"Patterns"

"Patterns."

“A pattern is a regularity in the world, in human-made design, or in abstract ideas. As such, the elements of a pattern repeat in a predictable manner.”

Saturday, September 8th, 2001
El Cinco Barrio -- San Juan, Puerto Rico

“Your shoulders were on the ground, Luis!”

Luchadores had been revered as heroes in Puerto Rico for as long as she could remember. At almost every family event, a wrestling match in the background between two masked wrestlers. It wouldn’t even be surprising to learn she had been born while two luchadores chain wrestled in the background. So it wasn’t very surprising when all her cousins would gather around in the yard and wrestle one another for fun. That always seemed to be the game they were most interested in playing.

“They were not, Angel!”

Two out of he five boys bickered between one another over whether or not the match was over. The other three watched from the side, unsure of where to throw their hat in. Typically it was by playground rules, where the loudest and most dominate boy would usually be able to sway the others in his favor. That moment had yet to happen, so they looked on with wide eyes.

“You couldn’t even see because I was on top of you! I won!”

“No! You just can't count! I didn’t lose!”

Naturally, the kids were only interested in not losing. Their voices grew louder, and more incoherent as the other three boys began entering the argument on either side of the debate. This caused the two bickering boys to start pushing each other back and forth, their rough housing getting rougher and rougher. From what appeared to be the back of the group of boys, a little girl suddenly emerged. She was wearing dirty clothes, dressed more like she was in some old clothes of her cousins. She pushed her way to the front.

“Can I have my turn now?!”

Isabel had been waiting her turn for longer than she could count. Each day they would tell her that she had to wait her turn, and that it simply wasn’t that time yet. Being the youngest, she believed them, and patiently waited while cheering for her cousins. Somehow they always had to come inside for dinner before it was her turn for the day. Usually the boys would play along, not wanting to upset their little cousin so that she would run and tell on them, thus ruining their wrestling game. Instead they used their words to convince her she’d eventually have a turn. Today was not one of those days. Due to the fight breaking out, her cousins were not very focused on continuing the white lies they had told.

“You’re not going to have a turn, Issy!”

Yelled back her cousin Angel, in between pushing and fighting off the other boy. He didn’t even take the time to look at her properly, just slightly turned his head to the side and shouted.

“But I want to play!”

“Go play with you dolls, this is boy stuff!”

Although they were fighting one another, they remained on the same page of not allowing Isabel to be apart of their game. The boys effectively began throwing each other into locks and rolling around on the floor once again, the other three forming a triangle around them, and pushing Isabel out of their little circle. Being ousted, she began to cry, of course not noticed by the boys one bit. The young girl ran, following the yard into their small home, tears still falling down her face. Isabel and her cousins were all raised by a single, strong woman. Their abuela.

“Isabel, why do you cry?”

She asked, rocking back and forth in the old chair as she worked her fingers back and forth. Every day she sat in the same spot, knitting away, only getting up to stir various pots of simmering food. Always working on something to keep the family warm, thinking of the family. The house itself, although small and constantly dirty, was littered with different rugs, blankets and throws, all having either traditional or modern repeating Taino print embroidered on them.

“The cousins won’t let me play! I waited my turn! They said it's for boys!”

She cried out, burying her face into her abuela’s embroidered sweater. Abuela put down her magical tools to her side, before wrapping her arms around little Isabel.

“Isabel, dry your tears. You have all you need right here.”

The little girl rose her eyes back to light, as her grandmother wiped away her tears.

“But Abuelita, I can’t play luchadores by myself!”

The old woman gently grabbed her granddaughter by the wrist, crouching low in order to get down to her level. She dried away the remaining damp spots upon Isabel’s face with the edge of her knitwork.

“You can do anything by yourself, Isabel.”

Abuela rose to her feet again, grabbing a nearby chair and slowly walking it over next to the comfy chair she usually sat in. The second chair was much smaller, and obviously meant for Isabel. Thus as she plopped it down, little Isabel immediately hopped into it.

“There will be moments within life, Isabel, where you’ll feel the darkness creep in. You’ll want to run away, you’ll want to cry. Do not let the darkness steal you away. Always remember the bright, always remember the happy. Life is about these moments most.”

Abuela sat back within her own chair, picking up her tools that she had placed on the side table. She began to work the needles in and out of her knitwork.

