by Otis Hanby
“I don’t know, man.”
“It’ll be cool,” Greg says.
“Alright.” I get out.
Greg jumps in the front seat as I walk to the back of Rodney’s car. I think the only reason I’m doing it is because I trust Greg. I get into the trunk and pull it closed. I feel the car move forward. A few minutes later, the vehicle comes to a stop, and I hear the engine turn off.
“Hey, Erica!” I hear Rodney yell from the car. She must have been smoking on the steps.
Another few moments pass and I hear Erica’s muffled voice.
“Hey guys what’s up?” she asks.
“Hey, how’s it going?” Rodney says.
“Good. What are you guys up too?”
“Some of the guys are meeting up, and we’re going to skate Downtown Dallas.”
“That sounds cool.”
“Corey couldn’t come with us,” Rodney says subtly. “Sorry, he’s not here to see you.”
“Ah, that’s okay,” Erica says.
My heart sinks. What does she mean it’s okay? It doesn’t make sense that she’s not even the least bit upset that I’m not there to see her. I hear the trunk pop open, but I just lie there, unsure about the whole situation.
“Corey’s in the trunk,” I hear Rodney tell her.
About ten seconds pass.
“You can get out now,” Rodney yells.
I push the trunk open and climb out. I feel stupid for getting in there in the first place. I shut the trunk and see Erica standing at the driver’s side window looking over at me with a disappointed look on her face.
“Have you made it a habit of riding in the trunk?” Erica asks.
“I was just trying to surprise you,” I say, feeling even more stupid.
“Well it did surprise me, but my mom’s coming home soon, so you guys are going to have to leave.”
“Sorry for dropping in like this,” I say, regretting doing it.
“No big deal but I told you I couldn’t have company today.”
“Yeah, I know. We’re out of here. Call me later if you can.” I hug her. She hugs back, but weakly. I know a good hug from a bad one, but I don’t say anything. I just let it be.
“Bye,” I say, getting into the car.
Greg’s already climbed into the back seat. I look over at Erica and see that she’s walking away, not looking back at me.
“I told you it was a bad idea coming over here,” I say to Rodney, wishing he’d listened to me.
“What do you mean it was a bad idea?” Rodney asks.
“Never mind.”
He obviously didn’t see what just took place. Or maybe he did, and he’s playing dumb. I feel really low. It seems like something is missing between Erica and me. I’ve been feeling a distance between us, and it’s definitely more pronounced now. Does she still care? I wonder what’s going through her mind. I notice the darkness swelling up in me again.
Where is this coming from? What is causing this?
There’s something more to it that I can’t figure out. Trying to find the source feels futile because I don’t even know where to begin. My mind feels crippled. I hope that whatever it is will run its course and I’ll be free. I suppress the feeling and try to focus on the day ahead.
We arrive at the top of the tennis courts. Seth, Chad, and Tyler are all skating. Seth is definitely the best skater in the group. I wonder why he’s never tried to get sponsored by a skateboarding company as I watch him do technical tricks.
“Let me see your board,” Seth tells Chad.
Chad hands Seth his skateboard. Seth puts the skateboard down on the ground, places one foot on it, and then pushes it away as hard as he can. The skateboard goes rolling away fast across the tennis court and down the grass hill.
“Dick,” Chad says and runs after his board.
Seth starts laughing. It was a dick move, but still—it’s kind of funny.
“Let’s go, homos,” Seth says, kicking his skateboard on the tail and catching it in his hand.
“We’ll follow you,” Rodney tells him.
Even Rodney has respect for Seth because of his superior skating ability.
The drive to downtown Dallas is a short trip after leaving the tennis court. Seth leads the caravan to a parking garage, followed by Rodney, then Chad. We park in the open on the top floor and hang out on the seventh-floor platform and watch traffic and people going about their day.
“Come on guys. The last one to the bottom buys everybody a coke,” Seth says, jumping on his skateboard and heading down into the garage.
