The Sound of Martinis and Thunder

The Kansas City skyline made for a stark contrast from the window of the shabby hotel room. While the city has some skyscrapers, they are not too many as to completely distract you from everything else, like in New York or Chicago. Those cities felt stifling to someone born and raised in an island full of trees and beaches. They were oppressive. It was already dark outside, and the air was thick with this unnamable feeling you get before a thunderstorm begins. The hair in your arms stand up with the static in the air and trepidation sets in.

Almost as if giving a warning, the sky lit up for a brief moment as a line of bright light cut through the sky like a knife through warm butter. That burst of intense light was followed quickly by a loud crash in the sky.

It is easy to understand why so many people believed in thunder gods. A thunderstorm sounds exactly like a war between powerful beings that you can’t see. Zeus, Thor, or even Perun, whomever it was, was having a tantrum that night. The sky lit up every couple of minutes.

El Profesor looked through the window of his threadbare room at the show of lights in the sky and he knew he couldn’t just stay cooped up in the place. “I am going for a walk around downtown. Remember to finish your homework and get some rest.” He wrote his daughter through WhatsApp. He knew he didn’t need to write anything to his daughter; she was more of an adult than he ever was. She was probably done with her homework and working on some art project or reading a book. He wished his daughter would go out and socialize more, but he knew that it just wasn’t her thing. She was so much like his mother.

Have fun, dad. Remember to put your alarm, she wrote. You don’t want to piss off Tío by arriving late to your training.

Even an ocean away, she knew more of what he had to do than he would ever know. El Profesor set up his alarm and put his phone in his jacket pocket. He grabbed his keycard and left the room.

He had no idea what he wanted to do, but staying in one place meant dealing with his thoughts and he had no time for that right now. There would be enough time to wallow in self-pity, question how good of a parent he actually is and worry that at any time, he might just drop dead in the middle of a ring.

“Fuck that.”

So, he walked. The city was a strange labyrinth to him. He felt like a modern-day Theseus. Not as young and not as heroic. Nothing like him at all, except that he was walking around a strange place.

As he walked through Grand Boulevard, he spotted a nice-looking spot where he could grab a drink and listen to some music. As he entered the Black Dolphin, the smell wooden old fashioneds was instant. The band was on their break, so there was some jazzy music playing in the background as he walked to the bar to order a drink. The first thing he noticed was this stunning redhead sitting at the bar and drinking what looked to be an espresso martini.

“Can I get a whiskey. Neat.” He thought for a moment about the brand. He didn’t care at all. “Dealer’s choice. I’m always up for being surprised.”

The bartender nodded. “Sure thing, boss.” He grabbed a glass and looked at El Profesor’s bushy salt and pepper beard and hair and his unusually large frame and then he looked back at everything he had in stock. He considered each bottle carefully. He finally made an “A-Ha” sound and grabbed a bottle. He poured it on the glass, the took a second glass and filled it with room temperature water and passed them to El Profe. “Let me know what you think.”

El Profe considered what the bartender handed to him. The smell of smoke was prevalent in this Speyside single malt scotch. El Profe took the glass to his nose and smelled deeply.

The red head had been intensely concentrated on her Martini, but she was now paying attention to what El Profe was doing.

He inhaled the whiskey and then tasted it slowly. He swirled it with his tongue, letting the surprisingly smooth whiskey cover every corner of his mouth. He finally swallowed and nodded. “This is good stuff. Thanks, man.”

“My pleasure, boss.” The bartender smiled at his mysterious ability to choose a drink for a person and be completely right and then moved on to another person who had arrived at the bar.

“That was quite a ritual.” The redhead said nonchalantly, without ever looking directly at El Profesor. “If you get all the steps correctly, does a secret passageway open behind the bar to some prohibition hideout?”

“Hopefully.” He said, looking at her. “Antonio. Nice to meet you.”

“Edna. And no, before you ask, I am not 80 years old.” She shook her head.

He had begun to speak before she cut him off. “Damn, way to ruin a punchline. You seem to have a gift of doing it.”

The sitting area was beginning to fill up again as the musicians were checking the sound of their instruments before their second set of the night. When those men started playing, even as a sound check, people’s attention were on them. The bass player began with a cool riff as the rest of the musicians grabbed their instruments. They started jamming. You couldn’t help but be entranced by the music.

All of a sudden, the redhead got up from the chair she was sitting on and moved towards the stage. It wasn’t long before Profe figured out that she was going to be singing. When the first notes flowed from the mouth, with a deeper vocal, everyone was silent.