“Life is like this. It sways back and forth, but as long as you stay strong and follow your pattern, you'll find your way again, and the end result will always turn out beautiful. If you look close enough, there are patterns all around you. Life is full of patterns that reveal themselves to you. Shapes and colors and repeating designs that teach you about the world. You watch for life's patterns, Isabel."

Abuela leaned forward, giving the small needles over to the little girl, who tried to hold them within her hands. Abuela put her own hands over Isabel’s small ones, moving her hands in a particular motion in order to create beautiful and vibrant pattern work.

Monday, January 27th, 2008

El Cinco Barrio -- San Juan, Puerto Rico

He heard the old beater coming down the road about ten minutes ago, hell the whole barrio probably did. As the metal grinding got louder, his concern grew stronger. As the clunker slowly pulled to a stop in front of the house his grandmother had lived in for over thirty years, his concern was at an all-time high. There were no visible plates, but more than that, he had never seen the car before. Most of the people in the barrio had lived there all their lives, had grown up with the same neighbors. Angel Diaz recognized every car that had driven passed this house for the last fifteen years – but he did not know this car.

“This is the place, ey Beth?!”

Angel heard a voice of a man yell over the blaring bass from the passenger seat. Following a short pause, the passenger door burst open. First, a man stepped out. He was older than Angel, probably older than Angel’s father if he was still alive but not as old as Abuelita. He wore only black slacks, a white wifebeater and a pair of sunglasses. Angel attempted to get a good look at him, but the man did not look back. Instead, he bent down, placing his head back inside the car and pulling the lever on the side to slide the seat forward. A girl, about fifteen or sixteen years old, stepped from the backseat.

“Que paso, cuz?”

She spoke as if she knew him. Angel strained his eyes against the blinding headlights, unable to see her face. The voice of the girl stepped into the dimmer light, revealing herself as his cousin, Isabel. For a moment, his guard was dropped and all he wanted to do was give his young cousin a big hug. She’d been gone from home for over a year now, lost in the chaos of the barrio like many before her. She was still the same Isabel though.

“Issy! I haven’t seen you in a minute! Where’ve you been? Whatcha been up to?”

He pulled her in, unable to stop himself from embracing her. He was quickly reminded of the crew that stood just outside the broken fence of his grandmother’s house, as his eyes landed upon the man in the wifebeater again. She must've felt him gotense, because she tapped on his shoulder as if urging Angel to calm himself. Together, they walked the same dirty stone walkway that they had skipped as kids. The front door looked sadder than she recalled, but once upon a time she had called it her home. It seemed like decades since she called it that, but it was, still.

“Don’t worry about me, Angel. I’m just here to get something of mine and I’ll head out.”

As they reached the porch with the sunken roof, Angel’s brow furrowed.

"Just like that? You’re just gonna pop back in after a year, and no word?”

With every word, emotion poured in. He couldn’t help his voice from raising as his sentence trailed on. Beth put her hands up to stop him.

“Quiet Angel! Be cool!”

She was indeed his little cousin, but she was also someone else entirely. He almost didn’t recognize the girl who stood in front of him now. She wasn’t grown, but she wanted to be so bad. Angel was stunned, unable to think of the right words to say in the moment, and knowing all too well that there was nothing to be said. She would grab whatever it might be that she came for and disappear into the night, no matter what words managed to fall from his lips.

“Yo Acid, let’s go!!”

The driver hollered, honking the horn twice. Just as Beth stared them down and called ‘Callate!’, the driver honked the horn a third time, drowning her voice. The horn was followed by an outburst of laughter coming from the car. She turned back towards Angel, heading inside.

“Ah hell, cuz…you’re Acid Beth.”

His tone sounded questioning, but she knew it was more of a statement. He looked at her with wide eyes, the truth hit him like a ton of bricks as he came to the realization. Later in life, when she looked back at this moment, she’d wonder how her own expressions must’ve looked. Did she look proud? Guilty? Pessimistic? She wondered her own reaction to the news that her family had found out who she is. Who she really is. She may forever wonder what her reaction was, but she will always remember the look on Angel’s face as he crossed his arms at her. The disappointment.

Acid Beth was a popular teen myth across the eighteen San Juan barrios, and possibly into the rest of Puerto Rico. The legend says, after discovering that her husband of twenty years had been untrue, a Taino women cried herself to death. As a spirit, she would reveal herself only to those that had truth to learn. It was said that Acid Beth’s touch would uncover the secrets that those around you were keeping, you would be cursed with the knowledge of the truth. Both a blessing and a curse, depending on what truth was to be learned.

