A high pitch DING echoed the text message notification, piercing through my restless left ear and forced itself upon my eardrum, shaking me to consciousness from my mid-afternoon nap.

“Ey homie”

“You rollin from Denton to the Kombat show??”

Could I cop a ride with?? My friend fucking bailed on me”

It was Jamie; a kind-hearted fellow with an amazing talent behind multiple instruments. Over the years, I was constantly reminded myself of their talent and wondered where did they ever find the time to perfect their talent.

Hours before I was driving on HWY 82, speeding through Cooke County, one of the counties I would always notice receiving the bad end of any severe weather. I’ve been up since 4:30 am, that’s what I set my alarm clock to for my delivery days. Power naps have become vital in my life now; the early morning shift with the evening plan combination requires a bit of downtime for a successful transition.

“Hell ya I got you bro. What time does it start?”

“I think I heard 7:30. I’m at work right now but I can holler when I get home. Could even meet you at your place, whatever is easier”

“Bet, just let me know when you make it home. I’m going to run errands".

The urge to get off my red couch dissipated as I placed my phone face down on the arm of the couch. The right side of my face placed itself right behind my phone with grace and with a deep breath. A sigh seeped through my teeth like smoke escaping from the nose of a fire-breathing dragon. I was tired. Not tired enough to fall asleep for the rest of the evening but nonetheless, I was tired. I wanted to find comfort in darkness so I closed my eyes for a bit and imagined inhaling crisp, autumn Colorado air, catered by the Rocky Mountains. Moments after I came back to my senses, reminded myself of the show, and finally sat up from the couch. Errands, I whispered to myself, what the hell did I tell myself I was going to do before I leave? The back seat of my truck contained a layer of quinoa that I wanted to vacuum for a while but slipped my mind on occasion. A thin layer of mud and dirt was present on my tires and on the bottom of the truck from the land I reside on, due to the recent rainy forecast. I was in need of a shower as well, I worked up a sweat on the days I wake up late. I rather sacrifice more energy to get back home at approximately the same time as usual than to take my time and get home later. It was essential to visit the ATM that was located several miles from my house, I needed to make a quick deposit before I left town for the night. Three hours was more than enough time for me to get ready so I melted back into the couch and finished the tail end of my mid-afternoon nap.

The all too familiar warm and tingling sensation that resides in the pit of my stomach stepped out to take control of the steering wheel as I was making my way to pick up Jamie. As I wiggled my toes around, I was reminded of the conscious decision of wearing my cowboy boots to the show. I let out a small chuckle with a grin before I re-focused back on the road. It wasn’t much longer afterward when I took a right turn to park three houses north of the stop sign. Right before I sent the text to alert Jamie, their burly ginger beard with a matching head of hair casually stepped outside the house and headed towards the passenger. A quick greeting and we were on our way to the show.

At any other time, I wouldn’t have much of a reason to head over to Arlington, but that was going to change. Before, I thought I didn’t have much of a reason to visit the Mid Cities. It’s a faraway land ( it’s not really that far) that was similar to everywhere else in DFW, with very nice middle-class suburban neighborhoods and shopping centers to accommodate. The amount of time it took to get to Arlington shorten due to the fact that Jamie and I engaged in a non-stop conversation of hardcore and reminiscence of past shows and events. It felt good to hang out with friends again, and I failed to realize how much I missed social interaction amongst like-minded individuals until now

We parked in front of the Dollar Tree across the street from our destination after circling the block a couple of times. Judging by my observation, it looked like we were either near or in Downtown Arlington. Although skyscrapers were absent, judging by the municipal building and the way the parking was set up, it held the qualities of a downtown vibe for a smaller city. The bottom of my boots countered the concrete to create the “click, clack” noise that accentuated my long stride. Jamie and I followed the distant murmur like bloodhounds on the hunt. The familiarity presented a sense of homesickness that I wasn’t aware of. The tingling feeling reappeared but it was more intense in comparison to the eariler episode. Nervousness doesn’t discriminate against any situation, it grabs a hold of me in its usual way, regardless of the environment. This was an outside event and the space accommodated that massive group of people attending the show. One of the first few people I ran into was Madeline. Madeline is the loving partner of Nathaniel Nick, lead singer of the Texas death metal Kombat. She wore a warm hearted smile when we made eye contact, a smile that you wear when its been a while since you seen a good friend. It was the type of warmth that one takes for granted when indulging in a busy lifestyle that was felt within that brief interaction. In that moment, a reminder struck me and time froze for a second. The reminder that I’m human: flesh, bone, brain, mind, emotion. In that moment, the realization that as a human, other human interaction is healthy, became prominent and catapulted to the top of my thought process. I was in a place where I was missed, welcomed, appreciated, loved. In that moment, I took one good look at the sea of people in front of my eyes; I was witnessing a community of people where some haven’t seen each other in a year, come together despite the hellish yesteryear, and reunited the same feeling I was feeling moments eariler.

