?What do you do when your foundation falls apart? I don't know. They don't teach you that in school.?
(Stevo, ?SLC Punk?)
March 3, 2015
The song wasn?t working anymore.
The Crew had wasted little time getting Jay back on his old workout routine, making few concessions for the nearly two year gap in dueling, or the two extra years of age on his body. They saw the flab around his belly, the lack of definition in previously cut muscles, and had proposed a complete crash course to shock him back into shape. Needless to say, it wasn?t going well.
Jay?s back was pressed against a bench, as he struggled to push a barbell laden with rings of weights above his head. Sweat dripped off his forehead, and only a white cotton headband prevented it from getting in his eyes. The rest of his clothes -- a blue tank top, basketball shorts, white ankle socks -- was similarly soaked. It was a miracle that the black wrist band on his left arm wasn?t ruined -- as well as the MP3 player attached to it.
RhyDin had sunk her claws deep into Jay?s mind and body, but even as he adjusted to the city?s cold weather, anarchistic politics, and denizens of super-powered residents, the music scene had never stuck with him. He?d been to plenty of shows here -- everything from elvish environmentalist punk to dwarvish metal played with actual hammers and anvils to some awful faerie harpist who Jay swore wasn?t playing half the time, it was so quiet. His tastes in Rhydinian music were constantly changing, but one constant on his music player was punk. Good old-fashioned Earth punk. His Earth?s punk. It had gotten him through his darkest days, both in California and in RhyDin, and it would get him through this damn workout.
***
He remembered the day his favorite band died. His friend Chico called him early one summer morning, which was weird. They weren?t surfers, so there was no reason for them to wake up before noon on their summer vacation, yet here it was, barely past 9 a.m. and the phone was ringing. When Jay finally picked up, he could barely understand Chico past the sobs.
?They?re...they?re dead.?
?What, dude? Dude, you gotta chill for a sec.?
Chico took a few moments, taking deep breaths that Jay could hear on the other end of the line.
?The Exploding Hearts. Their van crashed on the way back from San Francisco.?
Jay choked on a sob, but managed to keep himself from crying. ?Oh, Christ. Jesus Christ, man...? He trailed off into profanities, unable to find any other words to express his feelings.
?Jay??
?Yeah??
?We gotta go down to the courthouse. We gotta shred there.?
?Yeah. Just-? Jay paused, running his fingers through his hair. ?Yeah. I gotta get dressed. Did you call Zeb yet??
?Yeah. He?s gonna meet us there.?
?Cool. I?ll, uh...I?ll see you in a bit.?
?L-later.?
***
The Exploding Hearts had been Jay?s talisman in RhyDin -- his primary link to a world that had once been his home, but no longer was. Whenever he felt homesick for warm summer breezes, all-ages shows in decrepit punk houses, or grinding down ten stair rails while the rest of Santa Cruz slept, he put on his headphones and blared their album. A half hour later, the feeling would subside, and he could get on with his day.
But it wasn?t working anymore. Not even his favorite song from that album held the power to lift his mood. When he was still naive about love, he could ignore the lyrics about being 21 years old and being alone and inexperienced. Now, though, he was pushing 30 and had more than enough dating experience to understand how complicated love really was.
Or maybe it was the fact they were forever frozen in time, perpetually in their early to mid-20s. They would never grow up, grow old, sell out, find that girl that would sleep with them, break them in, break their hearts. Jay, however, had grown up, sold out, fallen in and out of love, had his heart broken, and knew the truth of the matter. The world wasn?t black and white. He was never a hero like in the comics, nor would he ever be a villain like that. He was just himself -- whatever that was supposed to mean.
Jay?s arms wobbled, and the bar listed dangerously to the left. He tried to compensate, bring it back level with the ground, but there was no life left in his muscles. Before the bar and the weights could fall to the floor, a pair of hands reached out and steadied the bar, lifting it up and then pushing it back into the grooves that held the weight. His spotter sighed, as Jay?s arms flopped to his sides.
?Take five, Jay. Get some water.? He brushed some of his gray hair out of his eyes. Jay?s chest rose and fell noticeably as he sucked in air.
?...Got...it...boss. One...sec?? It took nearly half a minute for him to sit up, take the water bottle offered him, and squirt water into his mouth. He then spritzed his face and his hair, shaking it wildly and flinging drops across the gym. After that, he stood up and began wiping down the bench with a towel his trainer tossed his way.
?Jay??
?Yeah, boss?? After wiping some water off of his face, he tossed the towel over his shoulder.
?You really need to quit smoking.?
?Yeah....yeah, I know. I?m working on it.?
?Good. See you in four.? The trainer stepped away from the bench, walking back towards his office. Jay glanced down at the MP3 player, still alive and ticking even after its impromptu bath in sweat and water. He pulled at the velcro attaching it to his arm until it came unstuck, then stuffed the whole mess, headphones and all, into his nearby gym bag. He was going to have to get through this alone.
