Post by The Gangsta on Sept 3, 2018 21:50:51 GMT -5
Ante Whitner RP
Mea Per Fidem
"Who is it that overcomes the world? Only the one who believes that Jesus is the Son of God." -John 5:5
Faith.
If you asked a thousand people what “faith” means, you would get a unique and completely different answer each person you go to. What I deduce from the definition is that many believe “faith” as a concept of God or “faith” as in wishing someone good health. Other definitions are usually not far off or an amalgamation of the two.
I think faith is something beyond God or wishing someone good health. Faith is drive, faith is motivation. If you had no faith, you’d have no work. Faith is love, faith is romance. Without it, there would be no partners or close bonds. Faith is consumption, faith is entertainment. Without faith, boredom would be the norm. In its essence, faith is universal.
Faith is everything and nothing at the same time.
My decision to pursue God was not because of what the good book said or how attractive Jesus Christ was portrayed. My decision to pursue Christianity was to restore faith, not in a higher power, but in myself. I’ve lacked faith all my life and now, I realize how powerful faith is and the path it can send you on. It’s truly beautiful.
That’s why I believe you’re faithless, Frank. Not because you lack any beauty but because you’re a walking zombie. What makes you get up in the morning, brush your teeth, and say goodbye to your wife? What makes you run through everyone and focus on your illustrious title? I could be wrong, but I don’t think anything does. I don’t think any extraordinary circumstance forces you out of your bed every morning to put that belt around your waist. You’re stuck in a dull, endless loop that you can’t change because you lack faith. Yikes.
Faith is your greatest enemy. I am the embodiment of faith and believing in motivating oneself through whatever means necessary, religious or not. I may be on the religious side, but that does not make me the son of God, sent from the gates of Heaven to lift you off your feet. No. Frank, I am your polar opposite, destined to confront you once more. I am the spitting image of yourself that you loathe and want erased from existence. I am the sword in your rock you can’t quite pull out.
I’m your Kryptonite.
When we meet again, in Mexico City, I want you to remember me. I want you to remember not who I am, but who you could be with a few simple steps. I want you to think I am your only way out of your faithless, miserable existence. I want you to feel my healing powers and circumvent the meaningless bulls**t of your life.
To touch on the championship at stake, it’s one example of the meaningless bulls**t that floods your life. The International Title is nothing to you, never was, never will. You took that title from its rightful owner, the one I was poised to face. But, instead, you step in, thinking your tyrannical En Passant could elevate you to notoriety. False prophets are the absolute worst.
My original feelings towards the Golden Opportunity was that it gave me the right to face someone for the International Title. The title was always front and center of my prize, giving me the notion that the opportunity was solely for the belt. As I sit here with divine in one hand and redemption in the other, I realize that the Golden Opportunity was the means-to-an-end I was looking for. I am the end and you are my means, the destined reason for our upcoming bout. This fight IS the Golden Opportunity. This fight IS my International Title shot. This fight IS our destiny.
It’ll be the greatest gladiator match in the history of the world: God versus Man. Day versus Night.
The Faith versus The Faithless.
September 1, 2018
St. Antonio’s Parish
El Paso, TX
“I remember growing up alone and afraid. I remember seeing the children play outside, ride bikes, and s**ttalk kids in their grades while I sat on the inside, hollowing myself into a shell. There was no soft in me, no emotion, no eradicated sense of guilt. I was guilty of everything, hell, my weapon WAS guilt. It stuck onto me like a leech, feeding off of whatever was left.”
I pause, catching some breath.
“It drove me mad. How the hell did I become a man without emotion to a man with many conflicting emotions and nowhere to put them? That’s where I’m at right now, that’s what I’m trying to do. That’s why I work a job where all I do is beat the s**t out of people, for what? To prove a point? I’m done trying to prove points. Tugarin was the last one. There’s just nothing to prove.”
“Why?” says the priest.
“Why? I don’t know. It calms me, I guess. It turns my muscles to jelly and lets me feel at zen. There’s no pain in holy texts, no pain in believing in a higher power. Religion is my heroin now, my swift moral solitude in which I’m at peace and conflict ceases to exist.”
I look at my shoes and fondle my pockets, clinging my keys and making an audible noise that sets the priest at the edge of the window. He’s listening, I don’t know who, but I know they care. They know who I am at this point.
“If you love the good book, why do you still have guilt?” asks the priest.
“It still creeps up on me ever so often, not sure why. I feel guilt when I shouldn’t and feel pride when I should. It’s a double edged sword, grasping it only makes my hand bleed more. I’m guilty of the hypocrisy I spew. ‘Follow me for redemption?’ I can’t even take myself seriously anymore. I can’t look at myself and see change. I’m just a faceless man with a brown paper bag draped over my head.”
I feel my throat choke up, emotion setting in. I can’t sit still any longer.
“Guilt loves to linger. It’s a form of speech that never leaves the tongue, leaving a sour, bitter taste that you can’t quite swallow. Did I just use sour and bitter synonymously? F**k, I’m so fed up. I’m absolutely sick and tired of feeling like I’m changing when I’m just crawling back into a hole, deeper than before.”
“Take deep breaths and-”
I keep going on, interrupting him for the fifth time today. It’s bad, really bad.
“I don’t know how that’s possible, but Jesus, f**k, it’s happening. I feel my white robes taint themselves in black ash, crumbling and flying away.”
“Okay, okay. Do you still believe? Do you still have faith in the father, the son, and the holy spirit?”
“Yes.”
“Have you sinned?”
“Yes, many.”
“Repent, let God forgive you.”
I choke up and start to sob a little. Not sure where this is all coming from, but I let it happen.
“Okay, here it goes. I relapsed Father. I know, it hasn’t even been a year yet. I f**ked up. I just can’t get my head straight and I’m consumed by this whole mantra of being pure and redeemable when everything and everyone around me is not. I haven’t spent a day not thinking of where I’m going and if this righteous path is cut out for me. They pledge sobriety and purity, but how can I do that when that’s all I’ve done for years? Drugs and alcohol worked for me for years and now it’s starting to turn against me.” I exclaim.
“What did you use?”
“I relapsed on painkillers. I had a terrible migraine, saw the opportunity, popped some tabs, and felt the rush.”
“What did you see?”
“All I saw was guilt, no God, no Jesus Christ. Just me in that childhood window again, peering at the world outside of me.”
“Is this related to your work?”
“I don’t know, I really just don’t know. I can’t see anything anymore, no laughter, cheers, or fun. I just feel guilty, guilty of being a son of God, guilty of being a sycophant, guilty of being anything I am not.”
I break down. The priest opens the door and comes in. It’s Bishop Will, to my surprise. He wraps his arms around me, reeling me closer to his embrace.
“It’s okay Ante, it’s alright.”
Bishop Will hands me a water bottle that I almost nearly chug. It’s been an absolutely horrible day between the upcoming match between Frank Lynn and I and now this. Words cannot even describe how faithless and gutless I feel right now.
