Riding With Brighton(17)
Jesus. Yes, I’ve noticed that. I’m not compatible with anyone I’ve kissed, and I’m pretty sure it’s because they’ve all been girls. “Yeah. I’ve never thought about it, but you’re right.”
I’ve been paying absolutely zero attention to the road, so when the truck stops and we’re at the river, I wonder how the hell we got here. “What’s this?”
“Our booth, I guess.” He grabs the takeout bag and opens his door. I get out and follow him down to the shore. “I love this place,” he says, plopping down on the sand and pulling out the Styrofoam containers that hold our sandwiches and fries.
Lounging beside him, I stare at the familiar water in front of me. “I love it here too.”
“Did you used to live in town?”
“In the country, actually.” After taking out half my patty melt, I chew off the corner. “Holy shit, this is amazing.”
“Told you.” Half of Brighton’s sandwich is already obliterated. “I can see that… you as a country boy.”
I smile at that thought. I’ve never been comfortable living in Folsom Hills. It’s a gated community ten miles out of town that has its own personal atmosphere that my lungs have never adjusted to. I miss the country. “That land over there”—I point to the other side of the river—“that was part of our property. I used to spend a huge chunk of my life on this river.”
I can feel Brighton staring at me, but I can’t look at him. It feels like I have the hormones of a pubescent girl today, and I can seriously feel tears pricking at the back of my eyes.
“So how the hell did you end up where you are now?”
I shrug and take another bite of my sandwich before answering. “Dad sold our twenty acres to developers and used the money to buy our house. I don’t know what he was thinking. What we had was so much better than what we have.” I remember Brighton’s earlier comment about the T-shirt, and before he has a chance to respond, I add, “I know what you’re thinking: I’m a spoiled rich boy who doesn’t appreciate what I have.”
“No, not at all. That would suck going from that”—he gestures across the river—“all that space and freedom and land, to the suburbs. I mean, this is heaven. No matter how nice your house is, anything less than wide open air is a downgrade, if you ask me.”
I smile at that. He gets it. No one else does. “Exactly.”
“Well, the good news is that it’s not gone forever. You can come here whenever you want and breathe the same air that you grew up breathing.”
“Yeah. I should do that. I haven’t been back here since we moved.”
He’s quiet. I can see him slowly nodding in my peripheral vision. “Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know…. I guess it never occurred to me. And I mean, what would be the point? All it would do is piss me off.”
“Is that what being here now is doing? Pissing you off?”
I close my eyes, breath in the air, and soak in the moment. “No. Not at all. It feels damn good actually.”
When I open my eyes, Brighton is lying back on the sand, his hands propped behind his head, his eyes closed to the sun. I let myself stare at him. Mostly I’m staring at the thick red lips he kissed Josie with. I always thought the best part of his face was his light green eyes, that I now know he got from Max, and the way they contrast with his dark lashes, eyebrows, and hair and the golden color of his skin that came from Mickey. But damn, he’s got nice lips.
“I get that,” he says, and I have no idea what he’s talking about. I’m afraid he’s gonna open his eyes and see me ogling him, so I lie down and close my eyes and wait for him to go on.
“When I was in fourth grade, I bit it on my skateboard and split my chin wide open. Had to go to the hospital and get stitches. After that I was afraid of anything with wheels. It was a shit beginning of the summer. I would watch my friends on their bikes and boards, and all I could do was think about how bad it hurt when I fell and how scary that hospital was and worry they were gonna hurt themselves.
“Then one day my dad had had enough. He decked me out with every piece of protective equipment he could get his hands on. I was like a little robot once he was done with me.” He pauses to laugh again, and I smile, picturing him as a little kid, stiff with plastic covering his body. “Riding with all that shit on made it a hundred times harder, and my friends laughed at me, but I did it. I got back on my board and faced my fears, and it was like I had my own personal sunshine the rest of that summer.
“The gear came off, and I spent hours on that board because I appreciated it so much more after not having it. I rode every day until the snow started falling and even then, I would practice my tricks in the garage. That was the year I joined 3rd Lair, and those were some of the best times of my life.”
“So the river is my skateboard and you’re my padding?”
He laughs. “Maybe.”
“Maybe I was afraid. And you’re right: it’s better than I remember.” After a few moments of silence, I ask him, “You still skate competitively?”
“No. Just for fun.”
“Why’d you quit?”
“I don’t know. I was winning all the competitions in my age division, and I just figured there was nowhere else to go with it. I wanted to spend my time getting good at something else, learning about something new.”