by Claire Adams
“We’re not together,” he says. “I think I got that one loud and clear.”
I look at the ground and sigh.
“It doesn’t have to be like this,” I tell him. “We can be friends if you want to be.”
“I’ve got a lot of friends,” he says and drops his board back to the ground. “Now, I’ve really got to get some practice time in, so…”
“Like I said, I’ll leave if you want me to leave,” I tell him.
“Why do you keep saying that?” he asks.
“I think I’ve only said it twice,” I answer, hoping to break at least some of the tension. “If you’d rather I wasn’t here, if I’m distracting you or otherwise impeding your ability to do what you need to do, just say the word and I’ll be on my way.”
“I don’t,” he says. “I don’t want you to go, but can we just drop the relationship talk? It’s only going to end in an argument where we’re both repeating a few of our favorite points over and over again and neither one of us is really going to be listening to the other, and I just don’t see the point in doing it if we can avoid it, so can we avoid it?” he asks, throwing on a condescending, “Please?” just for good measure.
“The competition isn’t about our relationship,” I say. Hey, if we’re not going to be able to get our personal issues worked out, the least he can do is answer the question I’ve been asking. “What’s the story?”
Ian closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and his foot off of his board. He walks the few feet over to the top of the six-stair set and sits.
It takes me a couple of beats to realize he’s waiting for me to sit next to him. I make my way over and take a seat.
“It’s my mom,” he says. “Dad, he—I don’t know, he doesn’t mistreat her or anything like that, but he doesn’t give her the kind of interaction that’s going to help her make the most of the time she has left.”
“May I ask what’s—”
“She has early-onset Alzheimer’s,” he interrupts.
“Oh,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
“Dad’s got the money,” he says, “so he hired a home health worker to take care of mom, but she needs more than that. When I’m not there, I just know he’s not giving her the kind of attention that she needs. That’s why I really need to do something in two weeks. Maybe I’ll end up doing an abridged reenactment of Evelyn McHale’s most famous act and end up a laughing stock in the skating world that everyone forgets about after a few hours, but I’ve got to try.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” I tell him. “How does winning the competition, you know, change any of that?”
“There’s a place here in town, it’s kind of like a nursing home, but it’s a day thing. I can’t always be there for her physically, but I’ve gone by the place a few times, and they’re fully staffed with psychiatrists and medical doctors and therapists and counselors and nurses and other people for mom to socialize with,” he says. “They said that keeping an active social life can help prevent the degeneration of memory. I know she’s got Alzheimer’s and nothing’s going to make that magically better, but when I can’t be there with her, it would just be nice to know that she’s got more than a glorified maid watching out for her. Then, whenever I’m back from whatever, I can pick her up and bring her back home, so when she does have a clear moment, she’s not so far away that we can’t make the most out of it. Those moments are getting fewer and farther,” he says. “If there’s anything that might slow the progression, or at least bring her back a little more often—I know it’s a pipe dream, but it’s got to be better than being left in her own little wing of the house with only me and Jackie for her to talk to.”
I look off into the darkness. “I had no idea,” I tell him. “I’m sorry.”
“It is what it is,” he says. “It sucks. It sucks really, really bad, but all I can do about it now is try to make sure that whatever time she has left is as easy and pleasant as possible for her.”
“You didn’t answer my question, though,” I say in a small voice, feeling a little bad about persisting. “How does this competition figure in to all of that? Why not just tell your dad that your mom would be better taken care of if she was—”
“I tried that,” Ian says. “He says he can’t justify the expense. He says that when people say ‘you have to spend money to make money,’ they’re talking about investments. God, sometimes I hate that son of a bitch.”
“Wow,” I say and lean back, my hands on the ground behind me for support.
“Yeah,” he says. “If I can make the money on my own, we’re all good—and it’s not really that much in the grand scheme of things, only mom’s insurance won’t cover it. Apparently, social interaction in a day program like they have at the center is an experimental medical procedure.”
“That’s fucked up,” I say.
He smiles. “You know, it just tickles me to hear you say that word,” he says.
“What word?” I ask.
“Right,” he says. “A sponsorship doesn’t mean I’m a millionaire or that I’m going to start getting royalties from skating games or anything, but it’s the last big step between me and actually being able to give something to my mom that might be really good for her. Maybe it won’t do anything for her condition, maybe it will, but I have to think that she’d be happier spending some time with people who know what she’s dealing with and can help her when she needs help and encourage her when she needs improvement—god! This is so stupid.”
“What’s stupid?” I ask. “I think what you’re doing is very sweet.”
“Yeah, I’ll try not to take that the way it came out,” he says vaguely. “I worked my ass off to get good so I could give her the best chance to get out from under dad’s roof, at least for a little while each day, but as usual I missed that one little thing that’s going to make all the difference.”
For a minute, we just sit and listen to each other breathe.