“I just, couldn’t resist, I-”
“It’s okay, I know. God didn’t create us to obey him. He created us so that through his son, Christ Jesus, we can all be saved. Society’s temptations are-”
“Then how have I not been saved Father? All I’ve been doing is reading verses over and over again, trying to work them out in my head and do good. All that it’s left me is heartbreak, pain, and guilt. I do my best and-”
“Shhh. It’s okay. Take deep breaths and drink some water.”
I slowly take deeper and deeper breaths. I feel the weight of confessing lift from my gut as I sip some more water. Bishop Will smiles.
“Good, good. I remember seeing you like this, stumbling into our church to confess for the first time.”
“Yeah, it feels like just yesterday.”
Bishop Will shakes his head.
“Not to me. Feels like I’ve known you forever and from the man you were then to the man you are now, God’s hymns and prayers can’t even describe the difference. You’ve done so many great things.”
I sigh.
“I still feel nothing.”
“You’re sure about that?”
I think and contemplate, as I always do. Sometimes, I find myself so impulsive and so decision-driven that I forget the essence of what I’m doing. I had a girlfriend, I caught up with an old friend, I found something I could really enjoy, and on top of all of that, I returned to my dream job and have won all of my matches since then. Why do I feel nothing has changed?
“No.”
“Have you neglected your friendship with God? Have you neglected other friendships, including myself?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, have you prayed since I last saw you?”
“Maybe once or twice.”
“Then, you and God are still connected. Nothing will ever shatter God’s love and affection nor anyone’s for that matter. God and everyone else in your life will always love you.”
At that instance, I remember my last interaction with my brother Charlie. I recall the look of hate and disgust he had for me, up until the moment he ran away and never saw me again. He was so consumed in jealousy that he forgot who I was to him. Maybe he still loves me, wherever he is. Maybe he hasn’t forgotten.
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely. Guilt wears down your image, but nothing ever shatters it. My parents, may God rest their souls, hated me for liking men, but I learned to forgive them and they forgave me. I’m their only son and nothing could ever break that bond.”
Bishop Will and I, aside from the homosexuality, are very similar to each other. He sought redemption when he had no one, found God, and has been here ever since. He rejects the institution, but he never rejects love and affection for anyone he meets, even total strangers like me. That’s who I want to be, completely pure yet still a persona non grata. I want the struggle to be there, but not so overwhelming as it is now.
“You’re right.”
“I know I am, haha.”
He gets a small chuckle out of me.
“So, how bout this: you check into the share circle, flush down or throw out anything that contaminates you, and pray to God every morning and night. Wish yourself for good health and good fortune. Wish yourself some strength to overcome your opponent in a few weeks.”
“I will, I just need this guilt to-”
“There’s no guilt, there never will be any guilt. If you win, hooray, yay for you. If you lose, you come back stronger. Guilt doesn’t exist and it never will to you. This feeling you have right now is anxiety, nervousness, and it’s completely normal.”
“I think it’s more than that, but-”
“You haven’t sinned Ante, not from what I heard. Did you kill someone, covet a man’s wife, do all of the bulls**t the Ten Commandments says not to do?”
I think again. I’m a bit hazy on all ten, but judging from the basics, my answer is no.
“I guess not.”
“Popping a few pills won’t bound you to Hell, nothing will. The big man in the sky loves you, no matter what or who you are. It’s unconditional.”
“So you’re saying relapse is not a sin?”
Bishop Will lets out a hearty chuckle for a scrawny, sub-six foot gay guy.
“No, not at all. It’s all about healing and finding yourself. You’ve sinned before, yes. But as of this moment and from what you said, no.”
I nod yes. He’s right, he’s always been right.
“Lemme give you this last bit of advice before I wrap this up and head to Chipotle. Wait, by the way, would you like to come? The other priests and deacons are setting up a fundraiser and stuff-”
A bunch of priests and a professional wrestler at a Chipotle, handing out flyers to repent to God? As nice as it may seem, no thank you.
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Trust me, I feel you on that one. We do this s**t every few months and it never does anything. The Archbishop says ‘it’s the modern way of religion’ like I give a crap. Seriously, what kind of religion organizes events at Chipotle? Jews, no. Muslims, no. Christians, no.”
I burst out laughing and so does he.
“Well, anyways, I want to leave you this. You know John 3:16?”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“Have you heard of the sequel, John 3:17?”
“Maybe, I don’t remember.”
“Well here it is, lemme just pull the thing out of my pocket. I say this verse to so many people that I had it bound to me at all times.”
Bishop Will pulls out a small index card, crumpled and all. The early morning light pierces the window panes with bright color and beauty.
“Here. Blah, blah, blah ‘For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through Him might be saved.’ See? God says guilt ain’t real.”
He hands me the slip and pats it on my chest.
“Take it wherever you go. When you cross the border in a week, read it. Tell me how you feel when you come back, win or lose. If you do win though, I hope I see that championship in person.”
“Do you want me to put it up by the altar, haha?”
Bishop Will’s face goes dull and serious.
“Are you kidding me? That’s sacrilegious.”
I feel tension and awkwardness after such a light-hearted ending to my confession. However, I notice Bishop Will’s face turning into a grin. He got me.
“Oh my goodness, I got you good, real good. I think it’ll be cool to put on Snapbook or Facechat, whatever it’s called. Big gold belt, small altar. You can really tell that TV and wrestling put God to shame these days.”
I picture the International Title at the altar already. I’m surprised no one’s done it yet, or I just can’t put my finger on who could’ve done it. Reverend Shadow? Maybe.
“Alright, I’ll let you open up. Sorry for harassing you.”
“Don’t sweat it Ante, I get the stress you’re under. Just relax and go to the share circles before you head to Mexico. Peace be with you.”
“And with your spirit, thanks Father.”
Bishop Will nods at me as he pours the wine and eats a piece of the church bread. I still can’t stand the taste of those cardboard s**ts. I make my way down the aisle, passing all of the pews and thinking how solemn mass must be from all the way back here. I stand there for a second and take it all in, picturing Bishop Will at the altar with serene church organs and everyone singing. Believe in a God or not, you cannot say mass isn’t beautiful.
I push open the doors and expect the same result as last time with Elijah Houston grinning and leaning on his car. I sigh, thinking of what happened last time and what I found out. It makes me ache, especially since it’s a similar situation I’m in at the moment. Only thing is he isn’t fighting for his career.
He’s slowly losing it.
Guilt.
We all know what guilt is. No nuance, no multiple definitions, guilt is guilt. Unlike faith, guilt is something everyone has and everyone believes in. Faith is something that unites us while guilt divides us. It makes us crawl into corners and whisper to the deepest and darkest reaches of our souls. Guilt sheds our egos and makes us feel more human than we are.