Within the last year, there had been multiple sightings of the spirit, bringing truth and knowledge of the universe to those in need. Occasionally, the police would even find a citizen alone in a field, or deserted land, ranting about how Acid Beth had shown them the truth. The TRUTH truth? Beth had stolen the legend as her own, and now peddled LSD to the island while men like the ones in the car sold substances much harder.

“ISABEL!”

Abuela’s voice came from deeper inside the house, her tone drenched in worry. The car horns had woken her. The cautious voice brought her back to nine years old for just a moment. Turning back towards the house, she walked up to her Abuela who was now much shorter than her. A typical greeting was not on Abuela’s mind. Instead, as she spoke to Beth she almost looked past her, out to the car awaiting her. The man in the wifebeater was still standing with the passenger door open.

“Isabel, I do not like this man. The earth knows that he is a bad seed. Can't you see it?”

These were the words she felt most important. Beth didn’t even notice the oddity. She placed a hand upon her grandmother's back, attempting to console her.

“Abuelita, go back to bed…”

Beth quickly dipped inside the front door, disappearing into the darkness of the small house. A few seconds later she returns, a heavy black bag in her hands. She laid a kiss upon her grandmother's forehead.

“…there’s nothing to worry about.”

Beth quickly scuffled by Angel, his arms still firmly crossed and watching the situation closely. She slugged him in the arm, hoping he’d lighten up, before she joined the rest of her crew.

“…he has no light…”

Abuela whispered under her breath, tugging on Angels’ sleeve as she watched her granddaughter get into the backseat of the car. The man that would come to be known as Chopper pushed the car seat back into position, before turning his gaze to Abuela. His smirk grew, he blew a kiss, and was traveling back down the street seconds later. It was the last time Malulani Diaz ever saw her granddaughter.

December 30th, 2021

UNKNOWN

“I’ve been thinking on your perspective as of late, Andalucera. Attempting to put myself in your shoes, to see through your eyes.”

Her voice echoed as her swirling, hazel eyes shot open. The facepaint, encompassing half her face as always, depicted a cherry blossom tree with the trunk extending down her neck. Certainly softer than usual.

“I wonder in all the ways someone like you can judge someone like me, and how that sets your expectations of our fight. Although I don’t know you as someone who would take another's opinion as fact, it’s possible you’d judge me by the way people have spoken about me. 'Impressive newcomer…den mother'…while I may not sit atop the mountain, there’s certainly nothing negative about my in-ring skill that anyone can say without being revealed as a boldfaced liar. I hold honor in that.”

We pan out to see Beth sitting on the floor, her legs crossed atop one another. The connected assumption is that she'd recently finished meditating.

“You judged Cartwright by his caliber of opponent... would you do the same to me? Sapphire Delgado and Ruby Steele have a lot of heart and determination to make something of themselves in this business. With respect, if you judged me by the PWE competitors I’ve been in the ring with, I feel you’d be making a huge mistake. I’ve yet to be challenged to my full potential in a one-on-one setting, I knew it would come sooner or later. I refuse to take anything away from the women I’ve shared the ring with here, but I’ve been waiting for a true test. How joyed I am to be given the gift of a one-on-one match with La Andalucera this upcoming Monday.”

A small grin displaying her excitement spread her lips for a moment, but she fought it back.

“While I’ve yet to be challenged to my full potential in singles combat, we both know I was challenged – nay, I'll be honest, overwhelmed - at Annihilation. Do you think of that day still? I suppose you probably don’t – would you think of an insect on the ground? No, I don't assume you would. But I do.

You unfairly tipped the scales that day. You robbed Chelsea Skye of her chance at redemption, you robbed PWE of an outstanding matchup, but most of all, you robbed yourself, Anda. Why would you do such a thing? You’d have us all believe you’ve always had this confidence in the ring, that you’ve always been this in control. I realize the official statement has to do with losing by choice, or planting seeds for the future, but truthfully speaking, I’m not sure if those fabrications are for others, or for yourself. Your true reasons for aligning with the Aylas are your own, and I respect you for keeping mum to thwart those that would try to use it against you. But remember that saying less, sometimes says more.

