by Claire Adams
“All right,” he says.
He just stands there.
“Ian?” I ask.
“Yeah?” he returns.
“You’re not going,” I tell him.
“I know,” he says. “I’m just waiting until the mood is right.”
I just purse my lips and nod. If that’s what it’s going to take for him to take another run so that we can be one step closer to putting this whole grating process behind us, then that’s what it’s going to take.
“Okay,” he says. “I’m on it.”
“I’ll tell you what,” I say after he stands there another twenty or thirty seconds, “you keep trying and I’ll make it worth your while.”
“What?” he asks, shaking his head a little.
“Did I pull you away from something?” I ask.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “It’s just, don’t you think they’d have better things to do with their time than hang around here waiting for me to fall on my ass?”
“I’m serious,” I tell him. “Give it three more tries, and I will make sure you are very handsomely rewarded.”
He looks over at me, his eyes wide at first, but after a few seconds, I see his eyes drift from my face downward and I finally know that he’s paying attention.
“Yeah?” he asks. “How so?”
“You’ll have to find out,” I tell him. “It’s a surprise, but I can promise you will like it.”
I have nothing planned, but I’m sure I can throw together some sort of sexual favor he’ll find as suitable reward for his efforts.
“Okay,” he says. “Three tries.”
“Don’t think of them as tries, think of them as opportunities to practice your new skill,” I tell him. “Just think of it like you’ve already done it a million times before. You know what to do, right?” I ask.
“Yeah?” he more asks than answers, but it’ll have to do. Money actually is starting to change hands down below and it’s going to be difficult convincing him it doesn’t have anything to do with him.
“All right,” I tell him. “First run, you’ve got this thing.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I’ve got it.”
He puts his front foot on the board, leans in, rolls down, and runs out just as he’s about to be on level ground.
“That’s all right,” I call down. “You’ll get it next time.”
I’m not unaware that I probably sound like one of those perma-optimist parents who are always telling their kids—who are always, always, always, just terribly bad at everything—that any shortcoming is just a hiccup in an otherwise impeccable career of doing things right. It’s got to be a little extra dose of humiliation, but at least it’s getting him up the ladder a bit quicker.
“You don’t have to do that,” he says as he finally reaches the top.
“Do what?” I ask dumbly.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Two more and then we can go, right?”
“Two more and then you’ll have a reward coming to you when we’re in a much, much less public place,” I tell him. “After that, we’ll see where you are with things and go from there.”
“Okay,” he says curtly.
It’s unclear whether his clenched jaw is a signal of determination or just annoyance that I’m being such a dictator. I’m not going to make the guy keep doing this if it’s just going to screw with his head more than his head has already been screwed with, but just up and leaving in shame isn’t going to do him any good, either.
He’s just become my new psychology project.
“We’re probably going to have to figure out a time to figure out where and how we’re going to do interviews,” I tell him. “You know, for school.”
“Is there any way we could not talk about school right now?” he asks.
“Well, I’m still waiting for you to take your second run, so…” I just let the sentence hang, crossing my arms over my chest.
Before last run, I was all advice and modest encouragement. This run, I’m unimpressed and stern. Next run, I haven’t really thought it out, but I’ll probably just end up in some stage of groveling just to get him down the ramp one more time.
“All right,” he says, his front foot coming down and he’s about halfway down the slope when he comes off the board again, though he somehow manages to stay on his feet as he runs out of it.
I’m really at a loss here.
I’ve tried everything short of blowing him before he takes a run at it and nothing seems to be doing any good. There’s the old adage that you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped, but psychology’s supposed to short-circuit all that. He’s supposed to be my lump of clay.
He’s impervious.
When he gets to the top, this time, I don’t give him any advice. I don’t talk to him or even look at him.
“One more and I get my reward, huh?” he asks.
I don’t answer. I pretend like he’s not there so maybe he can pretend I’m not here. Exactly how that’s going to translate into him forgetting that there are about two dozen people waiting and hoping for blood, I don’t know, but I’m doing what I can.
“Fair enough,” he says, and I can hear him get the tail set in position.
When I hear the clap of his front wheels hitting the concrete, I turn to look and my eyes find Ian just in time to see him come off his board, only this time, he’s pitched way too far forward to get his feet underneath him and he crashes with the sick noise of air being forced from lungs by impact.
I make my way down the ladder, trying to block out the laughter coming from across the way as I try to get down to Ian.
When I’m finally down to ground level, he’s already up and walking toward me, but it’s easy enough to see that he’s just done for right now.
“Can we go?” he asks. “I know I have to get this if I’m going to compete, but I really think I’d do better without all the—”
“Yeah,” I nod, “yeah. Maybe take a quick street run to clear your head and remind yourself that you know what to do on a board, you know, maybe help remind some of the other people around here of that as well so you don’t have that look on your face like you want to punch a baby.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Hey, thanks for sticking it out with me on this. I know it can’t be that rewarding seeing me come off my board every single fucking time I try to—”
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “We all have our gaps. Don’t even worry about it, all right? Just go clear your head and, if you want to take another run or two down the vert ramp, that’s cool, if not, we can go.”