A bit of a breeze is trying to kick start itself into consistency, but so far it’s only succeeding in infrequent bursts of cooler air.
“Maybe you haven’t missed it,” I tell him and get to my feet. “Come on,” I tell him and start walking down the stairs and in the direction of the vert drop.
“I don’t think I’m really in a headspace where I can—”
“Shh,” I say, only turning around enough so he can see my index finger pressing against my bottom lip. “Come on,” I repeat and I turn back and continue on my way.
After a few more seconds, I hear the sound of his board on the cement and he’s quickly at my side.
I climb up the metal rungs of the ladder that’s never seemed to be quite to code—if there is a code applicable to skate parks, that is—and wait for Ian at the top of the wall.
He gets to the top and we don’t really look at each other.
“What if you’re right?” he asks. “What if there’s just no chance and all I’m doing is killing my career before it’s started? If there’s any chance, I really think I need to take it, but if I’m just pissing in the wind…” he trails off.
“You said that you never really felt comfortable on your board,” I say, finally looking over at him. “How long have you been skating?”
“A long time,” he says. “Probably since I was like seven, eight, somewhere in there.”
“I mean, when did you start skating seriously?” I ask. “When did it become more than a hobby?”
He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to, either. I think I’m starting to understand now.
“Is she proud of you?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he says. “Lately, she’s been—”
“When she’s lucid,” I interrupt. “Is she proud of you when she knows who you are?”
God, I’m really hoping the answer to this question is “yes,” otherwise, I may have just screwed up in a monumental way.
“Yeah,” he says. “She is.”
“All right,” I tell him. “That’s all you n
eed to have in your head. You’re doing this for her, right? Well, she’s already proud of you.”
“Okay,” he says and looks down at the park below.
He places the tail of the board on the lip like so many times before. I’m expecting something to be different in his approach, although I have no idea what it could possibly be, but everything looks the same as it always has.
He takes his front foot and puts it on the board, and he just stays like that for a few seconds, all of his weight on his back foot. Then, he just goes.
Ian rolls down, makes the curve and rolls out like he’s been doing it for years.
I can actually see the moment when he realizes that he’s actually done it because he jumps off his board, throws his hands in the air and lets out an impressively loud, “Woo!”
I’m climbing down the ladder as quickly as possible, and as soon as my feet hit the ground, I’m running toward him, cheering in my own, much quieter way.
He runs over to me and when we meet, he picks me up in a big embrace and swings me around, my legs flying behind me and I can’t stop laughing.
“You know,” he says, “there’s an exhibition next week. I wasn’t going to go because the street comp is going to be fucking amateur hour and the rest is all vert, but if I can do this, will you go with me, cheer me on while I try to get good at the last possible opportunity?”
“Let’s just focus on one thing at a time,” I tell him, not sure adding to his vert commitments is such a smart idea.
“Yeah,” he says. “Probably wouldn’t be worth it. I mean, it’d be good to practice on an actual, full ramp instead of this thing, but you’re right. It’s probably not where my mind should be.”
He sets his board down and skates back over to the ladder. He climbs it and gets into position. This time, without hesitation, he drops in.
It’s smooth.
This time he stays on his board and rides over to me.
“So,” he says, “are you sure you don’t want to go to the demo with me?”
PART FOUR
Chapter Fourteen
Second Thoughts
Ian
I wake up to a ceiling suspiciously painted a different color than my own.
Mia sighs in her sleep next to me, and I’m content just to lie here for a little while and watch her beautiful body rise and fall with every breath.
It’s been about a week since that night at the skate park, and we haven’t broken up again, yet. Technically, we never said the words, “Let’s get back together,” either, but given the fact that we’re both naked in her bed, in her dad’s house right now, I’d say that’s pretty much where we are.
Mia takes a deep breath and her eyes flutter open.
“Good morning,” I say and kiss her forehead. “Are we still dating?”
“I’ve never liked that term,” she says. “Can’t we just say we’re two people who like each other enough to stay naked a lot?”
I chuckle, saying, “That’s fine by me.”
“Today’s the big day,” I say. “Well, not the big day so much as the public preview of how the big day is likely to go.”
“Yeah,” she moans and turns over onto her front, propping her head up with one of her arms as she looks at me. “Are you stressed about it?” she asks.
“I wouldn’t say I’m stressed so much as I’m terrified,” I answer, “but at least I’ll know whether it’s going to be worth the humiliation to go to the Midwest Competition.”
“You’re still thinking of backing out of it?” she asks.
“Not really,” I tell her. “I think just knowing that I can drop in is enough, you know. Once I actually did it, I don’t even know what the problem was.”
“You’d convinced yourself you couldn’t do it,” she says. “I just helped convince you otherwise.”
“You’re really going to take credit for everything on this one, aren’t you?” I ask.
She purses her lips and looks up, saying, “Yeah, I think I’ve pretty well earned it. After all, I’m the one that got you to stop trying to kill the concrete with your face.”