You told me once I didn’t understand the opportunity I’ve been given, that I was squandering it. Stage fright, you called it. It’s true, I’ve never been fond of multi-person matches, and seeing such strong personalities so early in my PWE career caused me to lose my voice. I failed to recall the strength a voice can carry. But when it came time to fight, my fist was held high. I didn’t back down the way you did. They may not be tactics that I’d be proud of personally, but Tara Ayla did pin me. That's something I'll never deny. However, you continue acting as if that night was a win for you, despite your hand not being the one raised. You left that ring with exactly what I left with, nothing.

I’m sure you’re tired of hearing others analyze your actions by now. Though, there’s a reason so many are perplexed with your decision. Because the shapes don’t fit together, the math doesn’t add up.”

She paused a little longer this time, bringing her right hand to her unpainted chin. Her direct line of sight met the camera now, as if she was having a conversation with La Andalucera.

“I’ve heard you speak of this girl who had to fight against everything she knew in life to be here. This girl who has double the desire of most, and triple the willpower. This girl that believed in herself against all. Where was that girl at Annihilation?

The shortest distance from point A to point B is a straight line, and if you truly felt powerful, then you would’ve taken that route yourself. You stepped down, because you accepted defeat before the match began.

I think that spark of fear consumed you in the moment, and a fleeting thought that you MIGHT fail in your quest entered your psyche. You'd already suffered a couple defeats, I can imagine you thought you needed to change up your game plan. You acted out of fear. That’s alright, you have every reason to feel that way. Growing up with the hardships that you have, within a community that’s treated you the way they have, it’s of no doubt to me that you feel immense pressure. But that doesn’t excuse your actions. You’re on a slippery slope, you may one day get all that you desire but at what cost to yourself? Are you willing to pay with your pride? Pay with your lost innocence? Your salvation? Your very soul?

A very bad man once tried to tell me that it’s better to be the right hand of the devil than in his path. That was the path you chose. You do yourself injustice by becoming a simple dog for hire, leashed by the Aylas. What would that girl say to you now?”

Beth had leaned slightly forward, her finger dragging in the dirt and filth that she continued to sit in. Touching her finger to her face, she began making contact with the painted cherry blossoms. In a small chemical reaction, the beautiful pink flowers were turning into a bright red color of flame.

“You’ve been trying to make up for it ever since, and bravo I must say. Since that night, you truly have made a great showing of how driven you are to reach your dream. You are a fierce warrior when you’re putting your all into your work. I want you to touch that pinnacle, Anda. You deserve it. I want to see a strong Latina with her crown on correct. Although I’m not a fan of your games, I still wish for you to find success.

But if you back down from our fight, the way you did Tara - I won’t hold back as she did.

You’re a top competitor, but you forget, I took it upon myself to go up against the combined might of both you AND Tara. Let that speak for itself on the question of my ambition. That was MY path. I refuse to allow tyrants to reign unquestioned, and place their soldiers across the top of the Keep that is PWE. You may be intimidating to some, but I’ve seen the way your patterns intertwine. While I've adopted the hard strikes of strong style into my arsenal, but I’ve still got lucha libre in my blood! I’m the one person in the locker room who has trained against your style, seen it up close, lived it, defeated it. You’re not unbeatable, and if you’re going to meet me in the ring at Victory VII in St Louis, Missouri, then you better meet me with everything that you have! Because it will take exactly that if you plan on hearing your name called at the end of our battle!

I’ve fought against mounting adversity my entire life, and if I must go it alone in another war, then that’s what I must do! Your drive may be as strong as Yocahu, but you still lack the self-discipline to see it through. You've showcased that you have a stopping point in your journey you dare not venture past, and I'm going to expose that. The demon king's tyranny didn't start with you, but your defeat will mark the end. You may refuse to see your truth, La Andalucera, but you'll be forced to stare it down when you're drenched in my acid pools. It will change you, yes, but you will be much better for it. Don't be afraid, Guerrera, let me be your guide.”

Now having touched around her face to create enough reaction with the paint, the half-mural now depicted a tree on fire. The fire upon her face and the desire within her eyes was a quite the coupled spectacle.

THURSDAY, APRIL 7th, 2011

El Cinco Barrio -- San Juan, Puerto Rico

Another year had passed. That made two.

At least, she was almost certain. Two years since she’d been on the run. While she stayed clearly of the police, she was mostly running from Chopper. The guy in the wifebeater is about as forgiving as you think a man named Chopper would be.

Being Acid Beth in the wrestling ring gave her life new meaning but being Acid Beth in the barrios of Puerto Rico gave her a police record. She wanted to turn over a new leaf, she wanted out. The government started targeting her as a possible informant against the growing empire that Chopper had built. She was far too smart to accept the bait, but that didn’t stop Chopper’s dirty pigs from passing along the word that they were trying to get Beth to flip on him.