Why bring up guilt when all I am is bundle of faith? Recently, I’ve felt an overwhelming sense of guilt for relapsing and shedding my pure and redeemable image. I succumbed to the pressures of the WFWF, social media, and everyone I know, sticking me with this demanding and evident mission that I need to fulfill. I think of myself as this cartoon, animatronic, computer, saying “must redeem” wherever I go because that’s how inhuman this mission has made me.
That’s why guilt is important. Guilt makes you realize you’re only capable of so many things. With my inalienable quest of redeeming WFWF’s “lost”, I assume this ultimate responsibility of doing something a superhuman or supervillain couldn’t even do. Yes, even with all of the Infinity Stones, Thanos couldn’t redeem everyone he has encountered or deemed “lost”.
It’s very difficult, but it makes guilt more apparent to me. It weighs you down so you could get back up, an eternal struggle that defines us. Frank Lynn has no guilt nor remorse, creating this tough playground bully archetype that’s hard to understand. Trust me, I’ve been there, done that. It’s a slippery slope of hyping yourself up to be this badass with a gold belt on your shoulder. I was consumed in it when I started calling myself a King. Right now, I see that same path opening up for you.
Without faith, your ego forms. Without guilt, your ego controls you. Without both, you’re no longer a man but rather an ego-driven psycho with a God-complex. Funny how without faith, you still feel like you’re above men, above their measly causes and motives. With the title, you feel unstoppable, immortal, DIVINE.
That’s why I’m here.
I’m the one who will finally catch you in your tracks Frank. Why? Because I know how it feels to be faithless and full of blind power, hell, it took me 199 days to realize it. Nikki Dean was my Kryptonite and I am yours. I hope you see this before our match, but if you don’t, then that means I can walk home with a nice belt around my waist and hopefully with you at my side.
I want you to feel guilt, I want you to crave something that makes you so human that you’re pure and validated.
I want you to ache for redemption.
June 26, 2018
Somewhere between El Paso and Dell City, TX
If you read my last tale of how becoming an altar boy has led to improved erectile function, then you would know why I’m in a 1968 Chevy Camaro rental with Elijah Houston. In short, he found it to be the best idea to make his visit to San Antonio (which, on a good day, is a seven hour drive away) a week long excursion that included hunting me down at a church for a couple of drinks.
Needless to say, I’ve been sober and he’s wasted his time and money.
Elijah, barely paying attention to the long stretch of open road for any coyotes or boars, is continuously spewing s**t out of his mouth to brag about his new business venture. It’s a travel company that subsidizes and motivates locals worldwide to host their houses for tourists for dirt cheap prices. He mentioned “kind of like AirBnb, but without a labia in our logo”, which I guess is understandable coming from his last failed business: a backstreet wrestling promotion to rival the WFWF.
“So, when I was applying for the loan at Wells Fargo, my accountant said to go public and pull some IPO s**t for the media to eat up. When I told her no, this was her response.” says Elijah, whipping out his phone mid-driving.
I half-read the text, letting out a slight chuckle as if I understood what he was talking about. At this point, I’m realizing and regretting my decision to get in a car with him.
“Nice, haha.” I say.
He takes his eyes completely off the road and looks at me in the eyes.
“Nice? Did you read it?” asks Elijah, charterting into 90 mile per hour territory.
“Not really, I couldn’t see.”
Elijah shoves the phone in my face. I read the text: “If you have no confidence, then I have no confidence in you. I should put in my two weeks now.”
Confidence, huh.
“Confidence?”
“Basically told me to grow a pair and give her a raise. I fired her before she can even write up a slip, haha!” says Elijah, as he slaps me across the chest.
Elijah, ever since I met him at one of James O’Malley’s business parties, has always been the douche at the bar who brags about himself all day to overcompensate for something he doesn’t have. He indeed has a s**tton of confidence, but the thing he’s always lacked is drive. All he does is spontaneous and half-assed like a kid’s birthday party at Chuck E Cheese. If you want to make something spectacular, you need drive and the strength to go the entire ride.
You can’t just make something happen and leave it where it stands.
“Can you slow down, please? Not trying to kill a kid today.” I exclaim.
“What do you mean, the road is beyond empty!” says Elijah, pointing out onto the road.
Yes, every road in Texas is just desert and cacti every hour of the day. But, ever since I heard of Reverend John’s daughter’s death, I’ve been strict on who I get in the car with and how they need to be diligent on the road, wherever and whenever. Poor girl got mangled in a car wreck with her drunk boyfriend. Reverend John has spent years, toiling with God over trying to forgive him.
Whether he has or hasn’t yet, I don’t know.
“Still.” I say.
Elijah floors it, pedal to the metal. I clench onto the seat, trying to get a few words out like “f**k you” or “slow down d**khead!” However, when I try, I grunt and can’t react. Fortunately, he slows down after ten seconds of intense speeding. I catch my breath, keeling over as if I’m about to vomit.
“Jesus-”
“See, look how fun that was.” says Elijah.
Elijah cranks up the volume with his s**tty rap music and lip syncs. I feel like I’m in a sitcom.
“Can you turn that down?!” I yell.
“What?!” he yells back.
“Turn it down!”
He twists the knob to turn down the music. At this moment, I think about Ben and how he must’ve felt. 130 miles per hour to 0 just like that. I still miss that kid everyday.
“What’s wrong with you, seriously.” I ask.
“What do you mean, I’m fine. Just cruisin’ down the open road with the walking body of God in my passenger seat.” replies Elijah.
“I’m still Ante, I didn’t go out to change my name to Luke or Peter or-”
“But, your middle name is Francis, right? St. Francis?”
“Yeah?”
Elijah begins to turn onto a side street, lifting something out of the compartment to his left. He’s chuckling, finding amusement in annoying the s**t out of me on a Sunday morning. But, he did make me realize something.
From all of the years in hell, I forgot I had a middle name.
“You’ve been biblical since the day you were born and now that you remember, you’re all over the news. You’re suddenly relevant again.” says Elijah, sarcastically laughing.
“I’m relevant because I have a clear message.”
“Yeah, and what’s that? You say redemption over and over again, but what the hell does that mean?”
I take a second to think, Elijah sighs as if he proved something to me. But, he didn’t. He only made me think harder about my decision to pursue religion as a coping method and beyond that. Redemption isn’t lifting someone back up to their feet.
It’s about overcoming guilt.
“You were guilty for the wrestling promotion, correct?”
“What?”
Elijah pulls over and parks the car. There’s something off about him, almost like he’s drunk or high or both. I intend to get to the bottom of that.
“The promotion. You were guilty when it fell. You were a madman.”
It’s true. He flipped tables and stacks of paper, trying to justify his anger for a promotion he tried to elevate to WFWF status. Elijah never saw the error in his ways, never saw the drive necessary.
Instead, he let guilt consume him, much like I did.
“F**k, what, what does this have to do with atonement and-”
“Everything. Redemption has its own meaning to everyone and to me, that meaning is overcoming guilt and pursuing something beyond your own grief and anger.”
