your help, Tío. I don’t trust anyone to get me back in shape. This is a company in the US, this is not an indie show here in PR. I need you to train me once more. I want to be great again. This will be a challenge like nothing I have been through.”

His uncle looked at him in silence for a little bit. He knew that the kid he remembered was in there somewhere. Under all the anger and the rage and the thoughtlessness, was a very talented and kind man.

“I don’t want to be a co-conspirator to your death. I respect my sister’s memory too much.” He turned to walk away.

“I need this…”

As Tío Eduardo left the building, he felt a rumbling of the floor. It was not too bad the first time, but then it came again stronger. He was hardly able to maintain his balance as the floor rumbled again and louder. He grabbed onto the apron to keep his balance as the whole world around him trembled. The metal groaned loudly.

Maybe he wouldn’t get a chance to go what he wanted anyways, as the world seemed to be crumbling around him.

--*--

It took him a second to get his bearings. Everything was still rumblings loudly and his body moved up and down roughly. He heard something coming from what appeared to be speakers.

“The captain has turned on the ‘fasten seatbelt’ sign as they expect more turbulence due to a storm that is passing through. Please put your seat backs forward and put away your tray tables.”

He started noticing around him all the signs of an airplane. In his hands was the closed book with his finger marking the last page he was able to read before falling asleep. El Profe put the book away and quickly fastened his seatbelt. He held on for dear life as the plane shook up and down violently.

After what seemed like hours, but was probably closer to a few minutes, the turbulence subsided, and everything seemed to calm down. There was still a lady praying loudly in the back, but there were no more screams and groans.

El Profe tried to get his bearings once more. He wasn’t exactly sure if his dream was something he hoped or a memory of something that happened. The whole conversation with Tío Eduardo felt like wishful dreaming more than an actual memory. He grabbed his phone and opened his messages. He found Tío Eduardo.

“I will train you once again, but under two circumstances: 1) you do exactly as I say and not what you want; and 2) if you get injured once again, you must promise that you are done and won’t unnecessarily put your life at risk. Those are the terms. Take them or leave them.”

El Profe sighed with relief. The conversation with Tío had already happened. It would have been torture to have that conversation a second time.

He opened the book once again and began reading. He was asleep in moments.