Kick, Push

by Jay McLean

  “Take this,” my grandmother whispers from next to me. I look down at her hand between our plates holding a single dollar bill.

  “Why?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Tommy returns a moment later with plastic cups and places them next to his and Josh’s plate, then comes around to our side and does the same with ours. “Now?” he asks loudly, speaking to his dad.

  Josh looks up from emptying the bags and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt at the same time. His forearms are tanned and muscular. And kind of hot. I’ve never noticed forearms before. Ever. I wonder what his hands are like.

  “Looks good, bud,” Josh says, and I blink once and tear my gaze away from his arms. “Great job!”

  “Excellent work, young man,” My grandmother states, handing him a dollar.

  “Fank you, ma’am.” He walks over to me and grins from ear to ear. “Did I do good, Becs?”

  “No one’s ever set the table for me before,” I tell him, trying on the kid-voice used earlier. Josh and my grandmother laugh, and for a second I don’t know why. Probably because they think I’m kidding.

  I’m not.

  I hand Tommy the dollar just as Josh places a tray in the middle of the table; burgers (cut in quarters), fries, and two other things coated in batter.

  “Dig in!” Josh shouts, rolling up his sleeves even higher.

  When did arms become attractive?

  I wait while everyone loads their plate (Josh loads Tommy’s) and when they’re done I grab one of everything. I keep my eyes on Tommy, using him as a guide on what the proper protocol is.

  He picks up a flat, round, batter-covered thing and throws it in his mouth. Then he chews and chews until he swallows.

  I look down at my plate and pick up the same looking thing. Then, without wanting to look out of place, I shove it in my mouth and chew.

  I choke.

  The taste overpowers all my senses, even my nose. “What is this?” I mumble, bringing the napkin to my mouth.

  Josh and Tommy laugh as I spit it out onto the napkin then use it to wipe the taste off my tongue. Tommy’s still laughing, but Josh has contained his reaction to a smirk—a smirk almost as hot as his arms. “You’re not a fan of fried pickles?”

  I shake my head.

  “Your eyes are watering! They’re not that bad,” he says, shoving one in his mouth to prove his point.

  My nose scrunches in disgust.

  Then fingers brush the side of my face, moving my hair, and I gasp and flinch away from my grandmother’s touch. My heart pounds while I look down—watching my chest rise and fall. I bite down on my thumb, my eyes drifting shut when the pain consumes me. I try to calm my breathing but I can’t.

  I can’t run.

  I can’t hide.

  When the pain becomes too much to handle, I release my thumb and open my eyes. I focus on the imprints of my teeth and wait for them to fade and the color to return. When I’m satisfied and can breathe without pain, I muster the courage to look up, already aware that everyone’ll be watching me. “I’m sorry,” my grandmother says. “I guess I forgot.”

  “It’s okay,” I whisper, and look over at Tommy. He hasn’t noticed a thing. But then I look at Josh, and that’s all I do. Because he’s watching me, his eyes dark and sad and worried and confused, all at once. He tries to smile, but it’s fake. I know, because I’ve watched him enough to know the difference. And I’ve seen enough of this particular smile to know what it means.

  Fear.

  5

  -Joshua-

  “So Tommy upset Kim yesterday,” Robby says, sitting down beside me on my makeshift bench during our lunch break.

  “Shit. What did he do now?”

  He laughed once. “Nothing like that. He told her he had a new best friend. Her name’s Becs and she’s prettier than Kim.”

  “Is she upset because he has a new friend or because Becca’s prettier?”

  “Is Becca real? I thought she was his imaginary friend…”

  “Yes, she’s real,” I say through a chuckle. “It’s my landlord’s granddaughter. Have I not told you?”

  “You mentioned something about her staying for a while, I didn’t know she was still there or that Tommy was hanging out with her. I know how you get with him spending time with strangers.”

  “Yeah well…” I trail off.

  “Anyway. Honestly, I think Kim’s more upset about the pretty part.”

  “Yeah, she should be.”

  “So it’s true then?”