Elijah pauses, holding onto the steering wheel tightly. He grips and takes a big breath. A tear starts to roll down his cheek. He sighs again.
“I’m sorry man. I just haven’t been myself lately. Cancer finally got the best of my momma.” says Elijah.
“S**t, I’m sorry.”
I knew his mom was sick, but never knew how bad. I remember how close he was with her, he had a tattoo and necklace made of her initials and birthday.
“I’ve been trying to live with it, day by day, week by week. It’s so hard, y’know she-.”
“Well, I, I didn’t know. I mean I knew she was sick and stuff, but I never knew-”
“It’s okay, you’ve been doing great things. I haven’t seen you in this good of shape in a long ass time.”
It’s maybe been a year since I’ve seen him and James. In chronological order, my move out to Dell City went as follows: “quit” narcotics, tell James and Elijah I’m going to rehab, move to Dell City, follow God. It’s just a shame that the one time I can talk to someone I haven’t seen in awhile is grieving over the sudden loss of his mother.
“Thanks.” I reply.
“Y’know, I did come out here for business in San Antonio, but I needed to catch up with you. I’ve got nobody back up in New York. Absolutely nobody.”
“What about James?”
“He’s in Ireland right now, visiting grandparents or somethin’. Everyone else dropped me when I had nothing left.”
It’s sad, it really is. All of these people you surround yourselves with admire you for your name, not your craft or person. They leech onto you, sucking off your clout and fame for their own. Absolutely horrible. Maybe that’s why I became such a devout follower of Jesus Christ.
Because no one wants a 30 year old Christian white male to suck off.
“I get that.”
“I know you do, I’m guilty of doing it too. Karma’s a b*tch, right?”
“I don’t believe in Karma, haha.”
We get a good chuckle out, lightening the mood. I feel for Elijah because I’ve been there. I’ve been his shoes God knows how many times and I never shake off the feeling that someone else is like that. It’s why I do my best to help, especially with those I care about, not because of our relationships but because they’re the only ones truly close to me.
At that moment, I heard something fall out of the compartment on his side. Something rolls towards his feet by the pedals. It’s a pill bottle, prescribed for someone. They’re painkillers.
“What is that?” I ask, pointing to the bottle.
Elijah is taken aback and he hurries to hide it.
“Uh, one of my momma’s medications. I was going to give it to her but-”
“Painkillers?”
“Yeah, I was going to give-”
“Then, why is it half-empty?”
Elijah looks down again and sighs.
“This is why I needed to see you. I need connects.”
I’m furious. I storm out of the car and palm my sweaty face. It’s easily over 100 degrees right now and learning this has made it 1000 times hotter than it already is. This is why Elijah came all this way, this is why he suddenly cares about me and my career.
He needs f**king connects.
Elijah quickly opens the door, partially stumbling.
“Is your mom even dead?” I ask.
“What?”
“Answer my question.”
He pauses and nods no. This motherf**ker.
“Jesus Christ.” I say.
“I’m so sorry man, I just can’t help it. I need something, all I do is crave it every single day. It’s taking me over and I-”
I take a big breath and put my hands on his shoulders. I close my eyes.
“Take a deep breath, close your eyes, and think. What can you do, what can you fix?”
“Everything, everything needs to be fixed.”
“How can you do it?”
“Uh, going to rehab, talking about it.”
I tighten my grip on his shoulders.
“I pray for you, Elijah. You will get better, you will see the light at the end of the tunnel.”
Elijah blinks a few times, the tear still streaming down his cheek. I pat him a few times. He looks amazed, stunned as if he had just saw God.
“I see why you’re into God now.” laughs Elijah.
“I used to be in your exact same shoes.”
“I know.”
“Come on, I’ll drive this time and we can get lunch. No drinks.”
Elijah nods yes and hops in the passenger seat. I take the driver’s seat.
“Also, I want you to throw that out as soon as we get to the restaurant. You’ll get clean in no time.”
I’m surprised by how calm and understanding I am when I was always the opposite. I can already see this conversation flipped around had it been a year ago. I guess I’m somebody’s crutch now, somebody’s arm to lean on.
“Got it. Thank you Ante.”
“No problem. I also know no one with drugs around here so you can’t even try to get stuff, haha.”
Elijah chuckles and we drive off. It’s about damn time I took the wheel.
And it feels so good.
El Grito de Dolores.
Our playground. Our showcase of combat. The pinnacle of our righteous feud.
El Grito de Dolores roughly translates to The Cry of Pain in English, referring to an event during the Mexican War of Independence. Besides the event, think of the last time you cried in pain. Was it that old beau from high school or was it your arm snapping in half? Think about how much pain you were afflicted with and how that motivated your body to shed tears.
Think long and hard, think about every miniscule moment leading up to that. Feel the time pass you by as agony sets in and you feel the tears piling up. That exact feeling is what will happen at El Grito de Dolores. A biblical battle that surpasses faith and guilt entirely.
This is as real as it gets.
I am your light to your dark, the speech in your slur, the beacon of hope you’ve always longed for. I am your salvation, absolute and whole for you to join. I want you by my side Frank, not in combat. Together, we can create a massive beacon that spans time and space. We will be even more whole than before.
But, as most say, you are willing to fight me against the flame I possess. I’m here to tell you dear Frank that my flame is an inferno, harmless to the naked eye. It is a welcoming fire, embracing and engulfing whomever steps in. It is a curse to fight it, an infinite prize to take it. You, my dear Frank, are misguided from the light’s true powers and thus, I want to show you.
By any means necessary.
On the topic of means, you are the means to my end, the swift conclusion to universal redemption. You are the most important figure I have had the opportunity to face since I returned from my holy sabbatical. Your International Title suggests global implications to our colossal battle and personally, I don’t know how much more important it could get.
Frank, you and I are destined for an epic war of physical and mental assault that will exceed any match I’ve had previously. I will shove faith and guilt down your throat until you submit, until you finally let go of the ego tearing your soul apart. Piece by piece, you will be mine, devoured in the light I’ve blessed you with. You’ll finally be happy and at peace my friend. I’ve had my fair share of chaos recently but through God and prayer, I found my footing again, ready to challenge you for the Golden Opportunity. MY Golden Opportunity. MY International Championship.
I have faith and guilt in my possible actions as International Champion. I have faith it’ll propel me to the top of the card so every single wrestler can follow in my footsteps. I have guilt that it may corrupt me. But, overall, my upcoming victory over you will show that the power of God can never be toppled and shattered. God’s power is almighty and omnipotent to you Frank, it’s far too powerful for your eyes.
The light blinding you is true. My victory over you is true. Getting picked up by me is true.
Your fall will never reach the gates of Hell for I am your angel, ready to swoop you upon defeat. I don’t want to kill you, Frank. I simply want to lift you, make you see the light you’ve been hiding from. Your final redemption is on its way, the end to your means.
Your Mea Per Fidem.
