Another night, another concert at the Jack Rabbits club in downtown Jacksonville. There's a crowd of people standing outside waiting to get a glimpse of the band as they make their way out and onto their next stop along one of the many endless tours that rock superstars take these days. Out they come... four men weaving their way through a sea of flesh lit by a barrage of flashbulbs. The people get a glimpse of their favorite band... and for four men, it's another exhilarating night on the road. There'll be women waiting for them at the hotel. Campaign on the rocks... every man who has ever picked up a guitar dreams of this.
"Zach! Zach! I love you Zach!" one woman screams at the drummer.
"Great show guys, great show! You rock!" says a man, flashing the metal sign.
Yes, this is paradise for these young men. Well... for three young men... and one curiously dissatisfied...
"Austin Sly! Austin! Can I have your autograph?"
"Yeah, sure..." he says with a grunt. Austin reaches out as if to grab a piece of paper, but the woman corrects him.
"No... sign here," she says seductively, pulling her shirt down to reveal a chunk of cleavage. Austin signs with a sigh and then turns to make his way to a waiting rental car. Security has a barricade set up to keep the band safe and away from their cars so that they can make it out onto the streets. Austin is the first to leave the party, though, leaving his three bandmates to bask in the glory of it all.
*Thud.*
Austin closes his door, leans his head down on the steering wheel, and sits in awkward silence for a second. The road is draining for this young man. Back before he signed his life away with a recording contract, music kept him sane. It was easy to pick up his guitar... strum a few chords... and write out the feelings inside of his head. It was a release for him. Now, it's his life. In his mind, he sold out to the highest dollar. He's not a musician or an artist anymore... he's an actor. Being paid to play the part. He takes a deep breath into his shrunken frame before turning the key to fire up the ignition. The blue sedan slowly pulls away, leaving the flashbulbs flickering behind him like so many fireflies on a warm Missouri night. Those nights are long gone, though.
There's a hint of rain in the air tonight. Wind rips through the open window of the car, taking long strands of Austin's shoulder-length hair along for a ride with it. The young man reaches up and rubs his hand along his neck and upper back. Long gone are the days when acne dotted along his back from rampant steroid use... but his neck pain still persists. Getting planted by Sean Davis onto a concrete floor will do that to you. For some reason, though, he still misses it.
*****
“Citizen Davis is taking care of business tonight! It’s a shame!”
“It’s wonderful! Sean looks like he’s switched focus … back to Austin Sly, who’s just now recovering from that clothesline … he must have injured something.”
Davis approaches Sly, who is getting to his feet, but is bent over at the waist. Sean lands an elbow over Austin’s back, dropping him back to a knee. Davis pulls Sly into a standing headscissors, wraps his arms underneath his gut and pulls Sly up into a Canadian backbreaker.
Comet bemoans, “Things aren’t looking good for Citizen Sly … “
Sean lets gravity pull Austin toward the ground, then secures him in a piledriver position and falls to his knees, dropping Sly on his head onto the concrete!
“Cyclone Driver onto that cold, unforgiving concrete! What a bastard! I love it!”
The referee makes an appearance, shoving Davis away from the fallen Sly and kneeling to check on the wrestler. Sean smirks down at Sly, then turns to find Dagda….
*****
We rejoin our scene at a lavishly furnished hotel room. There’s fresh linens on the queen size bed, a huge television against one wall, a mini-bar packed with assorted drinks, and a phone that can call for anything a man could ever want. In the background, there’s the soothing sound of a shower spraying. The faucet squeaks as the water flow is extinguished, and a few seconds later Austin Sly emerges from the bathroom with a rob draped around himself and tied loosely in the front. He walks over to the nightstand and reaches in, pulling out a phone book and plopping himself down on the bed with it.
Flip flip… flip…
He thumbs quietly through the pages, not necessarily looking for anything specific, but more just catching another glimpse at another phonebook in another town that he may never have the privilege of returning to. Tonight, Austin is simply alone with his thoughts. He turns and opens the drawer of his nightstand, only to find the complementary Bible that occupies every hotel room in America. He picks it up and studies it for a second, then gives it a second thought and tosses it back down into the nightstand.
“There’s got to be something to do here…” mumbles the obviously bored man.
He glances at the phone as if to wish it into ringing, but no one knows he’s here. All of his bandmates are out at some after party probably having the time of their lives, and here sits Austin Sly alone, in a hotel room. It was never this way before. In frustration, he kicks up his feet and grabs the remote control. His television flickers to life…
“Sunday, April 23rd, Live at the ALLTELL Arena, it’s SWF Battleground! Come down and see the hottest stars of today wrestle for…”
Austin’s attention perks. Memories flow through his head like sand through an hourglass. Battleground… Austin’s first ever PPV experience. Just a little over two years ago, he debuted in the SWF, and almost a year ago he had given it up for good. Their paths are crossing again, though, and in a week they will be in the same town. The commercial fades from the television, but it’s impression still lingers on his mind. He glances over to the phone once more… is this a coincidence… or is this…
“SWF Corporate Office, may I help you?”
“I‘d like to set up an appointment with a Mr. Joseph Peters.”
“One moment please…”
… fate.