“All right,” he says. “Thanks.”
He leans forward a little as if to give me a kiss, but hesitates, his eyes wandering in the direction of the thickest part of the group that had been watching him, but they’ve all lost interest.
Still, he’s indecisive, so I pop my head forward a little, give him a quick peck on the lips and send him on his way.
He’s got a sheepish smile on his face as he rides off, and I’m taking a deep breath.
He’s screwed.
Unless everyone else in the competition has at least one area they can’t score in at all, there’s no way mathematically that he can make any kind of positive showing at the competition.
I’m not sure if there’s any way to justify him competing if he’s going to risk becoming known as “that guy who fell on his face repeatedly.” That can’t be good for a career, even if he were to never go near another vert ramp or anything resembling it again.
He wants it so bad, though.
It’s good to see him where he’s more comfortable, though. He just makes everything look so strange, but achievable. It really is a sight to see.
Ian’s coming off a 5-0 grind with a shove it when I hear someone else calling my name from close by. I turn to find one of Ian’s friends—a guy about my age, maybe a year or two older with long blond hair, whose name I don’t readily recall at the moment—skating toward me.
“Hey,” he says, rubbing his
open palm over his nearly bald head. “You’re Mia, right?”
“Yeah,” I answer. “I’ve seen you around.”
“I’m Rob,” he says. “I’m Ian’s friend.”
“Rob,” I respond. “All right, yeah, Ian’s told me about you.”
“He’s told me about you, too,” he says. “You must be one hell of a woman.”
I can feel my face growing hot. “Why do you say that?” I ask.
“You know, with Ian’s dad the way he is and all,” Rob says. “That can’t be too easy.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I tell him. “We seem to be hitting it off pretty well, though.”
“That’s good,” Rob says, and I take a moment to clap and cheer as Ian tre flips on the flat of the fun box, landing in a manual on the downward slope and riding it all the way out.
“Why am I getting the feeling you’re trying to tell me something?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Rob says. “Ian said you were smart, though.”
“So, what is it?” I ask, watching Ian get some speed and roll all the way up the vert ramp, planting his nose on the top and riding all the way down without any problem whatsoever. “I seriously don’t know what it is in his head that isn’t clicking, but he basically just did what’s been making him crash for who knows how long.”
“I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing,” Rob says.
“What do you mean?” I ask, but before he can answer, I’m shouting, “See, you got that, Ian!”
All right, now I’m starting to embarrass myself.
“Ian isn’t exactly in a position to go without his dad’s help right now,” Rob says. “I don’t know, maybe he’ll get his shit together by the competition, win the thing, and never have to worry about it again, but…” he trails off.
I really don’t know if he’s trying to be helpful or if he’s just trying to be a jerk, but I really wish he’d just say what he’s going to say.
“Well,” I tell Rob, “I know that Ian’s dad doesn’t necessarily think I’m right for his son, but he’ll come around.”
“He didn’t tell you, did he?” Rob asks.
“Tell me what?” I respond and finally turn to look at Rob.
“His dad cut him off last night,” Rob answers. “He called me right after it happened. I guess the old man’s giving him a week and then Ian’s gotta be outta the house. The guy’s smarter than he lets on and everything, but I don’t think he’s really cut out for a normal job, you know?”
“What do you mean his dad cut him off? He’s kicking Ian out of the house, too?” I ask.
Somewhere in the distance, there’s the loud slap of four hard wheels coming down together on concrete and a couple of people interject various non-lingual sounds of approval and I just know it’s Ian bringing everyone back around to his side.
“Dad kicked him out of the house,” Rob says. “No more money for college, no more money for, well, anything, really.”
“This is because of me?” I ask.
“Don’t take it the wrong way,” Rob says. “Like I said, you must be one hell of a chick. Now, that boy doesn’t get his shit together and actually win that competition, he’s going to end up living in my basement, and you know what the worst part about that is?” he asks.
“What’s that?” I return.
“I don’t have a basement, so he’s going to end up sleeping on my couch, and you know, I’m more of a morning person, he’s more of a night person—I’m glad to have him and everything, ‘cause that’s probably what’s going to have to happen. I just hope we don’t end up killing each other,” he says.
“Well, at least he’s going to have a place to stay,” I tell Rob, who is definitely not just telling me this as a courtesy. “You’re a good friend.”
“Well, it’s not really decided as far as all that yet, exactly,” he says.
“What do you mean?” I ask. “I thought Ian wasn’t going to have anywhere else to go. I’d let him stay with me if I didn’t think my dad would have a conniption, the kind of which would likely yield a body count.”