(Stevo, ?SLC Punk?)
March 3, 2015
The song wasn?t working anymore.
The Crew had wasted little time getting Jay back on his old workout routine, making few concessions for the nearly two year gap in dueling, or the two extra years of age on his body. They saw the flab around his belly, the lack of definition in previously cut muscles, and had proposed a complete crash course to shock him back into shape. Needless to say, it wasn?t going well.
Jay?s back was pressed against a bench, as he struggled to push a barbell laden with rings of weights above his head. Sweat dripped off his forehead, and only a white cotton headband prevented it from getting in his eyes. The rest of his clothes -- a blue tank top, basketball shorts, white ankle socks -- was similarly soaked. It was a miracle that the black wrist band on his left arm wasn?t ruined -- as well as the MP3 player attached to it.
RhyDin had sunk her claws deep into Jay?s mind and body, but even as he adjusted to the city?s cold weather, anarchistic politics, and denizens of super-powered residents, the music scene had never stuck with him. He?d been to plenty of shows here -- everything from elvish environmentalist punk to dwarvish metal played with actual hammers and anvils to some awful faerie harpist who Jay swore wasn?t playing half the time, it was so quiet. His tastes in Rhydinian music were constantly changing, but one constant on his music player was punk. Good old-fashioned Earth punk. His Earth?s punk. It had gotten him through his darkest days, both in California and in RhyDin, and it would get him through this damn workout.
***
He remembered the day his favorite band died. His friend Chico called him early one summer morning, which was weird. They weren?t surfers, so there was no reason for them to wake up before noon on their summer vacation, yet here it was, barely past 9 a.m. and the phone was ringing. When Jay finally picked up, he could barely understand Chico past the sobs.
?They?re...they?re dead.?
?What, dude? Dude, you gotta chill for a sec.?
Chico took a few moments, taking deep breaths that Jay could hear on the other end of the line.
?The Exploding Hearts. Their van crashed on the way back from San Francisco.?
Jay choked on a sob, but managed to keep himself from crying. ?Oh, Christ. Jesus Christ, man...? He trailed off into profanities, unable to find any other words to express his feelings.
?Jay??
?Yeah??
?We gotta go down to the courthouse. We gotta shred there.?
?Yeah. Just-? Jay paused, running his fingers through his hair. ?Yeah. I gotta get dressed. Did you call Zeb yet??
?Yeah. He?s gonna meet us there.?
?Cool. I?ll, uh...I?ll see you in a bit.?
?L-later.?
***
The Exploding Hearts had been Jay?s talisman in RhyDin -- his primary link to a world that had once been his home, but no longer was. Whenever he felt homesick for warm summer breezes, all-ages shows in decrepit punk houses, or grinding down ten stair rails while the rest of Santa Cruz slept, he put on his headphones and blared their album. A half hour later, the feeling would subside, and he could get on with his day.
But it wasn?t working anymore. Not even his favorite song from that album held the power to lift his mood. When he was still naive about love, he could ignore the lyrics about being 21 years old and being alone and inexperienced. Now, though, he was pushing 30 and had more than enough dating experience to understand how complicated love really was.
Or maybe it was the fact they were forever frozen in time, perpetually in their early to mid-20s. They would never grow up, grow old, sell out, find that girl that would sleep with them, break them in, break their hearts. Jay, however, had grown up, sold out, fallen in and out of love, had his heart broken, and knew the truth of the matter. The world wasn?t black and white. He was never a hero like in the comics, nor would he ever be a villain like that. He was just himself -- whatever that was supposed to mean.
Jay?s arms wobbled, and the bar listed dangerously to the left. He tried to compensate, bring it back level with the ground, but there was no life left in his muscles. Before the bar and the weights could fall to the floor, a pair of hands reached out and steadied the bar, lifting it up and then pushing it back into the grooves that held the weight. His spotter sighed, as Jay?s arms flopped to his sides.
?Take five, Jay. Get some water.? He brushed some of his gray hair out of his eyes. Jay?s chest rose and fell noticeably as he sucked in air.
?...Got...it...boss. One...sec?? It took nearly half a minute for him to sit up, take the water bottle offered him, and squirt water into his mouth. He then spritzed his face and his hair, shaking it wildly and flinging drops across the gym. After that, he stood up and began wiping down the bench with a towel his trainer tossed his way.
?Jay??
?Yeah, boss?? After wiping some water off of his face, he tossed the towel over his shoulder.
?You really need to quit smoking.?
?Yeah....yeah, I know. I?m working on it.?
?Good. See you in four.? The trainer stepped away from the bench, walking back towards his office. Jay glanced down at the MP3 player, still alive and ticking even after its impromptu bath in sweat and water. He pulled at the velcro attaching it to his arm until it came unstuck, then stuffed the whole mess, headphones and all, into his nearby gym bag. He was going to have to get through this alone.