Skaterboy

Chapter 1-1

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.