We all jump on our skateboards and begin racing to the bottom. I enter the garage behind Chad, and our speed is building. Seth is in the lead. Greg’s behind him, then Rodney, Chad, myself, and Tyler. There aren’t that many cars in the garage on the weekend, so I hope the risk is minimal that we’ll encounter a moving vehicle. The parked cars go by in a blur. We make it to the sixth floor, and my skateboard begins wobbling from the speed. The sound of our wheels fills the hollow sounding garage. On the fifth floor, Seth ollies a construction barrier and lands on the other side with no problem. Greg ollies the barrier, too, but turns 180 degrees midair and lands the trick. The rest of us pass by the obstacle knowing we might crash. I feel good about just staying on my board as fast as we’re going, especially on the slick pavement.
We’ve just gotten to the fourth floor when we hear tires squealing somewhere. It gets everyone’s attention, but there’s no way of slowing down without bailing. We round the corner to the third-floor ramp, and the car comes into view as it’s just clearing the ramp. We split to either side of the vehicle. Seth, Greg, and Chad go to the left while Rodney, Tyler, and I go to the right. There’s no time for the vehicle to react. Seth, Greg, and Chad disappear from view as we pass the other side of the car. With extreme concentration, I thread in between the car and curb with only inches to spare. It seems like an eternity trying to get to the other side. The fit is so tight, and we’re moving so fast that I expect someone to wreck. As I’m clearing the car, I slap the rear fender for victory. A moment later, Rodney and Tyler clear the vehicle. I see Seth, Greg, and Chad reappear as the car squeal to a stop and someone from inside yells something inaudible to us. My heart is pounding with adrenaline, but it isn’t over because we still have three floors to go.
The next two floors go by quickly. We round the corner of the last, and a security guard is right in front of us. Seth passes the security guard’s golf cart and slaps the side of it, which pisses the guy off.
“Hey!” he yells.
Greg slaps the side of the golf cart, too. Then Chad, Rodney, me, and Tyler each do the same. He’s so wound up that when he tries to follow us, the golf cart only jumps forward a few times. That makes him madder. I look back as we reach the street outside and he’s out of the cart yelling something. We’re all laughing as we speed away.
We head to a parking lot by a bank next, and there’s this big handrail going down about ten steps. Seth skates towards it and ollies onto it, slides down the rail, and lands perfectly.
“Yeah!” we all yell.
Next thing I know Greg does the same thing. He lands perfectly at the bottom, too. I decide to try it. I ollie up the rail, but as soon as I land on it, my skateboard slips out from underneath my feet. I land right on my nuts. I slide a couple of feet and fall off the side. I hear everyone yell out in sympathy. I struggle to get up, holding my nuts, not knowing how to ease the pain. Besides how much it hurts, I’m embarrassed. My friends are patiently waiting for me to recover when a security guard comes around the side of the bank.
“Hey! Y’all can’t skateboard here. Come over here,” the security guard calls as he walks toward us.
“Fuck you, fat ass,” Seth yells back as he jumps on his skateboard.
The others hop on their skateboards too and start skating away. I’m still doubled over.
“You! Come here, you little punk,” the security guard is yelling at me.
I get o
n my skateboard and skate away as fast as I can. My crotch is hurting so bad. Every time I push off, pain shoots through my groin, but it’s better than getting snatched up by the cops. We get further and further away from the security guard, but we can still see him waving his arms and yelling.
There’s a bum lying across the sidewalk and Seth ollies over him. One by one, we all ollie over the bum too. Seth leads us to a convenient store. I don’t have any money on me, as usual, and sit on my skateboard against the wall. I feel bummed out that my parents never give me money for instances like this. I think about going in and stealing a pack of smokes like I usually do when I need one, but then I decide against it. Everyone else heads inside.
“Aren’t you coming in?” Greg asks.
“No, I’ll just wait here,” I say.
Greg walks in the store. I sit there for a couple of minutes, and Seth walks out with a carton of Jungle Juice. I look up at him. He opens it and gulps it down.
“Mm, sure is good. Man, I was thirsty,” he says sarcastically.
Everyone else comes out, and Greg hands me a Dr. Pepper.
“Thanks, man,” I say, grateful to have something to drink.