  “What is?” I ask, playing dumb, even though I can feel the heat creeping to my cheeks.

  “That she’s prettier?”

  “I mean…” I drop my gaze and focus on the dry wall dust covering my shoes. “Don’t get me wrong, Kim’s hot for her age and I still don’t know how you struck gold with her, but Becca—she’s something else completely.”

  His eyes burn a hole in the side of my head, but I don’t look at him. After a long ass moment, he whistles, low and slow. “Holy shit, Joshy! Have you got a crush?” He pokes my side.

  I punch his arm. “Fuck off!”

  He returns my punch by stomping on my foot. “You do!”

  “Fuck off!” I repeat, but I’m laughing this time. Because really? What else can I do? Even if I denied it he wouldn’t give a shit.

  “Hey, boys!” he shouts to all the other workers. He stands up and cups both hands around his mouth. “Our little boy Joshua has finally hit puberty!”

  “Fuck you,” I mumble, shaking my head as he walks away.

  After a few steps, he turns to me. “So are you going to do anything about it?”

  “No. What am I going to say? Hey… wanna get some food with my kid? You can watch him lick the boogers off his ice cream like I have to. It’ll be fun!” I say, the sarcasm in my tone unmistakable.

  He stands with both his hands on his hips, his head cocked to the side and his eyes narrowed. “Or we could watch Tommy and you could take her out on a proper date. Or… are you afraid?”

  “Fire truck yeah, I’m afraid. You’ve seen me in social situations, right? I mean, you were there at Michael’s bachelor party when I told the stripper her tits were perfect for breastfeeding.”

  “Thanks for getting us kicked out of that club, by the way,” Michael says, patting my shoulders as he walks behind me. “Fucking creeper.”

  “See?” I tell Robby.

  He shakes his head and sighs heavily. “At some point you’re going to want to move on and find someone.”

  “And I will,” I assure him. “Once Tommy’s in college.”

  He laughs. “Anyway, Kim asked if we can have Tommy overnight?”

  “Sure.”

  “You’re done here, by the way. There should still be enough light left in the day for you to get some skating in, right?”

  ★★★

  I get in my truck without a second’s hesitation and rush home to shower and change. People get excited and anxious for a lot of reasons: money, power, food, sex (it’s been so long, I don’t think my memory of the sensation of sex can even qualify as a legitimate memory anymore). For me—it’s skating.

  The last few days had been quiet on the site so I got to leave early, which meant skate time with Tommy in the driveway. He’s good for an almost three-year-old but he loses interest and gets distracted real quick.

  I’d seen Becca watching a few times from her window hoping she’d make an appearance like that day when she brought us drinks.

  She never did.

  So you can imagine my surprise when I pull into the driveway and see her standing there, one foot on Tommy’s skateboard, the other on the ground, and her hands out by her sides.

  -Becca-

  safe

  seɪf/

  adjective

  protected from or not exposed to danger or risk; not likely to be harmed or lost.

  “Shit!”

  I drop my arms and jump off the board, my gaze anywhere but on him. His car
door opens and my panic sets in so I do the only thing I can think to do.

  I run.

  “Wait!” he shouts, and I freeze on the porch steps, my shoulders heaving with each breath.

  His door shuts and then his footsteps near and I swear the air’s thicker and harsher than it was a few seconds ago.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “I’m sorry,” I cut in. “I shouldn’t be using your stuff without—”

  “Becca.”

  I inhale deeply, my fists balled so tight my nails dig into my palms.

  “Did you want me to teach you to skate?” he asks, and I can hear the plea in his voice.

  I turn to him, completely surprised by his words. “What?”

  “I can teach you,” he rushes out. “If you want to learn, I mean. I uh…” He pauses a beat. “I can try to do it without touching you… if that’ll help.”

  My chest tightens at his words—at the fact that he’d even think of it. “I don’t think I’d be very good.”

  He smiles. Holy shit, does he smile.

  He motions for me to come back down and I do because he’s still smiling and I’m still panicking, though not as much as I was before.