"As far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our transgressions from us."- Psalm 103:12
Mea Per Fidem
"Who is it that overcomes the world? Only the one who believes that Jesus is the Son of God." -John 5:5
Faith.
If you asked a thousand people what “faith” means, you would get a unique and completely different answer each person you go to. What I deduce from the definition is that many believe “faith” as a concept of God or “faith” as in wishing someone good health. Other definitions are usually not far off or an amalgamation of the two.
I think faith is something beyond God or wishing someone good health. Faith is drive, faith is motivation. If you had no faith, you’d have no work. Faith is love, faith is romance. Without it, there would be no partners or close bonds. Faith is consumption, faith is entertainment. Without faith, boredom would be the norm. In its essence, faith is universal.
Faith is everything and nothing at the same time.
My decision to pursue God was not because of what the good book said or how attractive Jesus Christ was portrayed. My decision to pursue Christianity was to restore faith, not in a higher power, but in myself. I’ve lacked faith all my life and now, I realize how powerful faith is and the path it can send you on. It’s truly beautiful.
That’s why I believe you’re faithless, Frank. Not because you lack any beauty but because you’re a walking zombie. What makes you get up in the morning, brush your teeth, and say goodbye to your wife? What makes you run through everyone and focus on your illustrious title? I could be wrong, but I don’t think anything does. I don’t think any extraordinary circumstance forces you out of your bed every morning to put that belt around your waist. You’re stuck in a dull, endless loop that you can’t change because you lack faith. Yikes.
Faith is your greatest enemy. I am the embodiment of faith and believing in motivating oneself through whatever means necessary, religious or not. I may be on the religious side, but that does not make me the son of God, sent from the gates of Heaven to lift you off your feet. No. Frank, I am your polar opposite, destined to confront you once more. I am the spitting image of yourself that you loathe and want erased from existence. I am the sword in your rock you can’t quite pull out.
I’m your Kryptonite.
When we meet again, in Mexico City, I want you to remember me. I want you to remember not who I am, but who you could be with a few simple steps. I want you to think I am your only way out of your faithless, miserable existence. I want you to feel my healing powers and circumvent the meaningless bulls**t of your life.
To touch on the championship at stake, it’s one example of the meaningless bulls**t that floods your life. The International Title is nothing to you, never was, never will. You took that title from its rightful owner, the one I was poised to face. But, instead, you step in, thinking your tyrannical En Passant could elevate you to notoriety. False prophets are the absolute worst.
My original feelings towards the Golden Opportunity was that it gave me the right to face someone for the International Title. The title was always front and center of my prize, giving me the notion that the opportunity was solely for the belt. As I sit here with divine in one hand and redemption in the other, I realize that the Golden Opportunity was the means-to-an-end I was looking for. I am the end and you are my means, the destined reason for our upcoming bout. This fight IS the Golden Opportunity. This fight IS my International Title shot. This fight IS our destiny.
It’ll be the greatest gladiator match in the history of the world: God versus Man. Day versus Night.
The Faith versus The Faithless.
September 1, 2018
St. Antonio’s Parish
El Paso, TX
“I remember growing up alone and afraid. I remember seeing the children play outside, ride bikes, and s**ttalk kids in their grades while I sat on the inside, hollowing myself into a shell. There was no soft in me, no emotion, no eradicated sense of guilt. I was guilty of everything, hell, my weapon WAS guilt. It stuck onto me like a leech, feeding off of whatever was left.”
I pause, catching some breath.
“It drove me mad. How the hell did I become a man without emotion to a man with many conflicting emotions and nowhere to put them? That’s where I’m at right now, that’s what I’m trying to do. That’s why I work a job where all I do is beat the s**t out of people, for what? To prove a point? I’m done trying to prove points. Tugarin was the last one. There’s just nothing to prove.”
“Why?” says the priest.
“Why? I don’t know. It calms me, I guess. It turns my muscles to jelly and lets me feel at zen. There’s no pain in holy texts, no pain in believing in a higher power. Religion is my heroin now, my swift moral solitude in which I’m at peace and conflict ceases to exist.”
I look at my shoes and fondle my pockets, clinging my keys and making an audible noise that sets the priest at the edge of the window. He’s listening, I don’t know who, but I know they care. They know who I am at this point.
“If you love the good book, why do you still have guilt?” asks the priest.
“It still creeps up on me ever so often, not sure why. I feel guilt when I shouldn’t and feel pride when I should. It’s a double edged sword, grasping it only makes my hand bleed more. I’m guilty of the hypocrisy I spew. ‘Follow me for redemption?’ I can’t even take myself seriously anymore. I can’t look at myself and see change. I’m just a faceless man with a brown paper bag draped over my head.”
I feel my throat choke up, emotion setting in. I can’t sit still any longer.
“Guilt loves to linger. It’s a form of speech that never leaves the tongue, leaving a sour, bitter taste that you can’t quite swallow. Did I just use sour and bitter synonymously? F**k, I’m so fed up. I’m absolutely sick and tired of feeling like I’m changing when I’m just crawling back into a hole, deeper than before.”
“Take deep breaths and-”
I keep going on, interrupting him for the fifth time today. It’s bad, really bad.
“I don’t know how that’s possible, but Jesus, f**k, it’s happening. I feel my white robes taint themselves in black ash, crumbling and flying away.”
“Okay, okay. Do you still believe? Do you still have faith in the father, the son, and the holy spirit?”
“Yes.”
“Have you sinned?”
“Yes, many.”
“Repent, let God forgive you.”
I choke up and start to sob a little. Not sure where this is all coming from, but I let it happen.
“Okay, here it goes. I relapsed Father. I know, it hasn’t even been a year yet. I f**ked up. I just can’t get my head straight and I’m consumed by this whole mantra of being pure and redeemable when everything and everyone around me is not. I haven’t spent a day not thinking of where I’m going and if this righteous path is cut out for me. They pledge sobriety and purity, but how can I do that when that’s all I’ve done for years? Drugs and alcohol worked for me for years and now it’s starting to turn against me.” I exclaim.
“What did you use?”
“I relapsed on painkillers. I had a terrible migraine, saw the opportunity, popped some tabs, and felt the rush.”
“What did you see?”
“All I saw was guilt, no God, no Jesus Christ. Just me in that childhood window again, peering at the world outside of me.”
“Is this related to your work?”
“I don’t know, I really just don’t know. I can’t see anything anymore, no laughter, cheers, or fun. I just feel guilty, guilty of being a son of God, guilty of being a sycophant, guilty of being anything I am not.”
I break down. The priest opens the door and comes in. It’s Bishop Will, to my surprise. He wraps his arms around me, reeling me closer to his embrace.
“It’s okay Ante, it’s alright.”
Bishop Will hands me a water bottle that I almost nearly chug. It’s been an absolutely horrible day between the upcoming match between Frank Lynn and I and now this. Words cannot even describe how faithless and gutless I feel right now.