--*--

“At least you are not late. If you had been one minute late, I would have been gone on the first plane back to Puerto Rico. I pulled a favor I was owed and this space is ours for just a while. So, we better begin”. Tío said as he grabbed some gloves and put them on.

El Profe’s breath still smelled of whiskey and bad choices, but he had done a good job to not overdo it with the whiskey. He couldn’t be completely drunk to train with Tío, or he would be throwing up everything left in his stomach.

Training was grueling. While he knew how hard training was, he used to train new wrestlers in his uncle’s school, wrestling training was something else. El Profe was put through the paces. Fundamentals, fundamentals, fundamentals and then real-life scenarios. After the first training session was done, they were both panting and drenched in sweat. It was a good first session.

“You’ve been away too long, sobrino. And even though you’ve kept in great physical shape, I’m worried about how you will be mentally.” El Profe started to walk away. He didn’t want to talk about this one bit, and he preferred not to have this discussion with his uncle. “You do remember that your head is not quite right and that you might drop dead if you get another knock, right?”

“I understand, we are not having this discussion again. I’ve already decided to do it.” El Profe said, exasperated.

“You made the decision. That is done. Nothing to do about that. I say it because when you get back in the ring, your brain will work against you. You were always a risk taker, but at the back of your mind, you will always know that your life is on the line. Your body might react differently to certain situations where there is not enough time to think.”

El Profe kept quiet.

“I don’t understand why you are still at war with everyone.” Tío said before removing his gloves and throwing them on the ground. “It’s as if you enjoy, you derive pleasure from self-flagellating for things that were beyond your control.”

“You wouldn’t understand… The fact I let things out of my control is what burns me up from the inside. I crave that control. Without it, it’s as if I have no soul. I thrive when I’m in control and I’m not letting it leave my grasp once again.”

“You can’t control everything. That’s why there are so many wannabe stoics running around these days quoting Marcus Aurelius. They’ve realized that ‘having control’ is a fiction and that nobody can have control over everything.” Tío said, drying his hair with a towel as he looks at the anger bubbling up in his nephew. He knows it’s not directed at him, it’s just something he can’t control anymore.

El Profe sighs. The anger slowly dissipates. He knows his uncle just wants him to be able to get in the ring and survive, but he can’t help but be mad. Even the idea of wrestling in the United States makes him mad. It feels like this is what was left for him. “Even if it is a fiction, having so little control over my life is just something I won’t… I can’t handle. So, I’m going to do everything in my power to fix that.”

“Well, I can fix that.” Tío said.

“How?”

“Tomorrow, we train some. Then, the day after tomorrow, we train some more and on and on until you own that ring once more.”

--*--

How was training?

El Profe smiled. His daughter, even after everything, always worried about how he was doing. She always took time from her day to make sure he was alright. He remembered a moment in his life where he was way more open about his feelings. The times where he was at the top of the world everything felt more bright… more alive. “It was good.” He put his phone away.

After the training, he grabbed a quick bite to eat and went back to his hotel room. He had found some bootleg recordings of his opponent for his next match. He wasn’t going to pay for ReVival on demand. El Profe was not going to give PRIME any more money than he needed to.

The rest of the evening was spent studying old matches. There was a lot to see. After watching all his opponent’s matches, he felt ready. He knew there was a lack of the fundamentals and that he could exploit them. Or at least he hoped he knew. Doubts started creeping back in. Should he be doing this? He had spent too much time watching wrestling and his mind was fried.

El Profe grabbed his wallet and key card, and he went back outside. This time, there was no thunderstorm. A sign? Maybe. Maybe not. Probably not.

He hated doubting himself and his abilities. That said, he was no longer the same as he was before. He had to accept that and move on. Adapt to his new body and to his new circumstances. Before he knew it, the Black Dolphin’s sign was above him and he was walking back in.

El Profe went to the same spot in the bar and ordered another whiskey. This time, the bartender found something else. “I knew you’d be back, so I chose this one for you this time, boss.”

He nodded after tasting the spirit. It was great. The musicians were setting up this time. He had gotten there a bit earlier than the last time. The redhead was nowhere to be found. El Profe tired to be inconspicuous in finding her around the jazz bar, but he wasn’t as sly as he thought.

“She’ll be in later tonight.” The bartender said with a wink.

“Thanks.”

For a second, el Profe felt a sort of calmness wash over him. While his mind was still a thunderstorm of thoughts, he knew things were picking up. There were still good things in his life that he could hold on to…

… but for how long?