In a hospital in Mexico City, a couple radiated happiness in their room. They had just become the parents of a boy, who, like them, had light tan skin and dark hair. His face was flushed pink and his cries punctured the sterile hospital air. The doctor dried him off and wrapped him in a receiving blanket. His father took him in his arms and he became quiet. His green eyes were wide with curiosity, and then he started to squeal playfully.
The man took him to his wife, who was resting, exhausted from delivering the baby. He gently tapped her shoulder, getting her attention, and her eyes filled with delight and she smiled open-mouthed. The baby reached out to her. She took him in her arms, and both parents watched him in silent joy. His father reached out and tickled his cheek. The baby held his father's finger in his tiny hand.
The quiet was interrupted when the doctor asked what they would like to name him.
"Rey." said the man. It was a name that would come to fit him in the future.
"Mama, Papa, come on!" four-year-old Rey called to his parents. He had sped ahead of them in childish glee, eager to claim of front row seat, wanting to view the wrestling action as close as possible. He loved wrestling. He admired the luchadores who fought for different causes and long to one day become big and strong like them. His parents caught up to him at the entrance, where they the fee and went in. They were one of the first to arrive, so they quickly found seats in the front deck. Rey stood up in anticipation and waited for action to start.
Once the room was filled, the bell rang and everyone cheered. The referee welcomed them to the match and called the announced for the fighters to enter the ring. Rey's excitement climbed higher as the luchadores appeared before the audience and pumped up for the fight. The match began, and Rey cheered along with the audience as the two masked wrestlers scuttled and shifted and ran back and forth, preforming various moves as they did. One attacked the other with a German suplex, who responded with a tombstone piledriver, and it was all over.
Rey cheered loudly for the winner, and his parents watched him with happiness and the certainty that he wanted to be a luchadore when he grew up. Which was exactly what he wanted
Three years later, the now seven-year-old Rey was outside, beating the punching bag hanging from the large oak in their backyard. After the told his parents what he wanted to be, they purchased work out equipment for him-strengthening machines and weights of various heft and the bag he was currently punching-and he had been working on them every day, sometimes with help from his father. But he was becoming muscular for his age, and at the rate he trained it wouldn't be long before he could carry any weight almost with ease.
Inside, he heard the phone ring, and through the kitchen window he saw his mother go to answer it. Still punching, he watched her face as the conversation flowed back and forth between her and whoever was on the other end. Her blue eyes widened just a bit. Then her mouth opened wide and she covered it with her mouth. Her eyes teared up as she replied, and Rey stopped punching. She nodded and hung up, then looked at Rey from the window, her tears now trailing down her cheeks. She opened the sliding glass door and went out to him.
"What's wrong, Mama?" he asked.
"It's...it's Papa." she said, her voice wobbly. "He…he was st-stabbed…on the way home from work."
Rey gasped.
"Someone called an ambulance for him," his mother continued, "but it was too late."
"So, you mean Papa's…"
His mother nodded. "Papa's dead, mijo."
Rey's vision went blurry as his own eyes became teary. His mother wrapped him in her arms as he began to cry. The reality that his father wouldn't be there as he grew up, when he married and had his first child, or even when he faced off against his first opponent in the wrestling ring, was agony to think about.
But however hard he tried not to think about it, he couldn't control the tears for a long time.
A few days later, Rey and his mother donned black formal wear and walked to the cemetery where his father would be buried. Even at his young age, he knew it was pointless to cry, he knew it wouldn't bring his father back, but no matter how many times he blinked, he couldn't stop them from escaping. His mother took her hand and squeezed it, telling him without words that they were suffering from the same pain.
Suddenly, there came a loud bang, and Rey fell to the ground and covered his head. A moment passed with no further sounds, and he cautiously looked up. Across the street, he saw a man running, and a police car chased after him, the siren wailing. Only then did he look up at his mother, and he gasped.
She had both hands pressed to her hip, which was bleeding, soaking her black dress red. Rey tried to catch her as she fell backward and leaned against the cement wall they had been walking along, choking. Her knees buckled and she slid down to a sitting position.
"Mama. Mama." Rey said, fear threatening to take over his voice. "It's okay, Mama. We'll call for help. We'll-"
But her face went pale as she could no longer breathe. She released her breath, and her eyes turned glassy and closed. Rey didn't dare to believe it was true.
"Mama!" he cried, shaking her as if trying to wake her up. "Mama, no! No!" He buried his face in her stomach and sobbed, hugging her lifeless body close to his own. "I can't lose you, too. I can't-"
Another police car rolled up to the boy and his dead mother, and two officers stepped out. Rey looked up at them, choking on sobs.
"What happened?" one of the officers asked him. Saying nothing, he looked back toward his mother's body. The other officer checked for a pulse, and shook his head.
The first officer turned to apologize to Rey, but he was gone.