“I just, couldn’t resist, I-”
“It’s okay, I know. God didn’t create us to obey him. He created us so that through his son, Christ Jesus, we can all be saved. Society’s temptations are-”
“Then how have I not been saved Father? All I’ve been doing is reading verses over and over again, trying to work them out in my head and do good. All that it’s left me is heartbreak, pain, and guilt. I do my best and-”
“Shhh. It’s okay. Take deep breaths and drink some water.”
I slowly take deeper and deeper breaths. I feel the weight of confessing lift from my gut as I sip some more water. Bishop Will smiles.
“Good, good. I remember seeing you like this, stumbling into our church to confess for the first time.”
“Yeah, it feels like just yesterday.”
Bishop Will shakes his head.
“Not to me. Feels like I’ve known you forever and from the man you were then to the man you are now, God’s hymns and prayers can’t even describe the difference. You’ve done so many great things.”
I sigh.
“I still feel nothing.”
“You’re sure about that?”
I think and contemplate, as I always do. Sometimes, I find myself so impulsive and so decision-driven that I forget the essence of what I’m doing. I had a girlfriend, I caught up with an old friend, I found something I could really enjoy, and on top of all of that, I returned to my dream job and have won all of my matches since then. Why do I feel nothing has changed?
“No.”
“Have you neglected your friendship with God? Have you neglected other friendships, including myself?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, have you prayed since I last saw you?”
“Maybe once or twice.”
“Then, you and God are still connected. Nothing will ever shatter God’s love and affection nor anyone’s for that matter. God and everyone else in your life will always love you.”
At that instance, I remember my last interaction with my brother Charlie. I recall the look of hate and disgust he had for me, up until the moment he ran away and never saw me again. He was so consumed in jealousy that he forgot who I was to him. Maybe he still loves me, wherever he is. Maybe he hasn’t forgotten.
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely. Guilt wears down your image, but nothing ever shatters it. My parents, may God rest their souls, hated me for liking men, but I learned to forgive them and they forgave me. I’m their only son and nothing could ever break that bond.”
Bishop Will and I, aside from the homosexuality, are very similar to each other. He sought redemption when he had no one, found God, and has been here ever since. He rejects the institution, but he never rejects love and affection for anyone he meets, even total strangers like me. That’s who I want to be, completely pure yet still a persona non grata. I want the struggle to be there, but not so overwhelming as it is now.
“You’re right.”
“I know I am, haha.”
He gets a small chuckle out of me.
“So, how bout this: you check into the share circle, flush down or throw out anything that contaminates you, and pray to God every morning and night. Wish yourself for good health and good fortune. Wish yourself some strength to overcome your opponent in a few weeks.”
“I will, I just need this guilt to-”
“There’s no guilt, there never will be any guilt. If you win, hooray, yay for you. If you lose, you come back stronger. Guilt doesn’t exist and it never will to you. This feeling you have right now is anxiety, nervousness, and it’s completely normal.”
“I think it’s more than that, but-”
“You haven’t sinned Ante, not from what I heard. Did you kill someone, covet a man’s wife, do all of the bulls**t the Ten Commandments says not to do?”
I think again. I’m a bit hazy on all ten, but judging from the basics, my answer is no.
“I guess not.”
“Popping a few pills won’t bound you to Hell, nothing will. The big man in the sky loves you, no matter what or who you are. It’s unconditional.”
“So you’re saying relapse is not a sin?”
Bishop Will lets out a hearty chuckle for a scrawny, sub-six foot gay guy.
“No, not at all. It’s all about healing and finding yourself. You’ve sinned before, yes. But as of this moment and from what you said, no.”
I nod yes. He’s right, he’s always been right.
“Lemme give you this last bit of advice before I wrap this up and head to Chipotle. Wait, by the way, would you like to come? The other priests and deacons are setting up a fundraiser and stuff-”
A bunch of priests and a professional wrestler at a Chipotle, handing out flyers to repent to God? As nice as it may seem, no thank you.
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Trust me, I feel you on that one. We do this s**t every few months and it never does anything. The Archbishop says ‘it’s the modern way of religion’ like I give a crap. Seriously, what kind of religion organizes events at Chipotle? Jews, no. Muslims, no. Christians, no.”
I burst out laughing and so does he.
“Well, anyways, I want to leave you this. You know John 3:16?”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“Have you heard of the sequel, John 3:17?”
“Maybe, I don’t remember.”
“Well here it is, lemme just pull the thing out of my pocket. I say this verse to so many people that I had it bound to me at all times.”
Bishop Will pulls out a small index card, crumpled and all. The early morning light pierces the window panes with bright color and beauty.
“Here. Blah, blah, blah ‘For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through Him might be saved.’ See? God says guilt ain’t real.”
He hands me the slip and pats it on my chest.
“Take it wherever you go. When you cross the border in a week, read it. Tell me how you feel when you come back, win or lose. If you do win though, I hope I see that championship in person.”
“Do you want me to put it up by the altar, haha?”
Bishop Will’s face goes dull and serious.
“Are you kidding me? That’s sacrilegious.”
I feel tension and awkwardness after such a light-hearted ending to my confession. However, I notice Bishop Will’s face turning into a grin. He got me.
“Oh my goodness, I got you good, real good. I think it’ll be cool to put on Snapbook or Facechat, whatever it’s called. Big gold belt, small altar. You can really tell that TV and wrestling put God to shame these days.”
I picture the International Title at the altar already. I’m surprised no one’s done it yet, or I just can’t put my finger on who could’ve done it. Reverend Shadow? Maybe.
“Alright, I’ll let you open up. Sorry for harassing you.”
“Don’t sweat it Ante, I get the stress you’re under. Just relax and go to the share circles before you head to Mexico. Peace be with you.”
“And with your spirit, thanks Father.”
Bishop Will nods at me as he pours the wine and eats a piece of the church bread. I still can’t stand the taste of those cardboard s**ts. I make my way down the aisle, passing all of the pews and thinking how solemn mass must be from all the way back here. I stand there for a second and take it all in, picturing Bishop Will at the altar with serene church organs and everyone singing. Believe in a God or not, you cannot say mass isn’t beautiful.
I push open the doors and expect the same result as last time with Elijah Houston grinning and leaning on his car. I sigh, thinking of what happened last time and what I found out. It makes me ache, especially since it’s a similar situation I’m in at the moment. Only thing is he isn’t fighting for his career.
He’s slowly losing it.
Guilt.
We all know what guilt is. No nuance, no multiple definitions, guilt is guilt. Unlike faith, guilt is something everyone has and everyone believes in. Faith is something that unites us while guilt divides us. It makes us crawl into corners and whisper to the deepest and darkest reaches of our souls. Guilt sheds our egos and makes us feel more human than we are.
