by Lark O'Neal
Inside, I’m restless with a kind of excitement that makes it hard to sit still. There’s been one major change to the Olympics since my run—they’ve added slopestyle to the half-pipe and slalom medals. I don’t care about slalom, and I would compete in half-pipe, but I freakin’ love slopestyle. The aimless skateboarding I’ve been doing will help.
Standing on the deck, looking out at the summer trees, smelling pine resin and heat, I cross my arms to settle myself.
Think.
You might think that humiliation is a small price to pay if there’s a chance it’ll keep me out of jail, but it’s not. Not when you’ve been a golden child, when the world expected something and you failed so utterly. I failed, went to prison, and everyone knows it. How can I show my face as a loser with no training?
I can’t just show up at Wanaka and tackle the half-pipe with everybody else who’s in training. I have to go somewhere out of the way for awhile first, get my sea legs under me. Then maybe I can find a coach, face the team contenders and all my old buddies.
There’s really only one place that makes sense. I’ll go to Chile, to Valle Nevado. There’s a chance I’ll run into people I know, but not as many. It’ll be my best shot to get my legs under me. They also have a great slopestyle course.
And if I get my act together, I can leave tomorrow.
It’s enough to send me into action. All my equipment is locked up in a storeroom at the house in Maine, and who knows what it will feel like now, anyway. I’m going to need kit, head to toe, and that’s gonna mean a call to my old man, who administers the trust fund until I’m thirty. It’s not like I’ve been spending a lot the past couple of years, and my gut knows that he’ll be in for this, no matter how much I’ve fucked up.
I call his cell and he answers halfway through the first rung. “Tyler,” he says. No inflection.
“Hey, Dad. I have news.”
“I assumed.”
“It’s good news for once. The judge is deferring sentencing on one condition.”
“Which is?”
“He’s a big snowboarding guy, evidently, and recognized my name. He’ll defer the sentence if I get on the Olympic team.”
My dad, gotta love him, laughed. “Right.”
It burns, I won’t lie. Still. “I know. Fat fucking chance, right? But better than nothing.”
He’s silent. “You’re going to try?”
I have to take a minute. Then, “Yeah. May as well go down in a blaze of glory.”
“They’ve added slopestyle, you know that, right?”
“I do.” I take a breath and blow it out slowly. “I need to go to Chile, see if I can get back to my game before I talk to coaches or anything.”
“Good plan. When are you leaving?”
“As soon as I can get on a flight. I just need you to pour some cash my way so I can gear up.”
“I’ll do it right now.”
“Thanks. Don’t tell anyone, okay? I want to do this my way.”
“Fair enough.” He clears his throat. “Maybe I could make my way down there. You know—“
“Not this time, Dad,” I say. “Thanks, but I have to this on my own.”
“I understand.” In the pause that follows, I can imagine him in his office, all dark paneling and Persian rugs. He’ll be wearing a pale gray suit, tailored to fit every inch of him perfectly, and a red tie. Maybe blue with white stripes. His nails will be groomed, his hair tidy. “Well, let me know how it’s going, will you?”
“Yeah, I will.”
“I’ll make a deposit now.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Good luck.”
chapter THREE
I book a flight for the next day and then have to get my ass to the ski shop and shell out some serious change. Board, boots, socks, mask, coat, everything. It’s not until I haul it into the house and dump it on my bed that can check for email from Jess. I’m not sure what I’m going to tell her about the snowboarding. I’ll be out of touch for at least 24 hours, maybe longer, depending on how the hours mesh and how long it takes me to get there. Also, the time zone issue is about to get a whole lot worse.
But I don’t want to tell her about the training yet. If I fail, I can’t stand for her to know that I’m the loser I’ve already shown myself to be. Better to see if I have any chance at all first, then let her know. If I fail, I’ll be back in jail anyway.