“I was just giving you a glimpse into Christmas future,” Rob says. “His dad’s made the threat, but Ian’s still hanging in there by a thread. I just don’t want to see the guy’s life fall apart, you know?”
“The problem I’m having,” I tell Rob, “is that I’m not sure if you’re telling me this because it’s actually the truth or because you’ve got something against me. Have I done something to offend you?” I ask.
“No. We haven’t met, but you seem nice enough and I know Ian’s got it out to about here for you,” Rob says and illustrates his meaning by holding his hand about a foot and a half straight out from his crotch.
“How romantic,” I say.
“Just, I don’t think it’s really that cool for someone he’s only known for a few weeks or however long the two of you have known each other to come in and try to make his life difficult, you know?” Rob asks. “Ian’s not meant to be just another skater bum until nobody invites him to competitions anymore. He’s smart. He’s got a lot of things he could do, but you’re just riding all in and putting yourself in the place of all that.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to do,” I tell Rob.
“I know, I know,” he says, his palms up and facing me. “Like I said, I’ve only heard good things, but I’m just tellin’ you how it is. So, unless you’re really looking to stick it out and be there after his old man’s cut the cord, I think it might be better for both of you if you just called it a day.”
Hearing this from my dad is annoying. Hearing it from Ian’s dad is somewhat frightening. Hearing it from one of his friends, though, I don’t know that I can really keep ignoring what everyone except Ian and I are seeing.
“Hey,” Rob says, “You all right? I’m not trying to be a dick here. I’m just tellin’ you how it is.”
“Yeah,” I answer quietly and look away from Rob.
This isn’t right.
Ian and I have known each other for a few months, but as far as any relationship goes, it hasn’t even been a day. I can’t be the wrench in the gears of his life.
“Don’t worry about it,” Rob says. “You’re a pretty girl. I’m sure you’ll find someone else in no time.”
All right, now he’s just being a dick to be a dick.
I turn away from Rob in time to see Ian skating in this direction.
Rob’s on his board and skating away by the time Ian gets close. Ian says, “Hey,” to his friend, but Rob doesn’t answer.
I guess he’s leaving it up to me now.
“I’m feeling a lot better,” Ian says. “I think I just needed to let loose and just have a good run where I’m not worried about anything but pulling shit on my—”
“Hey, I’m sorry, but I really should be getting going,” I interrupt.
“What?” he asks. “Why? I thought we were hanging out.”
“It’s Abs,” I lie. “She’s having a thing with her brother and she needs an ear right now. I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I hope you understand.”
“Yeah, sure,” Ian says. “I hope everything’s all right.”
“Yeah, I’m sure everything’s going to be fine,” I tell him and only continue to pile on the lies from there. “This sort of thing happens between them from time to time. They’re super close and everything, but you know if you’re around anyone enough, you’re going to find a reason to argue and eventually, you’re going to need a little bit of… time. Anyway,” I continue, feeling a little off-center in my existence at the moment, “I’ll talk to you later.”
“All right,” Ian says. “I’ll give you a call after I go home. I think I’m going to hang around here for a little bit and just skate, you know, get back into a positive headspace or whatever.”
“Okay,” I smile. “Bye.”
I walk away.
He doesn’t know anything’s wrong yet, but this is for the best.
Last night and every momen
t since, right up until Rob came over here and shattered the illusion, I’d done an excellent job of discounting my dad and his dad’s concerns as being the result of a sad sack, lonely guy being overprotective (my dad) and a real hemorrhoid of a person (that would be Ian’s dad) being a real hemorrhoid of a person, but Rob’s got no reason to come over here out of the blue, much less as he happened to have told me a slightly different version of the same story I’ve been hearing from the sad sack and the hemorrhoid.
I guess from here I just file my time with Ian into the fantasy section of my brain and go on with my life.
I just wish I could get this stupid sun out of my eyes, it’s really making them water.
For a while, I just walk around, but eventually I head home.
This is just going to be one of those vicious days that just never seems to end until it ends.
I’m walking in the door when my phone starts to ring.
I pull it out of my pocket and look at the caller.
It’s Ian.
As much as I wanted to spare him at the park, I can’t lead him on, either.
I answer the phone with the words, “I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” and I hang up.
It’s not the gentlest way to do it, but I’d rather have him think I’m just some crazy chick who doesn’t know who she wants than have him giving up the more concrete opportunities of his life.
I was really looking forward to being with him, though.
Chapter Twelve
Something about Women Being Crazy and Men Being Idiots
Ian
“I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” she says, and that’s it. She hangs up.
That’s supposed to be the end of the conversation, but I’m getting sick of the back and forth. We’ve just gotten to the point where we’re actually together and she’s scared, I know that’s all this is.
Why would she suddenly get so scared, though?
Things were great this morning and, despite my lackluster performance dropping in—something she should be more than used to by now, by the way—she was still in a positive mood before I left to skate around the park.
Maybe her friend said something.