Why bring up guilt when all I am is bundle of faith? Recently, I’ve felt an overwhelming sense of guilt for relapsing and shedding my pure and redeemable image. I succumbed to the pressures of the WFWF, social media, and everyone I know, sticking me with this demanding and evident mission that I need to fulfill. I think of myself as this cartoon, animatronic, computer, saying “must redeem” wherever I go because that’s how inhuman this mission has made me.
That’s why guilt is important. Guilt makes you realize you’re only capable of so many things. With my inalienable quest of redeeming WFWF’s “lost”, I assume this ultimate responsibility of doing something a superhuman or supervillain couldn’t even do. Yes, even with all of the Infinity Stones, Thanos couldn’t redeem everyone he has encountered or deemed “lost”.
It’s very difficult, but it makes guilt more apparent to me. It weighs you down so you could get back up, an eternal struggle that defines us. Frank Lynn has no guilt nor remorse, creating this tough playground bully archetype that’s hard to understand. Trust me, I’ve been there, done that. It’s a slippery slope of hyping yourself up to be this badass with a gold belt on your shoulder. I was consumed in it when I started calling myself a King. Right now, I see that same path opening up for you.
Without faith, your ego forms. Without guilt, your ego controls you. Without both, you’re no longer a man but rather an ego-driven psycho with a God-complex. Funny how without faith, you still feel like you’re above men, above their measly causes and motives. With the title, you feel unstoppable, immortal, DIVINE.
That’s why I’m here.
I’m the one who will finally catch you in your tracks Frank. Why? Because I know how it feels to be faithless and full of blind power, hell, it took me 199 days to realize it. Nikki Dean was my Kryptonite and I am yours. I hope you see this before our match, but if you don’t, then that means I can walk home with a nice belt around my waist and hopefully with you at my side.
I want you to feel guilt, I want you to crave something that makes you so human that you’re pure and validated.
I want you to ache for redemption.
June 26, 2018
Somewhere between El Paso and Dell City, TX
If you read my last tale of how becoming an altar boy has led to improved erectile function, then you would know why I’m in a 1968 Chevy Camaro rental with Elijah Houston. In short, he found it to be the best idea to make his visit to San Antonio (which, on a good day, is a seven hour drive away) a week long excursion that included hunting me down at a church for a couple of drinks.
Needless to say, I’ve been sober and he’s wasted his time and money.
Elijah, barely paying attention to the long stretch of open road for any coyotes or boars, is continuously spewing s**t out of his mouth to brag about his new business venture. It’s a travel company that subsidizes and motivates locals worldwide to host their houses for tourists for dirt cheap prices. He mentioned “kind of like AirBnb, but without a labia in our logo”, which I guess is understandable coming from his last failed business: a backstreet wrestling promotion to rival the WFWF.
“So, when I was applying for the loan at Wells Fargo, my accountant said to go public and pull some IPO s**t for the media to eat up. When I told her no, this was her response.” says Elijah, whipping out his phone mid-driving.
I half-read the text, letting out a slight chuckle as if I understood what he was talking about. At this point, I’m realizing and regretting my decision to get in a car with him.
“Nice, haha.” I say.
He takes his eyes completely off the road and looks at me in the eyes.
“Nice? Did you read it?” asks Elijah, charterting into 90 mile per hour territory.
“Not really, I couldn’t see.”
Elijah shoves the phone in my face. I read the text: “If you have no confidence, then I have no confidence in you. I should put in my two weeks now.”
Confidence, huh.
“Confidence?”
“Basically told me to grow a pair and give her a raise. I fired her before she can even write up a slip, haha!” says Elijah, as he slaps me across the chest.
Elijah, ever since I met him at one of James O’Malley’s business parties, has always been the douche at the bar who brags about himself all day to overcompensate for something he doesn’t have. He indeed has a s**tton of confidence, but the thing he’s always lacked is drive. All he does is spontaneous and half-assed like a kid’s birthday party at Chuck E Cheese. If you want to make something spectacular, you need drive and the strength to go the entire ride.
You can’t just make something happen and leave it where it stands.
“Can you slow down, please? Not trying to kill a kid today.” I exclaim.
“What do you mean, the road is beyond empty!” says Elijah, pointing out onto the road.
Yes, every road in Texas is just desert and cacti every hour of the day. But, ever since I heard of Reverend John’s daughter’s death, I’ve been strict on who I get in the car with and how they need to be diligent on the road, wherever and whenever. Poor girl got mangled in a car wreck with her drunk boyfriend. Reverend John has spent years, toiling with God over trying to forgive him.
Whether he has or hasn’t yet, I don’t know.
“Still.” I say.
Elijah floors it, pedal to the metal. I clench onto the seat, trying to get a few words out like “f**k you” or “slow down d**khead!” However, when I try, I grunt and can’t react. Fortunately, he slows down after ten seconds of intense speeding. I catch my breath, keeling over as if I’m about to vomit.
“Jesus-”
“See, look how fun that was.” says Elijah.
Elijah cranks up the volume with his s**tty rap music and lip syncs. I feel like I’m in a sitcom.
“Can you turn that down?!” I yell.
“What?!” he yells back.
“Turn it down!”
He twists the knob to turn down the music. At this moment, I think about Ben and how he must’ve felt. 130 miles per hour to 0 just like that. I still miss that kid everyday.
“What’s wrong with you, seriously.” I ask.
“What do you mean, I’m fine. Just cruisin’ down the open road with the walking body of God in my passenger seat.” replies Elijah.
“I’m still Ante, I didn’t go out to change my name to Luke or Peter or-”
“But, your middle name is Francis, right? St. Francis?”
“Yeah?”
Elijah begins to turn onto a side street, lifting something out of the compartment to his left. He’s chuckling, finding amusement in annoying the s**t out of me on a Sunday morning. But, he did make me realize something.
From all of the years in hell, I forgot I had a middle name.
“You’ve been biblical since the day you were born and now that you remember, you’re all over the news. You’re suddenly relevant again.” says Elijah, sarcastically laughing.
“I’m relevant because I have a clear message.”
“Yeah, and what’s that? You say redemption over and over again, but what the hell does that mean?”
I take a second to think, Elijah sighs as if he proved something to me. But, he didn’t. He only made me think harder about my decision to pursue religion as a coping method and beyond that. Redemption isn’t lifting someone back up to their feet.
It’s about overcoming guilt.
“You were guilty for the wrestling promotion, correct?”
“What?”
Elijah pulls over and parks the car. There’s something off about him, almost like he’s drunk or high or both. I intend to get to the bottom of that.
“The promotion. You were guilty when it fell. You were a madman.”
It’s true. He flipped tables and stacks of paper, trying to justify his anger for a promotion he tried to elevate to WFWF status. Elijah never saw the error in his ways, never saw the drive necessary.
Instead, he let guilt consume him, much like I did.
“F**k, what, what does this have to do with atonement and-”
“Everything. Redemption has its own meaning to everyone and to me, that meaning is overcoming guilt and pursuing something beyond your own grief and anger.”
