Chapter 3

The rest of the school day passed in a blur of excitement for Jason. He had never been to a real wrestling gym before, and the thought of seeing his mother’s world up close was electrifying. When the final bell rang, he bolted out of his seat, eager to start the journey to Jamad’s place. The two of them stepped out into the LA sun, the heat baking the pavement as they made their way through the neighborhood.

The house was a typical LA bungalow, painted in a vibrant shade of pink that stood out like a beacon amidst the sea of stucco and palm trees. The garage door was open, revealing a space that had been transformed into a mini wrestling arena. A blue and gold mat lay sprawled out on the floor, surrounded by ropes and weights. The faint scent of sweat and leather filled the air, mingling with the distant smell of BBQ.

Jamad led the way, his strides long and confident. “Grandma’s probably in the backyard,” he called over his shoulder. “She loves to sit out there and watch the sunset.”

As they approached the garage, the sound of grunts and thuds grew louder. Through the open door, Jason could see figures moving about, bodies entangled in a dance of strength and skill. His heart raced with anticipation.

In the center of the makeshift ring, Joanne Cole stood tall, her vase-like muscular body a testament to a lifetime of wrestling. Her white afro puffed out around her head like a halo, framing her stern, beautifully weathered face. Despite her age, her movements were swift and precise as she demonstrated a hold to the young wrestlers around her. Her white t-shirt was damp with sweat, clinging to her impressive biceps, while her training sport trousers hugged her powerful thighs. She was a force of nature, a living legend whose presence seemed to charge the very air with energy.

The walls of the garage were a veritable museum to her illustrious career. Trophies and championship belts glinted in the sunlight that streamed through the open door, each one a symbol of her triumphs in the ring. Framed certificates boasted of her various titles wins and accolades, while black and white photographs captured moments of pure athleticism and raw passion from her glory days. Her youthful visage in those images was a stark contrast to the wise, seasoned woman before him, but the fiery spirit remained unchanged.

As they approached the ring, Joanne looked up from her students, her gaze sharp and assessing. She recognized the eager curiosity in Jason’s eyes and offered a warm smile. “This here’s Jason, my schoolmate” Jamad said, a hint of pride in his voice. “He’s woman wrestler’s son, Mrs. Karen ‘Lightning’ Ward.”

“Karen’s boy, huh?” Joanne said, her deep voice carrying the weight of years of experience. She extended a hand, thick with muscle and gnarled with age. “I’ve heard good things about you, son. Your mom’s got a future champion on her hands.”

Jason took her hand in his, feeling the calluses rough against his palm. “Thank you, Mrs. Cole,” he said, a little star-struck. “But how you know that my mom will be a future champion?”

Joanne’s smile grew. “Oh, I know talent when I see it,” she said, her eyes glinting. “And from what I’ve heard about your mom’s performance last night, she’s got a fire in her that can’t be taught. It’s something you’re born with.”

Jason felt a swell of pride at the mention of his mother’s name. “Could you teach her some moves?” he asked, hopeful. “Maybe some of those old school tricks that made you so great?”

Joanne chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to shake the very air. “I might just do that,” she said. “But first, you gotta show me what you’re made of. You ever been in the ring?”

Jason’s heart skipped a beat. “N-no,” he stuttered, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. “But I’ve watched her matches.”

Joanne nodded, her eyes never leaving his. “Good,” she said. “But watching and doing are two different things. You wanna learn, you gotta get in there and feel it for yourself.”

Without another word, she stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter the ring. Jason took a deep breath, his heart hammering in his chest as he climbed the ropes and into the squared circle. The mat felt firm and reassuring beneath his sneakers, a stark contrast to the flimsy school gym mats he was used to.

Jamad watched with a knowing smile as his grandmother circled Jason, sizing him up. Joanne was like a lioness, her eyes never leaving her prey. “Alright, boy,” she said, her voice firm but not unkind. “Let’s start with the basics. Tell me, what’s the most important thing in wrestling?”