  I follow behind him, watching his broad shoulders move with each step. “Where’s Tommy? You’re home early,” I mumble.

  He faces me, the smile still in place. “He’s staying at my uncle’s, and were you skating because you thought no one would see?”

  I shrug even though we both know he’d caught me. I’d seen him and Tommy out here so much and it looked like fun and, yeah, I was curious. But, clearly, it’s not as easy as it looks because I suck. I tell Josh all that and his head throws back with his laugh before he eyes the skateboard, still in the middle of the driveway. “Well, yeah, it would be hard. You’re using the wrong board. That’s Tommy’s. It’s made for toddlers.”

  “Oh.”

  “Hey,” he soothes, “it’s no problem.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his keys, then opens the huge metal toolbox in the bed of his truck. He grabs an armful of skateboards and drops them to the ground. There has to be at least seven of them. He picks a black one and pushes it toward my feet. “You can use that one.”

  I put my left foot on the board, and the other on the ground, and then I look at him, waiting for his reaction. He bites down on his full bottom lip as he takes me in. “You gotta—” he breaks off on a sigh, picks up one of the boards and sets it next to mine. “You gotta move your left foot up a bit and straighten it a little. It’s better for balance.” He gets on his own board and shows me how to place my feet.

  I follow his instructions and his smile gets wider. “That’s it. Now all you have to do is kick and then push.”

  I kick back and push off the ground, but I don’t get far because my balance is off and like I said, I suck. “This is dumb,” I tell him, getting off the board. “And I’m sure you have better things to do—”

  “I was just gonna skate,” he cuts in. “So this is kind of perfect.”

  “Yeah but—”

  “See the problem is…” he starts, jumping off his board and walking over to me, “…you’re just doing a whole lot of kicking and no actual pushing.”

  “Okay?”

  He rubs the back of his neck, his bottom lip between his teeth again. His gaze moves from my feet, up my entire body until his eyes lock on mine and all I want to do is yell Fire! Because that’s what I feel like—like my entire body is on fire—my cheeks especially.

  “Um… shit,” he mumbles, looking away. Then he does the worst possible thing my flaming body can handle; he steps up on my board and stands behind me. “Maybe you just need to get a feel for it—let the wheels take you,” he says, his voice low and completely intimidating. “Maybe… I mean, I know you don’t like being touched but what if you touch me? Is that the same?”

  I stare straight ahead, my breaths coming out in tiny, shaky spurts as my stomach fills with knots.

  “If I put my arms out like this,” he asks, lifting his arms straight out on either side of me. “You can hold on to me and I’ll push us along. If you want.”

  “Okay,” I whisper, my fingers trembling as they settle on his wrists.

  “Are you good?”

  “Yes,” I whisper again.

  And then the most amazing thing happens. Warm air hits my face and blows through my hair and my hands grip tighter and I breathe. I hear the wheels spinning—feel them beneath me—and I close my eyes, blocking the tears from forming because in this single moment—with my heart racing and the world whooshing by around me—there’s a sense of freedom I’d never felt before.

  And freedom, I’ve come to learn, is a feeling that often gets taken for granted.

  He comes to a stop and when I open my eyes I’m face to face with the garage door. “Again?” he asks, his breath warm against my ear.

  “Yes,” I whisper, and then clear my throat so I can actually speak. “Please.”

  He doesn’t drop his arms as he pushes us backwards and does his best to turn us around while I’m still on the board. “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  He repeats this a few times, going back and forth up and down the driveway, and I know this isn’t what he had in mind when he said he planned on skating but I don’t want to ask him to stop. I want to keep feeling this—this free—for as long as he’ll let me.

  “You want to keep going?”

  I nod.

  “All right. I just need to rest my arms for a second.”

  “Sorry.” I release my death grip on his arms and look down at my feet.

  After a moment, his arms are back in place and I settle my hands on them, but they’re not on his wrist anymore, they’re closer to his elbows and before I can work out why, I feel his front pressed against my back and his breath against my cheek, causing me to hold in my own. “Becca?” he asks.

