One major achievement makes you hungry for more, or this is where you draw a line to stay “safe,” securing that status as a “Top Champion.” I could ride off into the sunset, travel, and promote random things to sustain a lifestyle many live vicariously through social media - but that would get old quickly for yours truly. I could also ride the coattails of my last win, and claim to be the World Champion for so and so days of a defunct brand years after its doors closed. Yeah, you know of those slimeballs.

Madre always said to have respect for the dead, though.

The high after a victory quickly wore off when I knew I wouldn’t have the opportunity to defend this championship again under the HKW banner. No more matches against bootleg Disney characters and goodbye to my free TNT Network subscription. Everyone else would go their separate ways. The Underground seemed like the obvious next route, but that wasn’t the direction for me to take. My compass was pointing elsewhere.

I wanted a new beginning, cross paths with others that are like-minded, different schools of thought, and so on. Moving forward sounds freaking refreshing, it’s like a green juice for the soul. Add a shot of wheatgrass while we’re at it.

Ultra.



In the Financial District neighborhood, Lyza was away from the NYU crowd and trendy neighborhood of Soho where all the creative types resided. She was close enough to the upscale restaurant and bar scene, yet lived around people that didn’t want to be bothered by most things like street performers, panhandlers, and tourists.

Funny enough, she lived around many nuclear families, where the working parents wanted to live close enough to their jobs, and could afford to do as such. Seeing the streets and parks filled with nannies pushing strollers was the norm, yet this didn’t really wake up any maternal instinct in her. She was fine in her current state, embracing her freedom. Worst case scenario, she could opt against renewing her one-year lease and relocate to another neighborhood or wherever, really.

Days after getting settled, she decided to venture out to a cozy coffee shop several blocks away. Her hair is tied back into a loose ponytail, and given her casual attire consisting of a baggy hooded sweatshirt, jeans and slip on Toms, it was just a chill day for the New Yorker. She sips some cold brew coffee while people-watching in between texting the young newlywed, Aria Eckhart.

“Out of the blue, I know...but there was some truth in what you said to me months ago. I was part of the problem. I didn’t want to accept it then, but I get it now. Sooner or later, right?”

She types this out after a small back and forth as they were catching up with one another. She puts her phone down, sighing a bit. It’s never fun to admit and own up to things, but she had to grow and learn from her choices. Meaning well wasn’t enough. She had to make the right decision. There’d be no compromising of integrity, dignity, and most importantly: her sanity.

Ding.

Aria’s response lights up her phone screen with: “<3<3<3 I didn’t want you to be in a situation where you would end up hurt. You can only influence; it’s up to the individual to change for the best, LyLy.”

There was no rebuttal from Lyza. Those that knew her reached out, but it was like yelling at a TV screen during a horror movie. Nobody on the other side would listen during the screening. She persisted anyway, until coming to the realization that it was out of her reach. Forget astral projection, yoga, meditation, or her “quirks,” things wouldn’t get better until both energies were in alignment with one another.

Que será, será and all of that.

She didn’t want to leave the former RISE Champion on “read,” and responds with a few hearts and smile emoji. She then types out the following: “I realize that now. Thank you for the support. Let me know when you’re around so I can show you my place.”

“Will do,” Aria replies afterward.

She finishes the remainder of her coffee before getting up from her seat. She leaves the shop headed north on Broadway. The sidewalks were hers to walk at her own pace and leisure until she’d reach a subway stop where people rushed out. She kept on walking, keeping herself from being bumped into, or may be recognized.

When she reaches a corner, she stops to let oncoming traffic through until the signal was in her favor. Beside her, a woman in her thirties is standing with a child about 6 years old, appears to have left a ballet studio still in her pink leotard and tights. Lyza looks at the child’s Ugg boots, then at her round face, thinking about her exchanges with Alejandra Velasco.

Whether she wanted to or not, there were people who looked up to her. It’s normal to be influenced by someone and look up to them. Because of that, she felt a sense of responsibility. No matter how private she kept her life outside of the ring, whatever she did behind closed doors could easily be reflected on camera, in the public eye.

She was far from perfect and has taken L’s in the ring and outside, but what’s important here is that she wasn’t completely damaged. There was a chance at redemption and realigning her focus and energy on something better. It was time that she’d stop selling herself short. A fresh start career-wise and living arrangement were the initial steps she needed to take for a better quality of life.

The signal changes in favor of the pedestrians. As Lyza crosses, the mother-daughter duo also does the same, when out of nowhere, a vehicle turning narrowly in the same direction as the females, nearly run them over. Quick to react, Lyza moves the women out of the way, as the mother holds on to her child to keep her from falling hard on the concrete. The car speeds off, allowing for Lyza to only catch the first three letter combination of the plates.

“What a jerkoff!” the mother exclaims in her Staten Island accent.

“A huge one,” Lyza says, shaking off the cobwebs. “Are you ladies okay?”

The woman inspects her daughter, checking for any injuries, seemingly unharmed. “I think so, maybe just shaken up,” she says.

“Who was that?” inquires the tiny ballet dancer.

“I wish I could tell you right now,” Lyza says, glancing at the street then over at the little girl.

The duo keeps it moving, getting to the next block while Lyza stays behind to recall what happened. She opens up her phone and in the “Notes” app, she types in the first characters on the yellow tags. HPB. “Horrendous Punk Bitch in Lincoln Navigator,” she says to herself as a way to remember the combination of characters and vehicle brand. It looks like she had a project for a rainy day, provided they didn't get the upper hand again.