“You think I should join him, don’t you?”

A single snort is the only answer Jake receives, followed by the sound of a lighter igniting and the soft crackle of burning paper. Smoke curls across the screen from someplace to the left, a little murky and out of view.

“Doesn’t matter what I think,” a rumbling voice at last responds, “I’m not the one the people are laughing at.”

Grumbling, Jake cracked open a beer, kicked his feet up, glanced to the darkness, his eyes narrowing into a glare. “At least not this time anyway.”

“Being pissed at me won’t change nuthin’. I’m not the guy who made you tap and I ain’t the one who turned his back on you either.”

“Naa, you’re just the guy who shows up at my place, drinks all my beer, dispenses useless advise then takes off for parts unknown for weeks before showin’ up again.”

“Keep it up and I’ll think ya miss me.”

“Can you be serious for once, damnit, and help me?”

Inhale

Exhale

The sound of ice cubes clanking into the bottom of a glass and a drink being poured on top of them.

“Help you how? What do you want me to say, Jake? I told you  to wipe off the fuckin’ paint, quit playin’ to the fuckin’ people and just go down there and kick some ass and you’re still playin’ the clown, so what the fuck do you want from me. You don’t want them to laugh at you, make them stop laughin’”

“How the fuck am I supposed to do that?”

“I told you how, damnit!”

“So that’s it, there’s no middle ground? Make ‘em hate me or let ‘em laugh?

“Hate ta break it to ya kid, but that’s pretty much it. You’re not new anymore, not a novelty, all that shine you had back when you’re a rookie, its worn off. They’ve replaced you with the better models, the Henry Keyes’ and their dumbass bellclaps, the David Nobel’s and their gutsy enthusiasm. Even Kenny Freeman will draw a bigger pop from them when he hits the ring, ‘cause he’s you, back before everyone beat ya ta hell and showed them all that you can have all the heart ya want ‘n still be a loser.”

“Thanks,” Jake muttered bitterly.

“You asked.”

“Maybe I’d rather be a loser than a quitter.”

“Least I quit on top.”

Jake laughed then, loud and long and hollow, before taking a swig of his beer, his eyes darting to the shadows once more. “On top of what, huh, a pyramid of six other washed up, jaded assholes. A broken wrestlers’ paradise. Maybe I am a loser, but yer a coward. You coulda proved they were all wrong about you but you ran away.”

“That’s the difference between me ‘n you, Jake, I knew they weren’t wrong.”

“Yeah…”

Yeah

And maybe that was the problem

Maybe Malachi was right and he was lost and he was broken and he was failing

Or maybe it was just that he’d never been much to begin with. 

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