Jacoby Capone was walking into the parking lot of the venue for Aftershock 12. Sweat glistened on his forehead and exposed chest, his jacket was zipped half-way up, and the hood was over his his head. A small gym bag is slung over his shoulder and he is walking at a slow pace with his eyes focused on the distance.
“Ladies and gentlemen, standing at six foot something, weighing in at 200 plus solid pounds of muscle and sexiness, my main dude, the Subculture Savior, Jacobyyyy CAPONE!”
Capone stopped his pace and looked up to see his best friend from high school sitting on the tail gate of a Chevy Silverado. His friend’s head was cocked back from his animated announcing of Capone's arrival.
“You still like to call me that don’t you, Chase?”
Capone had a wide grin on his face and walked over to Chase who slid off his tailgate. The two met with a hug.
“Of course I do, Subculture Savior,” said Chase who laid a hand on the shoulder of his friend, looking him up and down. “I mean look at you, ya little hippy.”
“Ahh, and I see you still like to call me a hippy,” said Capone as he removed a soaked headband from underneath his hood. Capone jokingly hulked over his friend. “Watch yourself, big guy.”
It was apparent that Capone was a much bigger guy than his friend who playfully back-pedaled and slipped into the driver’s seat of the truck.
“Just get in if you’re planning on getting a ride from me would ya? You’ve kicked enough ass for one night.”
Capone followed his order and climbed in the passenger’s seat. He pulled down his seatbelt and clicked it.
“I guess now that I’m here,” the lit up arena was bright in the reflection of the rear view mirror, “then I guess this makes you a groupie.”
Chase chuckled. “Hey now, I won’t be the only one. You’re going to be a superstar. You and I won’t even be able to go to record shops to pick up cd’s without you being bombarded.”
“Hah! Yeah right, Chase. Those people hated me.”
“BS, bro. They’re just never accepting of the newcomers. Come on, man. Give the crowds time, you’ll grow on them. You have natural charis-“
“This isn’t high school anymore, Chase,” Capone’s voice had a fierce edge to it. “Just like in high school, I am not interested in the opinions of other people about me. Sure, I was well liked by girls, the other guys respected my athleticism and size, but I still refused to reward them with my attention because they are all brainwashed by society. They wanted me to be like them. ‘Come to this party, Jacoby. Lil Wayne this, Daniel Tosh that.’”
“I don’t see how our high school class relates to what could be your fan bas-“
“Fan base?!” Jacoby cut Chase off again. “The thought of myself acknowledging those, those people as my fans quite frankly puts me on edge. Did you look at your surroundings in there? Every one of those people, fans, just oil the machine. They show up in their Call of Duty shirts or their Lil Wayne shirt and boast it around because they feel good about themselves for going along the grain of society. I’m going against the grain and I want to feel the tension of it. I can only hope and pray they display their hatred for me. Fans, HAH! If they want to support me, what they need to do is come out to the shows and boo me. They need to cuss me, threaten me, throw their disgusting beer cans at me. Because that, Chase, is what will help me in the long run: to be reminded that what I stand for is necessary.”
“Ok, man, ok,”
Chase was taken aback. He started the truck and a cd began playing. Capone’s hand struck like a viper to turn the radio off. Chase’s anxious grip on the wheel ceased and he brought a tentative hand to ruffle his hair. Chase was very unsettled.
“Well, Jacoby. I’m sure you’ve heard about your next opponent?”
He was trying to lighten the atmosphere. There was no response from Capone who was fixated on looking out of the window. The silence was quite intense.
Capone wasn’t listening but caught pieces of what Chase was saying.
“Isabel Stone..mentor program..you know I think you should peruse that, you could benefit from it.”
“Chase, would you shut the hell up?”
Silence fell upon them once again only to be broken by the unclicking of Jacoby’s seat belt.
“You keep throwing these ideas my way. You want me to build a fan base. You want me to join some program that sees me learn to this someone else’s way. It’s as if you want to see me relinquish my self-dependence. That's the difference between Isabel Stone and the entire roster in general, and myself.Have you forgotten what I’m about? I’m self-dependent, self-reliant, self-made. I am alone in this, it's how I prefer it. I will not be slowed by the deadweight of people’s expectations of me, especially by a mentor. I am my own mentor.”
“Speaking of expectations, I expected to pick up my friend. I expected to reflect on the path that brought you here after your first professional win much less, I expect-“
“Chase, Chase, Chase, look, I know. I’m sorry. I must admit. I do appreciate you coming here to be in attendance. It’s only appropriate that you were here after all these years we’ve dreamt of this night.”
“Exactly, Jacoby. It’s why I don’t understand why you’re so angry nowadays. You’ve made it, yet you’re falling further into seclusion. You’re forgetting about your best friend. You could always use at least one person to talk to. I’m here for you, you don’t’ need to be a one man army.”
Jacoby turned in his seat to look at Chase and removed his hood. The dim lighting from the street, combined with dark truck and Capone’s wild hair made for a maniacal sight of a man. Capone shot a twisted smile to Chase. Chase nervously returned the smile.
“You don’t understand though, Chase. I do!”
Before Chase could muster the word “huh,” he was struck by the fist of Capone.
“ARE YOU CRAZY?” cried out Chase who clutched his purple jaw. He was horrified by the meltdown unfolding before his eyes.
Capone grabbed the back of Chase's hair and pulled his face toward his own.
“No.”
He shoved Chase who's back impacted with the truck door. He was immediately struck by three more ferocious punches. Capone opened his door and exited the truck, which was still on. Capone threw his hood back over his head and slung his bag over his shoulder. He replaced his hands in his pockets and walked away from the truck and down a sidewalk.
Capone simply could not wipe that maniacal smile of his face.