She’d been avoiding both the government of Puerto Rico and Chopper’s gang ever since.

Being on the lamb wasn’t all that bad. But it was lonely. She remembered the joy, driving back into her hometown. It was dangerous, but she hadn’t seen Chopper nor his goons in two years now. It was time to make the trip home. As she approached the small shack with the sunken roof, the world felt off. A dark cloud loomed overhead, an uncomfortable feeling washed over her being.

Despite their poverty, she had once looked at the shack as the happiest place in her world. Now, it was replaced with a feeling of dread.

Her first instinct was to rush inside, and send hugs all around. A second thought convinced her it had been too long of an absence to act like nothing had happened. She settled for a hard knock on the door, her excitement rising. Yet, still fighting the growing feeling of despair. From the force of the knock, the door creaked open. There was no light inside.

“Abuelita…?”

She called into the darkness, but heard no response. She ventured inside, pausing to allow her eyes time to adjust. It was here that a rather putrid smell attacked her nostrils, forcing her eyes to water. Still, she pressed on.

She felt her way down the corridor that she’d run while playing tag with her cousins, until she reached the living area where her family would gather every night. The smell was strongest here, possibly even emanating from this room.

Mere steps into the room and she was already colliding with junk on the floor. She needed light. Taking a moment to search the multiple pockets of her jacket would grant her a single lighter, able to produce a single small flame for light. It was all she needed.

As she flicked the lighter, she knew there was no going back.

Though she often wished she could.

At first, her mind could hardly process the sight. Going from near pure darkness to bliding light, taking in the several stimuli around the room was a difficult task. There were papers and broken furniture everywhere, a table on its side, a thin layer of dust covered it all, which told her it had been this way for weeks, maybe months. She moved the lighter around the room, realizing everything they considered valuable was now gone. A porcelain doll her Papa and given her abuela, the colorful and extravagant knitwork that usually decorated the small home, various silverware lined the floor but most of that was gone too – likely just the neighbors taking items of survival but too fearful to report any wrongdoing.

It wasn’t until she had completed a half-circle around the room with her lighter, that she saw it. A large obstacle on the floor, not but four feet away from her. She thought it was a simple pile of clothes, like ones her abuela used to wear. As her eyes focused on the pile of clothes, her vision began to decipher out an arm…a leg…a body. The body of an elderly woman, strewn across the floor, dried blood surrounding the spot she last lie.

Beth went to scream, but there was no sound.

She turned in haste, her finger now burning upon the lighter wheel but failing to feel it due to the adrenaline pumping in her veins. She tried not to, but her eyes continued to take in stimuli as she rushed from the house. Off to the far right off the room, a second body. More masculine. She was sure of it.

She ran, blowing out of the small home as fast as the wind would carry her.

She made it to the front yard that was still surrounded by a broken gate, the same gate Chopper had stood outside of years ago. She collapsed into the dirt, tears streaming down her face but still, no sound came.

Her fingers clasped tightly around the dirt between them, shaking as she felt the desire to become one with the earth. To take this away. Where there once was a single thought to run, now overflowed with anxious thoughts.

Her first choice was to run to the police, they’re supposed to protect. They’d make this right. The law would get him. But she knew Chopper, knew he had connections all over Puerto Rico, his hand in law enforcement, for sure. How would she know which officer to trust? Besides, the police in San Juan weren’t exactly fond of her for deeds she’d done under Chopper. How could she trust them to keep her safe?

The word ‘RUN’ morphed into ‘ESCAPE’.

She knew she had to get away. As far away from him as possible. The word ‘ESCAPE’ became ‘SURVIVE’.

Isabel Diaz pushed herself up and back onto her feet, trying her best to dry her eyes. They continued to fall. Before she knew it, she was reaching for the petrol can that her abuela had always kept in case of emergencies that never occurred. She moved with purpose. With the contents of the can dumped, the small flame from her lighter became a mighty blaze in the matter of seconds.

She stood there. For how long she did not know, but long enough to make sure that nobody would get to it in time. She made sure it would burn to the ground. The small shack and the unspeakable tragedy within. The slim chance that Chopper would go down for this and his collection of crimes was not a chance she was willing to take. She needed to make sure that she’d never return.

That was the day she learned that people, too, exhibit unbreakable patterns.