by Gene Gant
I started to look around the room. Surely there had to be pictures of the guy somewhere. But just as I began the search, Brendan came back into the living room, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet like all the energy in his body was blasting through his soles. “Come on,” he ordered me, hurtling toward the door. He said it in a way that left no room for me to do anything except follow.
I don’t know why—because, honestly, I would’ve followed him anywhere, anytime—but I hesitated. “Come on where?” There was this teasing tone to my voice that surprised me.
Brendan turned back to me. He tossed up a set of keys and snatched them out of the air quick as a lizard catching a fly. “I’m taking you to a place where you can get your skate on.”
I thought immediately of my skateboard, packed away once again in a box like all the other stuff from my Memphis life. The idea of digging through those things, pulling them out in a place where they clearly didn’t belong… well, I just couldn’t stand any of that.
Brendan seemed to know what I was thinking. “Don’t worry. Once we’re there, we’ll rent something for you to get around on.” He opened the door to the closet where visitors’ coats could be hung, reached inside, and pulled out a couple of helmets. He tossed one of them to me.
The toss was unexpected, and I fumbled the helmet in my hands, bobbling it around, terrified it would hit the floor. I was afraid because I figured that would disappoint Brendan somehow. Finally I caught the helmet between my palms in a solid clap and stood there looking at it. The thing was covered with electric blue flame emblems arcing from front to back as if blown by a rush of wind. My heart was thumping like crazy. I felt as wild as those flames.
I looked at Brendan.
He seemed wild too, but ready in a way I didn’t think I could ever be. He nodded approvingly. “Let’s go.”
I WAS riding on the back of a freaking motorcycle!
The bike was a sweet combination of speed and power, a thing of shiny bright blue and chrome parts configured in swept-back angles. Looking at it that first time in our building’s garage, I wouldn’t have been surprised if Brendan had told me it could take off and fly like a jet.
The thrill of riding it was awesome. And petrifying. I had my arms locked tight around Brendan’s chest, my helmeted head turned to the side and pressed firmly against his broad, hard back, hoping he wouldn’t feel how crazy hard my heart was pounding and write me off as some scared-ass punk. At first, my eyes were just about glued shut from the apprehension as we flew through traffic. But soon I got them open and watched as we flowed past cars and trucks as smooth as ice cream. The engine’s keen growl rumbled through me, vibrating in my bones. It was like riding on the back of some undiscovered species of sleek, powerful predator as it tore across an open plain after prey. I felt that at any moment I’d go flying off into the great wide nothing, hurtling until I went splat against some immovable object. But Brendan sat steady at the handlebars, in control, as calm as if sitting on a couch playing a video game.
No power on earth—no storm, no wildfire, no flood—could disturb that guy.
I held on tighter, hoping to absorb some of his bravery and strength into me.
SKATER WORLD was as big as anything.
The building sat long and low in the middle of a sprawling flat parking lot, surrounded by a sea of cars that sparkled like giant jewels in the sunlight. Inside was like an airplane hangar, split into colorful, boisterous sections by activity. One end was set up with vert ramps, funboxes, and launchers for skateboarding. On the opposite end were two large rinks, one for in-line skates and the other for ice blades. In the center was a food court with ten stations offering everything from burgers and pizzas to ice cream and cookies, along with lots of tables and benches for diners. People were everywhere. They danced and twirled on skates, stood at counters ordering snacks, sat at tables eating and talking between bouts of fun. The air pulsed with sound—music, voices, the hum and hiss of skates over concrete and ice.
Standing next to me as I took it all in, Brendan slid an arm across my shoulders. The breath hitched in my lungs. He bent down as if to whisper in my ear. “What’s your pleasure?” he asked, his voice slightly louder than normal against the thrum and chatter of Skater World. “Blade or board?”
I told him board, and he led me over to this big kiosk by the main entrance that was manned by five people. One of them, a thin middle-aged woman in a long white skirt and a yellow floral-print blouse, stepped forward and smiled like she was welcoming us into her home. “Brendan!”