We finish our drinks quickly and begin skating again. Everywhere we go we get harassed and chased off. This goes on until about 3:00, and we decide to head back to Garland. As we drive out of Dallas, it feels much later than it is. My stomach is growling, and I’m hoping Rodney will just take me home. Cigarettes and soda are not a life-sustaining diet. As Rodney drives, my mind wanders. I think about Erica for the first time since this morning. I don’t know how I’ve been able to keep her off my mind all day. I’m sure it’s partly because downtown is not a place to be caught day-dreaming because if you’re not on your guard, you become susceptible to the dangers of the city.
Then like a sucker-punch, the darkness hits me. I look out the window at the skyline, feeling lonely. Then I look over at Rodney, and he seems to be in his own world. I don’t feel like talking anyway. I stare out the window as the darkness grows stronger. I feel as if my soul is being gnawed at by some unseen force. I close my eyes and try to lose the feeling, but a sadness I’ve never felt before pushes against my ribs. I don’t know the source of this grief. As my eyes close, I feel a tear welling up in the corner of my eye. I never cry about anything, and here I am about to cry about nothing at all. I’m worried Rodney might see me and I fight back the tears. Every breath I take feels shallow like I can’t get enough air. My throat is tightening, my nose is running, and I keep fighting the darkness, but I feel that I am losing.
“Hey. Corey. Light me a cigarette, man,” Rodney says. His voice jars me from my thoughts.
I look over at him, thinking he knows what’s going through my mind, but he’s just watching the road. If he does notice something, he’s not showing it. I pull out my cigarettes and light two. I hand him one, and he takes it without looking at me. The dark feeling fades just a little. I tell myself to keep it inside. I know no one will understand what I’m feeling. Talking about it is out of the question. No one really gives a shit, not really. People say they do, but I think it’s more about them being morbidly curious of other people’s tragedies. There’s only one person I almost feel comfortable exposing my soul to and I can’t bring myself to share this with her. As much as I want to, I’m not convinced that this is something Erica could or would want to deal with. I know how to communicate affection to her, but that’s about it, and lately, her openness to my affection is inconsistent at best. I throw my cigarette butt out the window and continue to watch the landscape blur by.
Chapter Eleven
The weekend is over. The darkness in me grows into a knot in my chest and becomes more than an annoyance. I’m almost surprised that no one can see it on me because it feels like a stain. I wake up Monday morning feeling heavy. My body doesn’t want to get out of bed. After my dad’s repeated attempts to wake me up, I know that he won’t tolerate me lingering much longer, so I force myself to get up and dress. As I wait for Brigette and her mom, I sit on the front porch, smoking a cigarette, not minding the cold, wet air. My face feels numb, and I’m kind of enjoying it.
I stare at the house across the street. There’s a kid a little older than me who lives there. I’ve only seen him a couple of times coming or going, but I know he at least used to skate. I remember I was skating and doing tricks off a launch ramp in front of my house once when I saw the kid walking home. He was wearing swimming trunks and had a towel slung over his shoulder. I was willing to bet he was coming from the water park where I met Byron that summer. He approached me and asked to see my skateboard. He rode up the three-foot ramp, launched himself high into the air, and rotated 360 degrees before landing perfectly on the pavement. He said thanks, handed me my skateboard and walked into his house. I wasn’t impressed by the trick so much as how did it so casually. He remains a mystery to me this day because I never see him coming or going anymore. I finish off my cigarette as Brigette, and her mom pulls up to my driveway.
I get to school early and thank Brigette’s mom for the ride as she pulls off. Brigette heads inside, and I walk out to the parking lot to look for Rodney. He’s parking his car when I spot him. I’m in no hurry, but I quicken my pace out of habit that Rodney is feeling impatient with me. I don’t know why this has become his power over me.
Rodney nods his head at me in his usual greeting and shuts his car door. We walk to the bushes to smoke while we wait for Leann, Marcy, and Erica.
A few minutes have passed when I hear the familiar chatter of the girls. Leann and Marcy seem to be in good spirits as they come into sight. Erica also seems cheerful until she makes eye contact with me. Her smile quickly fades. She tries to cover her reaction by saying hi. Her eyes betray her, though. Something’s off.