  “Yes?”

  “I really like it when you talk to me.” Before I can respond we’re moving again. “Ready?” he asks, and I have no idea what he means, not until my hands are no longer touching him.

  My eyes snap open. “What the—” Something catches on the wheels and then next thing I know, I’m landing on all fours, my hands and knees scraping on the concrete.

  “Holy shit!” Josh yells, and I look up just in time to see him squatting in front of me. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have let you go. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He gently brushes off my knees, his brows bunched while he inspects them. “You didn’t break skin. That’s good.” He looks up, the concern in his eyes evident. “Palms?” he asks, his hands out waiting.

  I show him my palms and he pouts. “You got a little booboo,” he says, but I’m too busy staring at him to know what he’s talking about. “I’m sorry.” His eyes flick to mine quickly before returning to my palms. Slowly, he lifts my hand—just as slowly as his mouth lowers.

  I suck in a breath.

  Hold it.

  And then I wait.

  When his lips press softly against my skin, kissing it lightly, I try to release the breath.

  Try.

  “All better, right?”

  I open my eyes to see him watching me, a half smile pulling at his lips. “Kisses make all booboos better.”

  Shit, he’s cute.

  My grandmother’s car pulls up to the curb and she steps out and walks up to the house, eyeing Josh’s car suspiciously. But not as suspiciously as when she sees us sitting in the middle of the driveway.

  After claiming my hand back, I finally exhale. “Thank you,” I tell him, standing up. “Bye.” I practically run into the house and go to my room so I can settle the beating of my heart, because I sure as hell can’t do that with Josh around. I throw myself on the bed and look down at my hands just as my grandmother enters my room.

  “You let him touch you?” she asks.

  “Yes.”

  “How was it?”

  “
His hands are rough.”

  “Well, he uses them every day and he works hard.”

  I sit on the edge of my bed and look up at her. “But they’re gentle.”

  She smiles warmly.

  “And safe. His touch is safe.”

  6

  -Joshua-

  You know when you’re in middle school and you have a crush on a girl and you make up reasons to try to get her to notice you? You walk past her for absolutely no legit reason or say something funny when she’s in earshot hoping she’ll hear you and think you’re hilarious? Or, like, you find ways to sniff her hair?

  Not that I did that.

  I’m just saying.

  Anyway, that’s pretty much me right now. Normally when I didn’t have Tommy, I’d street skate for hours and when it got dark and I knew the place would be empty, I’d hit up the skate park. Instead, I’m doing lame ass tricks on the driveway, hoping she’ll notice me and come back out. I almost knocked on her door, but what would I say? Hi. Can Becca come out and play?

  I see her, though, standing at her window watching me. I don’t let her know I see her—that means she’ll know I’m watching her just as much as she’s watching me. Plus, I don’t want to give her a reason to stop.

  I laugh at myself and drop my foot on the ground, wondering why the hell a twenty-year-old guy is spending his rare free time skating in the driveway trying to impress some girl. Shaking my head¸ I look at her window for the hundredth time in the past four hours. She’s still there and I still have no idea what she’s waiting for.

  She let me touch her. That has to mean something. Right?

  I pick up my board and go back to my apartment where I spend the rest of the night alone and lonely because, in my case, they’re two different things. And sometimes that loneliness makes me do or think stupid things. Like how I never knew that Chazarae even had a granddaughter, or any kids at all. And then I wonder if I’m a bad person for never caring or asking about her life before. Then I think about my parents—and wonder if they’ve ever met someone who’s surprised when they find out that they have a son and a grandson. And then I do something that puts stupid on an entirely new level. I think about Natalie—something I rarely let myself do. And I wonder if she’s happy—if turning her back on us made her happy. Almost three years gone and she’s never once asked about her son. I wonder if she’s just as selfish as she was back then. Or selfless maybe. Because in her case, she could be both. I just don’t know which one. And I think that’s what bothers me the most—not knowing why she left.