Skaterboy

Skaterboy By J.M. Snyder At 5:00 in the morning, the alarm clock goes off. In his sleep, CJ is dreaming that he’s back in high school, outside by the band room door where he and his pals used to sneak smokes and flip their skateboards up onto the curb before class. He hears the alarm and in his dream it’s the first bell, calling them in. But it’s his turn with the board and he wants to show off a new trick he’s never done before—it’s his dream, he knows he can do it. He gets on the board and skates for the curb even as the other boys start to head inside, Kace and Johnny, kids he hasn’t seen in years. They haven’t aged a bit. “Wait,” he calls out, pushing off the ground harder to pick up speed. “Watch this, you guys. Look!” At the curb he jumps. The board comes with him like it’s stuck to his feet. A twist of his ankle spins it, just as he hoped, once, twice, three times before it hits the concrete. Yes— One of the wheels catches the curb at a bad angle and the board skitters out from beneath him. CJ goes down hard on one knee as pain shoots up his thigh like paintballs smacking him, hard and fast. A strong band tightens around his chest, he’s getting too old for this s**t, barely even twenty and he’s already lost his touch. Somewhere far away, the alarm rings and rings and he’s late, he’s going to be late for class, his knee… He groans as he starts to wake, groggy. His knee hurts, did he fall? No, his leg’s just wedged beneath his lover’s body. A heavy arm drapes over him, tying him down. The alarm is blaring like crazy and he tries to sit up. “Rich—” Beside him, Richard sighs. “Go back to bed,” he mutters. He’s not a morning person. Neither is CJ, which is why he doesn’t argue. Instead, he flops back to his pillow, pulling the blankets in to ward off the chill. Richard stumbles from the bed and CJ scoots into the warmth he leaves behind. Buried in the sheets, he hears his lover cross the room to the dresser where the clock is and after a few more seconds of bleating, the time it takes Richard to find the OFF switch, the alarm is silenced. The bedroom door creaks open and CJ hears heavy feet in the hall, on the stairs. In the quiet darkness, he listens for the shower—and there it is, the rush of water in the pipes lulling him back to sleep. Then he’s outside the high school again, flipping the board despite the lingering ache in his knee. A half hour later and he’s out. Like a light, Richard would say. CJ doesn’t hear his lover come back upstairs to dress. He doesn’t smell the coffee in Richard’s mug, doesn’t hear the rustle of suits in the closet or the soft rumble of drawers as his lover gets ready for work. He doesn’t feel the bed shift when Richard sits down, or the hand that moves the blanket away from his face, or the lips that press to his forehead in a tender kiss. “Love you,” Richard whispers. In his mind, CJ dreams that he tells Richard he loves him too, and wouldn’t it be great if they meet for lunch somewhere, his choice? But the words never make it past his lips and he doesn’t wake up. With another kiss, Richard leaves.