Virtually, it was no reason for me to weave through the crowd of participants. every small step that I took, people grabbed their chance to give me a hug or the “ oh my god, it’s been so long, how are you?!” moment that I wholeheartedly cherished. There was nothing short of a magical moment that occurred during the time spent at the show. A little more time past and Kombat’s set was about to start. The look in the eyes of the pit warriors exposed the caged fury that hasn’t seen the light of day in over a year. Something inside these individuals that laid dormant for quite some time began pounding at their hearts. The bears of the land came out of hibernation and were ready to eat. The first song started to play and the pit erupted. After every swinging arm followed an aggressive fist as each rotation was complete. Misguided roundhouse kicks reached into the air with free-range. Urgency began boiling inside. My adrenal gland expanded and released the perfect amount of adrenaline for me to handle in a proper way. At that moment, I let it go, I let it all hang out. My body sent itself barreling across the pit, swinging in every direction. My cowboy boots cut through the air with swift, aimless kicks. I always believed that was a bit of consciousness that took place inside the warrior zone and I hope that no one caught my boot to the face or torse region. Years ago, I caught an unexpected heel to my ribcage that sent the wind out of me to the heavens, and ever since then, I’ve become aware of what I’m doing in the pit. I suffered way too many pit injuries to be incognizant of my surroundings. In a way, the pit has taught me a handful of hard life lessons that I use in everyday life and the essence of bobbing and weaving. 30 seconds of moshing were all it took for me to realize that not only this is where I belong, but also how dehydrated I was.

There was a line that occupied the corner of the venue wrapped around the entrance into Division Brewing. It was equivalent to standing in the line on non VIP club-goers that wait for fun. I wasn’t in much of a mood to stand in the line, but I found myself stuck in it. The line of participants was waiting to try FrostHammer, Frozen Soul’s latest IPA. From a business standpoint, FrostHammer is great marketing for a Texas death metal, it’s genius. After minutes of standing around, I finally acquired a tall glass. I’m not familiar with IPA’s, I just assume IPA’s are independent-made beers. As I began sipping from the glass, I was greeted by a fruity taste. Unconsciously, I withdrew the glass from my lips to examine its contents. Frosthammer possesses a deep red/ burgundy color that I have never seen before, considering my limited knowledge in brewing. Another characteristic that was to go unnoticed was the heaviness that took place after I took a few gulps. Frosthammer is not a beer I was able to guzzle quickly and get back to action, it’s a beer I had to chill on for a second. Instantly I linked the heaviness of the beer to the heaviness of the band, another form of great marketing.

There was a brief moment in the night where I thought it was a good idea to walk to the nearest convenience store to purchase a couple of necessities for a later herbal session but failed to find a store. I failed miserably and found myself in the middle of a jazz concert with a sea of boomers occupying the entire block. I texted Jamie for assistance after the sudden realization that was lost in unknown territory. Luckily they found me walking like a lone ranger on the abandoned sidewalk and we made our way back. I felt bad. Due to my incompetence, Jamie offered to skate to a nearby store to retrieve our necessities. Fortunately, they made it back to before the beginning of the Frozen soul set. If they missed a second of it, I would’ve carried the burden of blame.

A cool breeze presented itself to me with a subtle touch, enough for my awareness. Pseudo snowflakes began to fall from the sky from my point of view; it was time for Frozen Soul’s set to begin. What puzzled me the most was the increasing number of men that were built like cavemen entering the pit. Where the hell did they come from? I whispered to myself. From experience, unless I had an ample amount of energy and awareness, I knew getting into the pit with men three times my size was not going to end well for me. It was a battle I chose to not step into, not this time, not yet. Chad Green’s roar initiated the war dance and the participants, from the outside looking in, chose violence. The aerodynamics from the swinging limbs that occupied the pit created a mild, organic wind current that tipped my cowboy hat a centimeter upwards. The pit looked brutal, a consistent danger zone for the weak, a tumultuous playground for the participants. It’s an amazing sight to see for people who aren’t privy to this culture. Unchecked aggression that takes place in a small, confined area is hypnotic. It is difficult to take your eyes away from the massive amount of movement, energy, and imminent injuries to those who fail to pay attention. External camera flashes from the photographers filled in the shadows periodically as they waited for the best shot. Gigantic riffs and 2-ton breakdowns carried on as bodies flew from one end of the pit to the other. Consistent headbanging was lead by the participants that stood directly in front of the stage to avoid the pit. I’m not sure where my attention went but suddenly I hear Riley’s name, chanted into the night air like a ritual to wake the dead from the grave. At that moment, the definition of unity was clear amongst the DFW scene, and that there is a bit of Riley in us all. Before I knew it, that night reached an end and everything died down except the same consistent murmur that took place earlier in the night. I thoroughly enjoyed seeing all of my friends and familiar faces from over the years back together, back at home, back in the pit. A night I will not forget for as long as I live.