“Hi, Irma.” Brendan leaned against the counter, smiling back at her. He pointed at her outfit. “Is that the project you started last week?”
The woman stepped back and did a slow turn, showing off her clothes. “I just finished the last stitch this morning and couldn’t wait to wear it. What do ya think?”
“You did a great job. But everything looks stunning on you, Irma.”
“Careful. That silver tongue of yours is gonna get you in trouble someday.” She gave him a sly nod that seemed to indicate he’d have a lot of fun getting into that trouble. “What’s it gonna be today, lad?”
“Boards and gear for me and my bud here,” Brendan answered.
Irma gathered the requested items, placing them on the counter one by one, and Brendan paid her the rental fees. The gear turned out to be white helmets and white pads for our knees and elbows, all bearing the black lightning-bolt logo of Skater World. The establishment apparently required pads and helmets for skateboarding. Everybody I saw riding a board was wearing them.
Once we were decked out in our protective gear, Brendan and I grabbed our rented boards and worked our way onto one of the vert ramps. The black-and-white board didn’t have the feel and familiarity of my blue Memphis board, but it was a decent enough substitute. For me, riding a skateboard was like floating on air, like skimming up and down the curving underside of an ocean wave. I could never get that sensation on a pair of skates.
Looking down at the massive curve, watching other kids effortlessly surfing the ramp in liquid, humming back-and-forth arcs, I sort of hesitated. It had been a couple of weeks since I last rode a board, but it wasn’t that I’d lost any of my skills in that time. Having Brendan there made me nervous. It would be just my luck to take a major wipeout now, something that hadn’t happened to me in more than a year.
I waited for Brendan to take the lead. He waved his hand in that after-you gesture, leaving me no other choice. Oh well. I didn’t even take a breath first, just tipped the skateboard over the edge and flowed down. The ride was smooth as ever, picking up enough speed as gravity pulled me down to send me up the other side of the ramp and into the air. My heart flipped, exhilaration burning through me as I turned myself in midleap and came down facing forward for the return trip along the ramp.
For a short while, Brendan just kind of hung back and watched as I casually rode the ramp up and down, back and forth. Then, as I swung up over the crest of the ramp by him yet again, he pushed off. We rode down the ramp and up the opposite curve, pivoting together in midair and riding back down. Brendan matched my moves perfectly and easily, like we’d been skateboarding with each other forever. It was like riding with Cole again—a Cole who was a half-foot taller and a lifetime surer of himself.
I still missed Cole, but I felt a little less lonely now.
WE OCCUPIED a table at the far end of the food court, drinking Cokes and sharing a deep-dish pizza. I was still sweating after nearly an hour of intense skateboarding with Brendan, but I was happy, happier than I’d been since coming to this big bad city.
“You’re pretty good on a board,” Brendan said, smiling just a little.
Immediately I felt the blush in my face. “Come on, don’t jank me, Brendan. I’m nothing compared to you.” Maybe ten minutes after he started riding with me, Brendan stopped holding back and pulled off some stunning maneuvers, flips that I probably wouldn’t be able to master in my dreams. “That backflip
and spin thing you do, it’s amazing. You gotta teach me that.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I will… one of these days.” His biceps bulged as he lifted a second slice of pizza to his mouth.
I casually lifted my slice of pizza for a bite and noticed that my biceps didn’t bulge nearly as much. “You must’ve done plenty of skateboarding to come up with moves like that.”
“Yeah. I used to hang out here a lot before I got my bike.”
“Oh, speaking of motorcycles, yours is fantastic. How long have you had it?”
“Three months. My dad wanted to go all out for my sixteenth birthday, and I’ve wanted a motorcycle since I was ten, so it was, like, this inevitable thing. When you’re under eighteen, the state will only license you for certain bikes, so my dad couldn’t get me my first choice. But I like the one my dad got me, and I’m saving money to buy the one I really want when I hit eighteen.”