The orphaned boy had run back to his house and sat on the steps leading to the door, sobbing his broken heart out. He kept asking himself how this could happen to him. What were the odds of him losing both his parents at too early an age? Who could be so cruel as to tear them from his life? He was then struck with a horrifying realization: he would now be sent to the orphanage, to which he couldn't imagine going. It ran on the littlest of budgets, and its conditions were terrible. That meant there was only one option for him: to live on the streets.
He had to accept that this meant he would have to fight to survive, but he was tough and determined and grew stronger every day since he said his dream out loud. Maybe one day he could build a new, better life for himself, one that his parents would be proud of him for living. With the little bit of comfort brought to him by the idea, he set out for the streets. He didn't take any keepsakes because he wanted to learn to fend for himself.
He would have to now that he was all alone in the world.
After toughing out a cold, windy night, Rey observed his parents' funeral the next morning from a distance. He could see their coffins positioned side-by-side under a massive flowering tree and the people dressed in black who had come to pay their respects. The priest gave a speech bidding them farewell, then said something that hit Rey hard.
"It is unknown what happened to their son, Rey. He disappeared before police could take him to the orphanage. Let us send our prayers to him as well, and let us hope that he will rebound from this great tragedy and that his life will recover."
At the moment, Rey was absolutely doubtful that his life would get better. He'd only been a street urchin for a day and already survival was a struggle. But a life at the unstable, uncomfortable orphanage was unacceptable, and his spirit wouldn't let him give in.
He would tough this life on the streets out. For the foreseeable future.
Several weeks later, two groups of street urchins faced off. They were dirty and their clothes were tattered. They cast smug smiles back and forth.
"Do I feel a fight coming on?" the lead boy in one group asked.
"No duh, genius." said the leader of the other group. "Lucky I'm in a good mood, so I'll go easy on you."
"Ha ha ha! I wouldn't hold back even if I was happy as a triathlete who just won a marathon. You'd better give it all you've got."
"Well now, what's going on here?" Both parties turned to face the new arrival. Rey stood before them, topless and with messy hair. He folded his arms. "You guys weren't about to engage in a rumble now, were you?"
"That's what street brawlers do, isn't it?" one leader asked. He grinned. "Say, you're buff for a kid. What's say Geraldo and I take you on together?" He jerked his head toward the other leader, and they both got into a fighting stance.
"It appears I'm being challenged." said Rey. "It certainly isn't in me to refuse."
The other street urchins backed away, steering clear of the fighting and allowing themselves a perfect view of it. The three boys engaged in combat, but unfortunately for Rey, despite his head start on developing his strength and skill, the two-against-one odds were against him. Geraldo grabbed him from behind while his partner punched him three times in the face, leaving him with a swelling eye, a bloody nose, and a bruising cheek. Geraldo released him and he tried to grab the opponent in front of him, but the pain from his wounds made him dizzy. The leader punched him in the chest and kicked him in the stomach, sending him sprawling to the ground. His opponents repeatedly kicked him until he gave up.
Everyone laughed at his helpless, beaten form, curled up in a ball, his hands clasping his throbbing chest, moaning in pain. "Where were those skills of yours, dude?" someone called to him. "Oh, that's right, you have no skill!" More laughter, then the parties left him.
Rey was becoming weak from his injuries, and he started to crawl, he didn't know where, away from where he was. It didn't help that it was evening and cold winds started to blow, stiffening his body and making movement difficult. Finally, he could go no further and collapsed and passed out from the pain.
One of the polished wood doors of the monastery opened, and two Marquez priests stepped out onto the top step. "Oh my." one of them said upon seeing the wounded and unconscious boy on the sidewalk. They picked him up and carried him inside the monastery, where they doctored his wounds. Rey woke up and saw the priests' kind faces looking down at him.
"Well hello, son." one of them said. "My, you look like you were in a bad fight."
"I was." Rey said weakly. "I was beaten really badly. I think I might have died."
"If we hadn't found you, that would've been very likely." the other priest agreed. "But don't worry. You're safe with us. Do you know where your parents are?"
The question made Rey hurt. "They're dead." he whispered, holding back tears. "Please don't take me to the orphanage. I've seen what the conditions are like. I can't stand the thought of living in them."
The priests nodded. "Yes, the orphanage is in dire need of improvement." one said. "It's because it has too little money. Maybe if it had someone to take care of it, the conditions would be much better."
A light bulb went off in Rey's throbbing head. "Me." he said. "When I grow up I'll become a luchadore. I'll fight to support orphans around the world, and I'll help fund the orphanage." He sat up, feeling less weak. "I'll become a role model for children. I'll help keep their lives from falling apart like mine did. And I'll set about putting my life back together. I'll live a life my parents would be proud of me for living."
The priests smiled, admiring the boy's brave decisions. One of them patted him on the back. "We know you can do it." he said.
They led Rey to a small bedroom and told him to call for them if he needed anything, then they left him alone. He walked over to the window and, in the final rays of light, vowed to himself,
"I will save the lives of orphaned and homeless children. They'll have nothing to worry about. Because I'll do whatever it takes to keep them safe and happy."
He looked up at the heavens. "I promise the Lord. And I promise my parents."
End of Chapter One