Opening the Box

[Gabriela Luna]

Nice to see someone steppin' up around here. ¿Cómo estas, Pandora?

Man, I ain't got a real clock on you. Lots of people around here you can't really clock at first glance. See, spot ya on the street, I'd think you were some sorta gamer girl, but you've been more things than that. You're...kind of a new thing every week, aren't ya? Someone asks me "who is Pandora Freeman?", I ain't got no answer beyond "she's got blue hair and likes techno." We gon' answer that question muy rapido now, si?

Ain't gonna be much left undone between us after Open Fight Night. That's the point of Open Fight Night, ain't it? You get out there, you air your stuff, and you make your name. What's the name you wanna make, though? You wanna make yourself a contender again? You wanna remind the world that Pandora Freeman ain't nothin' to fuck with? Like I said, just one question there...who is Pandora Freeman?

See, I know the answer to the question "Who is Gabriela Luna?" I've known that question for a long, long time. I got that question answered every day of my childhood. I'm a got-nothing, too short for prime-time, better off as a model acrobat with delusions of the big time. At least, that's what the haters say. You gonna be a hater, Pandora? You gonna let that haterade cloud your eyes? Or you gonna wake up and see what I really got? I'll give you a hint: look at the bottom of that box you got. Take a real good look.

Abre la caja. ¿Mira eso? Hope. It's all I've ever had. Hope that I can be more. Hope that I can make myself proud. Hope that I can piss off everyone who hates me for what I am. You feel me? I got sick of other people defining me a long time ago, and I took shit into my own hands. Trust me, you ever want to be more than the also-ran, you gotta do it. You gotta make up your damn mind about who you are. Not me, not the commentary team, not any of the face-painted freaks. You. You gotta own you, girl.

I own me. I'm damn proud of who I am and where I've come from. That kinda pride can't be bought with money. It can't be given to you. You gotta seize it for yourself. Open Fight Night ain't gonna be your night, though. It can be the start of something, and if it is it's gonna be because yo' ass hit that low point. You gotta hit rock bottom to start buildin' yoself up. Pick up what I'm puttin' down? That's how you say it, right?

 Yeah, you better. I ain't here to save your ass. This ain't about me playing therapist. This is about me makin' things right by me. Not by you, not by anyone else. That means gettin' my name in line for one of them titles we got, and that means beatin' you like mama con la chancla. So when I kick your ass back down to the ground floor, pick yourself up out of the dirt and do yourself a favor. Look yourself in the eyes and ask that question I been askin' you here today. Ask yourself "who is Pandora Freeman?" You might be surprised what you got to say.

I mean, shit. If you just want to keep disappointin' yourself to shitty techno, be my guest. Ain't nothin' off me...but day's gonna come real soon when you're gonna need that answer, and if you ain't got shit then, you're in for a world of hurt. Try to keep up if you can, Pan.

No pressure.

---

Gabriela walks out towards the edge of the road, leaning against her almost-new motorcycle. A red helmet with silver trim, much the same as that of her bike, rests on the seat, and she sighs, wind catching her hair and blowing it about in the breeze. As she stares off into the pitch-black night sky, though, her phone rings. Gabriela picks it up, a curious look on her face.

"¿Bueno?"

The man's voice on the other end is one we haven't heard for a little bit, but whose sound lights Gabriela's face up with excitement.

"Hey there, I'm looking for a big-shot American wrestler by the name of Gabriela Luna. Know where I can find her?"

Gabriela rolls her eyes, injecting mock anger into her voice.

"Fuck you, old man, soy Mexicana. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The voice of her trainer Aaron carries through, the volume on her phone turned up just a little too loud for what most would call comfortable listening.

"You owe it to that insane roll you've been on. Now, you better promise me that if you get some big pay-per-view match or something you're gonna get me some tickets. That...IS in your future, right?"

Gabriela sighs, shrugging as she tucks a bit of hair back.

"Fuck, man. I don't know. I sure hope so. Maybe this is the win that does it? Maybe this is what it takes to earn that attention from the brass."

Aaron chuckles, and the affection in his voice is tempered with a slight undercurrent of aggression.

"Tell you what, they don't give you a title shot after the streak you've been on I'm driving to IWF headquarters myself and making them give it to you. Yeah, I'm driving all the way up there, you heard me."

Gabriela snorts, shaking her head at the bold declaration from the man on the phone.

"You don't even drive in rush hour, and now you're telling me you're gonna drive all the way up from Guadalajara? Bullshit. I'll believe it when I see it, viejo."

Aaron's voice becomes mock-scandalized, and he sighs melodramatically.

"That's the problem with kids these days. No respect for their elders. You know why I'd be driving up there? Because it matters. You matter, Gabby. I got your picture on the wall these days. People come in, they say 'you trained Gabriela Luna?' And I couldn't be prouder to say yes. Kid, you're doing good."

Gabriela pauses, momentarily thankful that she can't be seen on the other end of the phone line, and smiles, a soft flush coming over her cheeks.

"Hey. Knock it off. You say that kinda shit too loud, someone's gonna look over and see me like this. Gonna ruin my rep. You want that, old man? 'cause that happens, all those secondhand brags you get outta me gonna go away just like that."

The voice on the other end pauses, letting out a murmur of contemplation.

"Damn. I hadn't thought about that. Oh well, I guess I'll just have to stick to sending postcards. Kids these days love postcards, right? It's like you're right there with the person who sent it!"

Gabriela groans, facepalming, and looks up at the sky in mocking despair.

"Dios, dame paciencia porque si me das fuerza los mato...FUCK, you're old. Aren't you up past your bedtime?"

The reply comes like the crack of a whip, sharp and instant.

"Aren't you, young lady? And no more of that foul mouth of yours or I'll wash it out with soap..."

Gabriela laughs again, a genuine, warm laugh. She sighs, checking the time on her phone as Aaron continues on, and her eyes almost bug out of her head. She pulls the phone back to her ear just in time to hear the rest of the sentence.

"...and when I'm done, they'll be able to use your hide to make cowboy boots and you won't be able to sit down for a week! What do you think of that, young lady?"

Gabriela chuckles, partly thankful that she missed the middle of that sentence.

"Two things. One, you need to lay off the tequila before bed. Two, it's almost midnight. If I don't get riding soon, I'm not gonna make it in time for the show. I gotta go. Talk to you tomorrow. Es un prometo."

Aaron sighs, and the nod is almost audible over the phone as he speaks.

"I know what your promises are worth. Tomorrow. And drive safe, will you? I've only got the one of you, and I forgot where I could find a replacement."

Gabriela chuckles, reaching out and snagging her helmet with her free hand.

"Didn't you hear? I'm one of a kind. Talk to you later, viejo. Te amo."

"Heh. You too, kiddo."

She hangs up the phone, sighing. Gabriela stares at the phone for a long moment, uncertainty flickering across her expresson, before stashing it in the pocket of her jacket and zipping it up. Gabriela pulls her helmet on, slinging her leg across her bike, and revs it to life, flicking on the headlight before pulling out of the gas station and back onto the highway. The headlight of her cycle quickly fades into the night, becoming a pinprick on the horizon as we fade out.