Elijah pauses, holding onto the steering wheel tightly. He grips and takes a big breath. A tear starts to roll down his cheek. He sighs again.
“I’m sorry man. I just haven’t been myself lately. Cancer finally got the best of my momma.” says Elijah.
“S**t, I’m sorry.”
I knew his mom was sick, but never knew how bad. I remember how close he was with her, he had a tattoo and necklace made of her initials and birthday.
“I’ve been trying to live with it, day by day, week by week. It’s so hard, y’know she-.”
“Well, I, I didn’t know. I mean I knew she was sick and stuff, but I never knew-”
“It’s okay, you’ve been doing great things. I haven’t seen you in this good of shape in a long ass time.”
It’s maybe been a year since I’ve seen him and James. In chronological order, my move out to Dell City went as follows: “quit” narcotics, tell James and Elijah I’m going to rehab, move to Dell City, follow God. It’s just a shame that the one time I can talk to someone I haven’t seen in awhile is grieving over the sudden loss of his mother.
“Thanks.” I reply.
“Y’know, I did come out here for business in San Antonio, but I needed to catch up with you. I’ve got nobody back up in New York. Absolutely nobody.”
“What about James?”
“He’s in Ireland right now, visiting grandparents or somethin’. Everyone else dropped me when I had nothing left.”
It’s sad, it really is. All of these people you surround yourselves with admire you for your name, not your craft or person. They leech onto you, sucking off your clout and fame for their own. Absolutely horrible. Maybe that’s why I became such a devout follower of Jesus Christ.
Because no one wants a 30 year old Christian white male to suck off.
“I get that.”
“I know you do, I’m guilty of doing it too. Karma’s a b*tch, right?”
“I don’t believe in Karma, haha.”
We get a good chuckle out, lightening the mood. I feel for Elijah because I’ve been there. I’ve been his shoes God knows how many times and I never shake off the feeling that someone else is like that. It’s why I do my best to help, especially with those I care about, not because of our relationships but because they’re the only ones truly close to me.
At that moment, I heard something fall out of the compartment on his side. Something rolls towards his feet by the pedals. It’s a pill bottle, prescribed for someone. They’re painkillers.
“What is that?” I ask, pointing to the bottle.
Elijah is taken aback and he hurries to hide it.
“Uh, one of my momma’s medications. I was going to give it to her but-”
“Painkillers?”
“Yeah, I was going to give-”
“Then, why is it half-empty?”
Elijah looks down again and sighs.
“This is why I needed to see you. I need connects.”
I’m furious. I storm out of the car and palm my sweaty face. It’s easily over 100 degrees right now and learning this has made it 1000 times hotter than it already is. This is why Elijah came all this way, this is why he suddenly cares about me and my career.
He needs f**king connects.
Elijah quickly opens the door, partially stumbling.
“Is your mom even dead?” I ask.
“What?”
“Answer my question.”
He pauses and nods no. This motherf**ker.
“Jesus Christ.” I say.
“I’m so sorry man, I just can’t help it. I need something, all I do is crave it every single day. It’s taking me over and I-”
I take a big breath and put my hands on his shoulders. I close my eyes.
“Take a deep breath, close your eyes, and think. What can you do, what can you fix?”
“Everything, everything needs to be fixed.”
“How can you do it?”
“Uh, going to rehab, talking about it.”
I tighten my grip on his shoulders.
“I pray for you, Elijah. You will get better, you will see the light at the end of the tunnel.”
Elijah blinks a few times, the tear still streaming down his cheek. I pat him a few times. He looks amazed, stunned as if he had just saw God.
“I see why you’re into God now.” laughs Elijah.
“I used to be in your exact same shoes.”
“I know.”
“Come on, I’ll drive this time and we can get lunch. No drinks.”
Elijah nods yes and hops in the passenger seat. I take the driver’s seat.
“Also, I want you to throw that out as soon as we get to the restaurant. You’ll get clean in no time.”
I’m surprised by how calm and understanding I am when I was always the opposite. I can already see this conversation flipped around had it been a year ago. I guess I’m somebody’s crutch now, somebody’s arm to lean on.
“Got it. Thank you Ante.”
“No problem. I also know no one with drugs around here so you can’t even try to get stuff, haha.”
Elijah chuckles and we drive off. It’s about damn time I took the wheel.
And it feels so good.
El Grito de Dolores.
Our playground. Our showcase of combat. The pinnacle of our righteous feud.
El Grito de Dolores roughly translates to The Cry of Pain in English, referring to an event during the Mexican War of Independence. Besides the event, think of the last time you cried in pain. Was it that old beau from high school or was it your arm snapping in half? Think about how much pain you were afflicted with and how that motivated your body to shed tears.
Think long and hard, think about every miniscule moment leading up to that. Feel the time pass you by as agony sets in and you feel the tears piling up. That exact feeling is what will happen at El Grito de Dolores. A biblical battle that surpasses faith and guilt entirely.
This is as real as it gets.
I am your light to your dark, the speech in your slur, the beacon of hope you’ve always longed for. I am your salvation, absolute and whole for you to join. I want you by my side Frank, not in combat. Together, we can create a massive beacon that spans time and space. We will be even more whole than before.
But, as most say, you are willing to fight me against the flame I possess. I’m here to tell you dear Frank that my flame is an inferno, harmless to the naked eye. It is a welcoming fire, embracing and engulfing whomever steps in. It is a curse to fight it, an infinite prize to take it. You, my dear Frank, are misguided from the light’s true powers and thus, I want to show you.
By any means necessary.
On the topic of means, you are the means to my end, the swift conclusion to universal redemption. You are the most important figure I have had the opportunity to face since I returned from my holy sabbatical. Your International Title suggests global implications to our colossal battle and personally, I don’t know how much more important it could get.
Frank, you and I are destined for an epic war of physical and mental assault that will exceed any match I’ve had previously. I will shove faith and guilt down your throat until you submit, until you finally let go of the ego tearing your soul apart. Piece by piece, you will be mine, devoured in the light I’ve blessed you with. You’ll finally be happy and at peace my friend. I’ve had my fair share of chaos recently but through God and prayer, I found my footing again, ready to challenge you for the Golden Opportunity. MY Golden Opportunity. MY International Championship.
I have faith and guilt in my possible actions as International Champion. I have faith it’ll propel me to the top of the card so every single wrestler can follow in my footsteps. I have guilt that it may corrupt me. But, overall, my upcoming victory over you will show that the power of God can never be toppled and shattered. God’s power is almighty and omnipotent to you Frank, it’s far too powerful for your eyes.
The light blinding you is true. My victory over you is true. Getting picked up by me is true.
Your fall will never reach the gates of Hell for I am your angel, ready to swoop you upon defeat. I don’t want to kill you, Frank. I simply want to lift you, make you see the light you’ve been hiding from. Your final redemption is on its way, the end to your means.
Your Mea Per Fidem.
"As far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our transgressions from us."- Psalm 103:12
I dont know good luck 