“Cool. Your mom must be all hyped about that.” I was going for a joke, lame as it was, but it was the absolute wrong thing to say.
Brendan’s face changed. It seemed to harden, like water turning to ice in an instant. I was certain I’d just offended him in a big way, and I wanted very much to apologize. Before I could get that out, however, Brendan leaned toward me and said, “Dwayne, I think you and I are setting off on the wrong foot.”
“I know, and I’m really sorry—”
“No, I’m sorry. I know about the kidnapping.”
Now my face was the one turning to stone. “Oh.”
“It was in the news for days after the FBI tracked you down in Memphis. Your picture was all over the television and newspapers. I knew your adoptive parents lost a court fight to keep you, and you came to live with your birth family because the judge ordered it. But I faked that I didn’t know any of that because I got this impression it’s not something you want to talk about.”
“You’re right. I don’t like talking about it. I wish I could shut my brain off and not even think about it.”
“Okay. I understand that. But I’m not about lying. I’m about being real, and I shouldn’t have faked you out about what I knew. See, thing is, you look like you could use a friend, and I definitely could use a friend. So do you want to be friends with me?”
“Yeah, Brendan. Hell yeah.”
“Then if we’re gonna be friends, we have to keep it real with each other. You don’t want to talk about the kidnapping thing, I won’t bring it up. And you’ve got to do the same thing for me. My mom hates me. The feeling’s mutual. She cut off all contact, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s the best favor she’s ever done me. Maybe someday I’ll want to tell you what that’s all about. But for now, I don’t want to talk about it. Can you deal with that?”
“Sure.” It was a little enough thing for a person to ask. It was a little enough thing for a person to do… for a friend.
THE SUN had dipped beyond the western horizon, the sky above just beginning to deepen into the darker hues of evening, when Brendan and I rode back into our building’s garage. He parked in one of the assigned spaces for his unit, and we climbed off. “Thanks for the skateboarding and the pizza, Brendan,” I said as I removed the borrowed helmet and handed it back to him. “That was great. Next time, it’s my treat.”
“Sounds cool,” he replied, removing his own helmet with one hand.
“Hey, you wanna hang out tomorrow? Maybe play some video games?”
“Depends on what time you’re talkin’.” Brendan tucked his helmet under his arm, dangling the other helmet from his hand. “Tomorrow I’m on my job with the condo association from ten until four, so it would have to be after four.”
“After four’s good for me. Can I just come down to your place at… what… five?”
He smiled and nodded. “Works for me.”
“Cool. Okay. Well….” There was nothing more to say, except goodbye. I wasn’t ready to say it, and I kept standing there, which was awkward.
“I’m gonna get upstairs, shower this sweat off me.” Brendan strode away, heading for the elevators, and I followed. We rode up in the same car, chatting about which video games we liked. The doors slid open on the third floor, Brendan said, “Later, man,” and then he was out, moving down the hall toward his unit. I stared after him until the door closed again.
When the doors opened on my floor, I just about floated out of the car and down the hall. It had been a good day. A really, really good day. At the door of the Copelands’ unit, I tugged my key out of my pocket. My cell phone slipped out along with the key and dropped to the floor. Fumbling to get the key in the lock, I knelt down to get my phone. The door suddenly flew open. I looked up and there was Chicago Mom in the doorway.
Her eyes were all panic at first, but when she saw me they mellowed with relief. “Oh, Dwayne… thank God!” She reached down and pulled me up into a hug. And Chicago Dad came rushing up behind her, emotions racing across his face so fast I couldn’t make any of them out, and then he had his arms around both of us.
It all confused the hell out of me. “What?”
They pulled me inside, and Chicago Dad shut the door. After a few more seconds of the group hug, they let me go and stepped back. “Where were you, Dwayne?” Chicago Dad snapped, his face finally settling on anger. “Where did you go?”
