by Jeff Ross
I kept pushing.
I bombed a hill, and when I got to the bottom, sweating, worn and exhausted, I kept pushing.
I knew I’d gone there to get a beatdown. I’d done all I could to force the police to teach me a lesson, and they’d walked away. When I got home, I had trouble holding back the tears. What had happened to Dashawn had nothing to do with him being a skateboarder and everything to do with the color of his skin. I hadn’t wanted to believe it, but it was true.
“Were you at the park, Ry?” Dad asked in his happy, casual voice when I came in the door. He had always been really supportive of my skating. I thought back to all the times that Dashawn had been at our house and Dad had treated him like a son. So had my mom.
“No,” I said. “This other spot.”
“Yeah? Where?” He was drying dishes. The radio was tuned to the classic-rock station he always listened to.
“A new tech building in Westlake.”
He put the glass down and leaned against the counter. “That’s a long way away,” he said. “Were you alone?”
“This time, yeah,” I said.
“This time?”
“Tash, Dashawn and I went there right before he moved.”
“I see.”
I inhaled, feeling everything building inside me. The fury and anger and confusion. “The police showed both times.”
“Riley,” he said. “If it’s private property, you shouldn’t—”
“The first time, they got a hold of Dashawn, and they beat him, Dad. They hit him with their batons. They stomped on his hand. They kicked him in the face.”
“What? I thought he’d fallen!”
“That’s what the police said. That’s the truth they made. But he didn’t fall. Dashawn never falls. Not like that.”
“And tonight?”
“It was just me. Nothing happened. They told me to go home and not come back.” I let that sink in. “I just walked away.”
“Riley, why would they…” He stopped and picked a glass up and started drying it. “You can’t go back.”
“It’s not fair, Dad.”
“I know.”
“He never did anything to anyone. He’s a kid just like me.”
“I know.”
“But they could just do that,” I said.
“It happens, son,” Dad said. I waited for more, but he had nothing to offer.
“They got away with it. And now he’s gone.” I wanted to scream. I wanted to take my board and smash something. But the anger I had wasn’t like that. Nothing that had happened had really happened to me. I’d lost my friend, sure, but as I stood there watching my father dry a glass, put it away and pick up another one, totally unable to say anything at all, I felt as if I’d lost much, much more.
Chapter Twelve
“What did Tash say?” Dashawn asked. The Skype connection was clear for once. I could see Dashawn as if he were sitting beside me. He was smiling, and the late-afternoon sunshine burned through the window behind him.
“I haven’t told her about your unrequited love yet,” I said.
“Bro, come on. Actually, you know, hold on to that. I’ve met a nice girl out here. A friend of my cousins. I’m like a little celebrity down here, man. Apparently people don’t move into this area all that often.”
“Why not?”
“I have no idea. It’s amazing. I can walk to two different skate parks from here. I’m getting into some vert stuff now as well. It’s not all that hard.”
“What about the scooter kids?” I said.
“They’re everywhere,” he replied, laughing. “A necessary evil.” Someone passed behind him. A black kid with an Etnies hat and Thrasher T-shirt.
“Who’s that?”
“That’s my cousin Harold.”
Harold leaned down and waved. “Who’s this?”
“My oldest friend, Riley. I was telling you about him.”
“Cool.” Harold held his fist up to the camera, and I did the same. Then I watched as he grabbed a deck and left the room.
“Harold can’t skate for shit, but he’s got right into the culture. He hangs at the park with me. I’m trying to get him to do some flat-ground stuff, but he’s about as coordinated as a goat. We’ll see what happens.”
“Awesome,” I said.
Dashawn sat back in his chair. “How are things there?”
“About the same. The park is still overrun with scooter kids. I think I have enough clips now to send to that guy at Volcom.”
“Oh, shit, Ry, I forgot to tell you. I got my video finished as well.” Dashawn shot forward and started hammering on the keys. A second later a YouTube link popped up on my screen.
“This is the whole thing?” I said as I clicked it.
“Fifteen clips. Ten one-offs and five lines. One of my cousins here does all kinds of video editing. He put it together for me.”
I clicked the link, and the video began to play. It was weird how the setting changed. From the lush green of our town to the sandy brown of Atlanta. The parks he was skating there looked like pieces of art. Everything was skate-able though. The final line was outside a building that looked a lot like the one here in town where he’d been busted.
“Where’s that last shot?”
“Downtown,” he said. “If you go on Sundays, the security guy is a skater. He was actually out there with us. It was so bizarre. He was, like, on the lookout for security guys who cared. I mean, it’s his job, right? We’d get kicked out, but he’d get fired. Still, he was over-the-top excited watching us. It was sick.”
“That’s awesome,” I said. “It looks like you’re loving it there.”
“Yeah, mostly. It’s all right. The best thing is it isn’t going to get cold. You need to come visit. I’d suggest, like, February.”
“That’d be sweet,” I said. “I’ll come for the rest of my life.”
“Listen, Ry, I gotta go. Harold is all jacked up to start skating, and if he gets cooled down it just doesn’t happen. We’ll be on the couch eating Doritos and watching football or something. Peace.”
“Peace,” I said, then disconnected.
I grabbed my board from its spot against the wall. With Dashawn’s voice in my head, I banged out the door and onto the street. I pushed to the skate park and picked my board up when I got to the dirt path. I could almost feel Dashawn knocking against me as I moved through the tight part of the trail. A late Sunday afternoon and the park was, somehow, mostly empty. Natasha was at the picnic table, fiddling with her equipment. She looked up when I blocked the sun in front of her.
“One more clip,” I said.
“A line or a one-off?”
“A line,” I said. I pointed at the ledge. “Kickflip, 5-0, 180 off.”
“Okay,” she said. She got down into position as I rode to the top of the ledge. Someone had waxed it, which was fine. I wanted to move fast. I wanted to slide forever on it. I gave her a thumbs-up, received one in reply and pushed hard toward the ledge.
Skateboarding Terms
5-0: a grind on a ledge or rail where only the back trucks are touching
50-50: a grind on a ledge or rail where both trucks are touching
180: a spin of 180 degrees
360: a full 360-degree spin
blunt: a slide where only the back of the board is in contact with the rail or ledge
deck: the wooden part of a skateboard
fakie: riding backwards
flatland tricks: tricks that take place on flat ground rather than in a ramp or on an obstacle
grind: to slide along an obstacle such as a ledge or rail on the trucks or deck of your board
hardflip: a kickflip and shove-it performed at the same time so that the board spins and rotates on both axes
heelflip: a trick where the board is spun over itself one full rotation by kicking it in the air with your heel
kickflip: a trick where you kick the board so that it spins 360 before landing
manual: r
iding on two wheels
ollie: the most basic move, where you pop the back of the board and jump into the air, bringing the skateboard with you
shove-it: a trick where you rotate the board 180 or 360 degrees beneath you
slam: to wipe out
Smith grind: the most difficult, basic grind. The back truck grinds a rail while the front truck hangs over the side.
tre flip: a combination of a kickflip and shove-it
vert: any ramp or angle
Jeff Ross is an award-winning author of a number of novels for young adults. He currently teaches scriptwriting and English at Algonquin College in Ottawa, Ontario, where he lives with his wife and two sons. For more information, visit www.jeffrossbooks.com.
orca soundings
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