“Hey,” I say, trying to sound as if nothing’s wrong. I hug Erica, and her body is tense, colder than the gray morning. I pull away and look over at Leann and Marcy. They, too, suddenly have a different air about them. I look at Rodney to see if he knows whatever secret the girls are keeping, but he looks the same as he did before they arrived. The others make small talk, but I’m quiet—intent on making sense of whatever’s going on. I look at Erica, hoping to get her attention, but she’s focused on the conversation and seems intent on not engaging with me. I walk away and leave them to their conversation. No one calls after me, so I continue to the school. I pause and look up at the overcast sky. The bell rings, and Rodney and the girls catch up with me. We walk in together, but I feel indifferent. The tight bond I’ve always felt before isn’t there. I want to hold Erica’s hand, but I know she’d only take it with reluctance. As we enter the school, Erica looks sheepishly at me and says bye, barely audible. My heart is torn in pieces, seeing her walk away. It feels like we’re already a thousand miles apart.
“Later,” Rodney says, hitting me lightly on the arm.
“Later,” I say and watch him walk away.
***
The day drags, and I can’t keep my mind off of Erica. I try to think of any reason she might be acting so distant. It’s close to midday, and I see Rodney waiting on me outside of the gym.
“What’s up?” he asks.
“Not much,” I reply, not wanting to reveal my true feelings.
“No, I mean what’s up with you? There’s something different about you.”
It surprises me that Rodney’s noticed that something’s up. I can’t believe or don’t want to consider, that he would actually care how I feel. Rodney is so hard to read and usually looks generally annoyed. Most of the time I think I’m the root cause of his annoyance. Torn between thinking he might actually care, and being afraid that it’s nothing more than curiosity on his part, I push deeper into myself.
“It’s nothing,” I say, hoping to discourage him from asking again.
“Whatever,” he says, the concern leaving his face.
We walk across the south end of the basketball court. As we enter the locker room, we see a la
rge black kid pinning a fat white kid against the lockers.
“What are you gonna do about it, fat boy?” the black kid says, poking his finger into the kid’s chest.
“Leave me alone!” the fat kid says with tear-soaked cheeks.
The other kids look on, anticipating a fight. It’s a one-sided affair, and I begin to get angry about it.
“Your fat ass ain’t gonna do shit!” the black kid says, grabbing a handful of the other kid’s shirt.
I’m enraged. I don’t know what’s coming over me. I usually don’t fight other people’s battles but what’s taking place here is wrong. Someone has to do something. I’m much smaller and skinnier than the black kid, but that doesn’t matter.
“Hey! Get your fucking hands off him!” I shout. Time freezes for a second as I watch the back of the black kid’s head turn in my direction as if he’s trying to decide if he heard me right. Still not looking at me but pushing his ear in my direction, he says, “What the fuck did you just say?”
“You heard me, you fucking nigger! Get your nasty black hands off of him,” I say more sharply. I don’t know why I resorted to the most inflammatory word I know. I want him to know that I’m serious; I want my words to inflict pain. He lets go of the fat kid and turns to face me. He looks sinister.
“You must be crazy, white boy!”
“You got some nerve picking on a kid weaker than you,” I say, standing my ground.
The black kid rushes up in my face and pushes his chest out trying to intimidate me. I stand fast, looking straight into his mean eyes.
“Back your ass up!” I say while pushing him back.
“What?” he says. Again, he puts his chest against me.
Now the kids are circling us, leaving just a little space for us to fight. He keeps staring at me, breathing hard. I grow tired of waiting. With all my might, I reel back and punch him in the face. The blow knocks him back. Kids start yelling, and the fight is on. The black kid quickly recovers from the punch and puts his hands up, ready to box. My adrenaline begins flowing and time seems to slow down. I hit him in the face again. I wait for him to hit me, but he just stands there in his boxer’s stance. I hit him again, again, and again. Blood is flowing from his lip. He finally takes a swing at me, but I deflect it with my left arm and hit him again with my right. He grabs me around the head, trying to get me into a headlock.