“I was at this, like, skate park with my friend. I told you I was hanging—”
“Why didn’t you answer your cell phone?” As he continued snapping off questions, Chicago Dad put his arm around Chicago Mom, who just stared at me with this woeful expression on her face. “It got late, you didn’t show up for dinner, we called you several times, but you never answered.”
“I turned my phone off when we started on the skate ramps. I was having fun, and I guess I forgot to turn it back on.” I’d obviously worried them, and I hated that, but I still couldn’t figure why they were so upset. “What is it? Did something happen while I was gone?”
“It worried us to no end, Dwayne, when we couldn’t get in touch with you. It especially worried your mother.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. Really, Mom… I just didn’t think….”
Chicago Dad paused a moment, and I could see him struggling to calm himself down. “Dwayne, we want you to have friends, we want you to go out and have fun. But for now, you have to let us know exactly where you’re going when you leave home. Unless you let us know otherwise, we expect you home for dinner. And when you’re away from home, you must answer your cell phone when we call. No exceptions.”
“Okay. I understand, Dad. And I’m really sorry.”
They both seemed more relaxed now, leaning into each other. “I saved you some dinner,” Chicago Mom said quietly to me. “Come to the kitchen and I’ll reheat it for you.”
“Thanks, but I ate pizza at the skate park.”
“Well, why don’t you get cleaned up?” she said. “You’re sweaty, and you must be tired. After you shower, we can make plans for your birthday.”
“Sure.” I crossed the living room and went down the hall.
As I opened the door to my room, I immediately saw BJ sitting on one of the boxes from Memphis, waiting for me. Unlike our mom and dad, he seemed pretty calm. “Nice going, shithead,” he said, keeping his voice low.
He’d obviously been listening. “What nice going? I don’t get it. I mean, I hate that I missed their calls, but I don’t see why they’re so worked up about it.”
BJ got up, walked calmly over and closed the door. Then, in a flash, he had an arm around my neck and slammed me down on the bed. He held me flat on my back, his hand at my throat, not squeezing but keeping me down. “Grow a brain, idiot,” he snarled quietly so our parents wouldn’t hear. “They’ve got post-traumatic shit going on, even after all these years, especially Mom. She’s got it worse. They’re worried your stupid ass is gonna get snatched again. That’s why they freaked when you didn’t answer your stupid phone.” He got right up in my face, like he was going to bite my nose off
or something. “You scare my mom and dad like this again, and I’m kicking your ass.”
He smiled in my face, his eyes wide and innocent, like it was all a joke. Without relaxing his hold, he patted me on the cheek a few times, playfully at first, but the last couple of pats were hard enough to sting and make me wince. Then he pushed himself away from me, standing upright. He reached down. I flinched, but he just held his hand there, waiting. I took his hand, and he pulled me to my feet.
We stood there facing each other for a moment. He smiled again, and I actually relaxed. Then, just a moment later, he socked me in the gut.
The breath went out of me. Bent over, arms wrapped around my midsection, I slowly crumpled to the floor.
“Have a nice night, Zay.” BJ sauntered out of the room, leaving me slumped by my bed.
The pain in my gut was bad enough. The unexpected sudden rush of nausea was worse. I made a dash for the bathroom and got there just in time to say hello again to the three slices of pizza I ate at Skater World.
The nausea went away after that. I brushed my teeth, rinsed my mouth about a dozen times, and slunk back into my room. Grunting from the lingering ache in my midsection, I sank down on the bed.
I gasped for air, furious. There wasn’t much I could do by way of making BJ pay for knocking me around. But I sure as hell could think lots of nasty thoughts. My brother’s children are going to inherit from him skin red as a boiled lobster, huge twisty horns on their foreheads, long pointy tails on their butts, and they’re going to walk on cloven hooves and drink sulfuric acid for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and pick their teeth with flaming pitchforks.