There is one thing nagging at me, too—I keep thinking that the right thing to do would be to let her go, really let her go to find out what life is all about. She’s still so young, so inexperienced, and to be tethered to some guy back home is a sure way to hold back from experiencing everything that might be waiting. I’ve known this since she said she was leaving, known it since she said we were not going to be faithful, or at least we weren’t going to promise that.
But I can’t, not yet. Her email punches me right in the solar plexus.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: loneliness
Hey Tyler,
Jet lag doesn’t feel the way I always imagined it when people talked about it. I thought it would mean being sleepy, but instead, I’m wide awake. It’s the middle of the night here and I’m up, drinking tea with a cat for company (he’s a really cute cat, a Siamese mix with crossed eyes). I fell asleep right after dinner—just couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore. I guess it must be the middle of the night there. You must be fast asleep. I am thinking of you in your bedroom, with a mountain breeze blowing in through the windows. It makes my chest ache to think of it. In the quiet, so far away from everything and everybody I know, I feel lonely. Like this was the dumbest choice I’ve ever made.
It’s not that they’re bad here. My dad is wonderful. Still all hearty, you know, a little nervous, but when I hugged him at the airport, I remembered his smell, and something in my whole body let go. Like I know him, know he’s good. Does that make sense? My little kid self recognized him and recognized him in the right way.
Which leaves me wondering even more why my mom left. Not so much the leaving, but why didn’t I ever come back to visit? It’s probably some simple answer. They were kind of hippies, and maybe they just didn’t care. But I get the feeling he thought he’d never ever talk to me again, that he didn’t know where I was.
Strange.
Anyway. I thought you’d be relieved to know that my dad is cool. My step-mom, Katy, is super nice, and there are even people here my age. Darcy and Kaleb, Katy’s niece and nephew. The house is all wood and porches and long windows. I have my own room, and it’s about the size of my old house, or at least the living room, dining room, and kitchen.
Huh. Babbling. I can’t wait to Skype with you, see your face and your amazing eyes. I miss you already, and it’s hard to think of you SO FAR away.
Don’t forget me.
Love,
Jess
PS I forgot—these people making a commercial were at the airport and they want me to come test for the part of an elf. Hahahahaha. Not sure I’m going, but they made it sound like it could pay a lot for a few days work, so I might. I can always use cash, especially since right this minute I have...um...about $35
It kills me that she’s so broke, but she won’t take anything. Only food. I hope her dad is feeding her well. In the meantime, I can send her some cash. She can’t refuse it if I’m not there.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: a thousand lifetimes
Dear, sweet, beautiful, sexy, smart, old-soul, Jess.
I could never forget you. Not in a lifetime. Not in a thousand lifetimes. If we parted ways and lived our lives and then we died and reincarnated over and over through the centuries, never meeting again, I would still remember your face. It would haunt me in dreams, drive me to wander the earth to seek your soul, so that I could kiss you, one more time, lie with you in a rainstorm, cozy under the quilts while the storm raged a
round us.
I hope you don’t forget me.
Or maybe you should. When I saw you at the airport, backpack on your shoulders, dressed for the journey, you had an expression on your face that I haven’t seen before. You glistened. With possibility. With hope and excitement. The nerves were there, too, but mostly it was that shine. You, leaving the world that has not been kind to you, for a place that you told me you wanted to visit the very first time we had coffee. Do you remember? You said you’d never been anywhere but you wanted to go back to New Zealand.
And now you’ve made that happen. I know I said I wished you were starting school, but there’s plenty of time for that, and it took a lot of guts for you to do what you did, make the break, leave everything you know for an adventure. I hope it’s totally epic, Jess. I mean that with all my heart.
So don’t worry too much about me and keeping in touch. Have an adventure. Live the moments that are right in front of you. I’ll wait for you. I’ll be here when you get back.
Love, more than you know,
Tyler
PS A commercial! That’d be pretty epic, right?
PS PS I am four hours ahead of you. I had a court date today.