“That’s good,” I snicker, “that’s a good one, really. I’m sure it had nothing to do with the hours I spent on top of that stupid wall going in time after time, knowing there was a good possibility that I’d end up scraped, bruised, bloody or all of the above. It was all you.”
“I’m glad you’re finally coming to realize that,” she says and grins wide as she lifts herself to her hands and knees and kisses my mouth.
“Are you still giving me a ride to the demo?” I ask between kisses.
“I was thinking about giving you a ride before the demo,” she answers, smiling and kissing me again.
I brush her hair behind her ear in my habitual way, and I’m just hoping I can still skate after she’s through with me. Ever since we went from off to on to off to on again, she’s been particularly enthusiastic when it comes to the bedroom.
“Are we going to have time?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “Exhibition doesn’t start until four, and it’s not that far away. I think if we leave by three, we should be there in plenty of time.”
“That doesn’t give you a lot of warm up, though,” she says. “Are you good with the course?”
“Never ridden it,” I tell her.
She’s out of bed and looking for her clothes, and it must be stopped.
“I’ve got the layout in my head,” I tell her. “I never show up early. When I saw you at the competition last time, I’d just gotten there. To be honest, I’m kind of surprised they still let me ride.”
“Wait, you missed a round and still won?” I ask.
“You were there, you didn’t notice?” he asks.
It helps that they dropped the lowest and highest scores in that particular competition, but I’m happy just letting her think I am a god of the board.
Of course, she knows better.
“Still,” she says, “we should at least make sure we have time to get in and everything. Come on,” she says, tossing me my pants. “Let’s get going.”
“It’s just a demo,” I tell her. “The only reason they even have judges is because the guy who organizes it likes to know who to tap for promo shots for the next event. I’m telling you, I never show up early. If I don’t get there just in time to skate, I start getting into my head and that’s when I start to have problems. Trust me, coming back to bed with that sexy naked body of yours is actually going to help.”
She puts her palm to her forehead and shakes her head. “I’m dating a thirteen-year-old,” she groans.
I lift the covers and act like I’m checking the size of my cock before looking back at her, saying, “Nope. I’d say I’m pretty full grown.”
“I’m talking about your brain,” she smirks, “not your dick.”
“All right,” I tell her. “If you’re not into it, you’re not into it.”
I get out of bed, naked, and I decide to milk the situation a little by stretching really big, letting my morning wood stick out even more prominently than it already was.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“What?” I ask. “I’m just stretching.”
“Yeah, you’ve been stretching for a little while there, big guy,” she says.
I look down and then over at her, a big smile coming over my face. “Hey, thanks for noticing.”
“Oh god,” she says with a laugh. “Put that thing away. If you don’t want to get to the demo early, the least we can do is head to the skate park so you can get warmed up.”
“Nope,” he says, “gotta go in cold. I mean, I stretch and everything beforehand, but yeah, my feet don’t touch the board until I’m taking my first run.”
She’s going through her drawers looking for clothes, but she stops. “You really have it all in your head?” she asks.
“I don’t have a photographic memory or anything,” I tell her, “but I have a good idea about what’s there and
where it is. I don’t like to confront the finer details before that first run. That’s how I keep an edge in street competitions. I practice some things more than others, so I have quick go-tos when it comes time to take a run, but I never have anything set in stone. It keeps me on my feet and makes it a lot harder for me to be boring.”
“That’s pretty impressive,” she says. “I’m still pretty well convinced that you’re full of shit and you’re just trying to sneak in another tumble before we have to go, but still.”
“All right,” I say, bending down to grab my shirt off the floor. I put it on, my slowly fading erection still the most noticeable part of my general appearance. “Tumble?” I ask with a chuckle. “I love when you talk dirty to me.” I take a few steps toward Mia’s window and try to see the driveway, but my view is blocked. “Your dad’s still gone, right?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says. “He should be.”
“Well, that’s a shame,” I tell her and finally grab my pants off of the bed where I left them. I’ve even got them buttoned and zipped when Mia comes over and kisses me on the lips again, resting her arms on my shoulders.
At first, it feels like a, “Sorry, bud, it ain’t gonna happen,” thing, but her hands are moving to the top of my pants and she’s unzipping my zipper.
“What ya doin’?” I ask as she reaches through the gap in the front of my pants and persuades my member through it.
She’s gripping me with a firm, but comfortable touch and her cheeks are a little red.
“You forgot something,” she says, and while her statement is more a non-sequitur than anything, I bend down and kiss her again as her hand starts to stroke my growing shaft.
She puts her free hand around my neck and kisses me back, her tongue and mine massaging one another as we breathe each other in.
I start to pull my shirt back off, but she pulls her head away and whispers, “Uh-uh. Leave it on. We’ve got to be quick. We’ve got things to do.”