After I press send, I head for the kitchen to throw out food that will rot. I grab a beer and open it, toss lettuce and tomatoes in the trash, empty all the containers. Once I forgot this step and left for six weeks, and trust me, you don’t make that mistake twice. There are three eggs and a little milk in there, which I’ll eat for breakfast. I already called the landlord, who promised to come by and check things now and then. I open another beer, looking around. It’s not like there’s a lot to worry about here.
Except the paintings. What if somebody broke in and defaced them all? What if I lost all the work that’s sitting here, work that took me forever to get? I don’t want to take that chance, but who would come in and take care of it for me, move it and make sure it’s in a safe place?
I should have thought of this before. Fuck.
There is really only one person I’d trust. She won’t like the work I’ve done of Jess, but I can trust her not to wreck it. Her number is still on my favorites list and I punch it in. “What do you want, Tyler?” Lena asks in a tired voice.
It makes me feel bad because I know I deserve it. We were good for awhile, having fun, having sex, playing around, and then I could tell she was getting too far into it, falling in love, and I broke it off in a pretty rough way. “Sorry to bother you, but I went to court today and believe it or not, the judge ordered me to make a bid for the Olympic snowboarding team.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Only you.”
“Only in Colorado, you mean. The point is, I have to start training, and I’m leaving in the morning. I don’t have a lot in the house, but I do have a lot of paintings. I don’t want anything to happen to them.”
“And you want me to—?”
“Make arrangements for them to be moved to storage. I’ll pay you.”
“Tyler, damn it.” In my imagination, I can see her, hair tied beneath a scarf as she throws clay on the wheel. It was sexy, the way she got all covered in mud.
“I know, it’s a big favor. I’m sorry. I don’t have anybody else to ask.”
“What about your little blonde baby?”
“She went to New Zealand.”
“Is that where you’re off to, then? To train?
“No. She doesn’t know anything about it. I’m going to Chile. Will you do it, Lena? Please?”
She sighs, heavily. “Last favor ever, do you hear me?”
Relief floods through me. “Yes, I do. I promise. No more. ever.”
We trade information and I hang up the phone, making notes on more shit I’ve got to do before bed when I hear my iPad ding.
Email.
She’s written:
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: re: a thousand lifetimes
Tyler! That letter made me cry (in a good way) and freaked me out at the same time. I can’t stand to imagine us parted for a thousand lifetimes, looking for each other and being lonely. I don’t even like us being apart now. I am so happy to be here I can’t even tell you, but I’d love it even more if you were here, too.
What do you mean I shouldn’t think of you too much? How can I help it? You seem to think that I’m only accidentally with you somehow, but it’s not random. I chose you. Let’s Skype really really soon, okay? I need to look into your eyes and know that you’re not already losing interest and it’s only been two days.
WHAT DID THEY SAY IN COURT?
I’ll have a phone set up tomorrow, but it kinda sounds like we still won’t be able to text.
Are you there? Can we Skype?
Love, way way way more than you know,
Jess
My heart aches over it. Over wanting her, wanting to keep her for myself, tucked under my arm forever and ever. But capturing a bird before it’s ever flown doesn’t mean it’s yours. She has to live, and then she can choose me.
Or not.
I sit down in the studio and call up Skype. It rings, tinny and far away and then there she is, propped up against what looks like an iron headboard, her hair loose on her shoulders. My chest goes hollow, like somebody punched me and I want to touch her face through the glass.
“Hey,” she says. “I’m so glad to see you!
“You look beautiful.” I pull the screen to my mouth and kiss her far away lips.
She kisses me back, that wide, wide mouth pursed into a pucker that makes my dick jump like a bad dog. “You must have been painting. You have blue on your neck.”
I swipe at it. “Ah, so I do. Sexy, right?”
“Everything about you is sexy.” She’s gazing at me with that clear, steady expression that makes me feel seen. And she sees something isn’t right. Her eyebrows quirk. “Is everything okay?”
I sniff, pick up my beer. “Yeah, no worries. Tell me about your day. What did you do? Did you find out anymore about the commercial?”
“Yes!” She widens her eyes and sits up straight. “I got it! It pays a lot, Tyler. Six thousand dollars. New Zealand, but it’s still a lot.”
“Jess, that’s great!”
“We’ll start filming in Nelson in a couple of days, then go to Queenstown.”
“I spent a lot of time in Queenstown when I was training—you’ll love it. Lotta big sexy Aussies.”
“Hmm. That sounds okay,” she says, and cocks one eyebrow. “Maybe some hot snowboarder.”
“Or that.” It makes me want to go get my new gear and show it to her, the new Burton, the checkered green coat. Instead, I know I have to prove to her that I’m better than she’s seen so far. Worthy of being chosen once she learns to fly. “Show me your room, so I can picture you there.”
“It’s beautiful.” She switches the camera view to the back and pans the room, the windows, the walls. “It’s been raining pretty much since I got here,” she adds. “Those are the vineyards.” All I can see is murky green through murky gray. “But we might get down to Kaikoura tomorrow, which you may not know is where I was born.”
I grin. “My little Kiwi baby.”
“It’s pretty cool, Tyler. I really like it here. My dad has a Mini! It’s so cute!”
“It’s great. Turn the camera back to you, Jess. I miss those eyes.”
She touches the button and her face swings back into view. “Hi.”
“Hi.” I raise a hand and touch her image. “I’m touching your face, and your nose. I wish I could touch them for real.”
In imitation, she raises her hand I see her sleeve. “Me, too. Your email was so ama—“
The screen goes blank. Lost the connection. I count to ten, holding the iPad in my lap, then try again. It rings endlessly, but nobody picks up.
I try again, four or five times, but nothing happens. Finally, I open my email and send a note.
I tried several times to get you on Skype, but
I can’t get through. I’ll be up for awhile if you want to try later.
To be sure I don’t miss a call, I bring the tablet into my bedroom and toss it on the bed. I pack my old, battered duffel with all the usual things, underwear and thick, wool socks and long-sleeved performance shirts I’ve had for years. In go the coat and pants and gloves, not as baggy as some like, but I know how to fake it. The board and boots are zipped into their case.
I’ve done it all so many times that I’m done in an hour. A backpack holds a pair of jeans, some long sleeved shirts. I’ll pick up more in Santiago if I need to. Mostly, I’ll be on the slopes.
By midnight, Jess still hasn’t called back, and I try one more time to get through to her. Nothing. It rings and rings and rings without answer.
When I leave in the morning, it’ll still be the middle of the night in New Zealand, and by the time I land in Santiago, it’ll be the middle of the night again. I’ll try again from New York or Panama, my layovers—not the greatest flights, but last minute, it was what I could get.
Maybe it’s supposed to be like this. Maybe this is Fate giving me a chance to do the right thing and let her learn to fly.
I open an email. There’s still nothing from her, so there must be a technical glitch on her end.
My Kiwi baby,
I tried about a hundred times to rouse you on Skype again, but it never came back up. Let me know when you get this email so I don’t worry, okay?
About court: good and bad. Good because the judge gave me a chance to prove myself before he throws me in jail, but it’s not going to be easy. I’ve got some stuff to do, and I don’t really want to talk about it until I figure out if it’s going to work. I might not be able to get on Skype for a couple of days, but once I get settled, I’ll get back in touch. You can always email me. Please email me. Like, every hour on the hour. (Teasing. Not that wack.)
In the meantime, enjoy every second of everything. Have fun getting to know your dad and seeing where you were born and filming a commercial. Make new friends and have adventures. If you’re going to be in Queenstown, maybe try skiing or snowboarding. They give lessons. (Bungee jumping, maybe? :))