July 21st, 2005

(no subject)

Sidewalk Snowboarder.

I'd been feeling frustrated with skateboarding. I'd fucked up my arm in numerous places, and I had neglected the proper care procedures and was therefore still hurting a week later. During that week I'd had to give up skateboarding and I had craved it. I could feel my heart sinking and my longing for the feeling every time someone cruised by me on their skateboard, enjoying the one thing I desired the most. When I got to get on that longboard again, I felt incredible. I felt ecstasy. I felt like I was getting laid for the first time in years after a long period of abstainence and loneliness and masterbation. Ten minutes into the ride, as a beginner is allowed to do from time to time, I lost my ballance and hopped off the board to avoid falling and injuring myself further. The moment my right leg hit the ground, I realized I'd hurt myself in about a dozen more places than I had thought.

The following week, I limped everywhere. I could barely walk and I most definitely couldn't run, but I still skateboarded. I skateboarded despite all my friends telling me I shouldn't. I skateboarded against the angel conscience in my head that told me I shouldn't do it if I was in as much pain as I was. But I couldn't stop. I loved it too much to go another week watching everyone else fly by me on the sidewalk. And as I kept skateboarding, I kept noticing more and more pain. I couldn't push off very well so I maintained a slow speed which didn't seem quite fulfilling enough. I was skateboarding, riding the streets like I had found the love of my life, but it wasn't sufficient. I couldn't do the things I wanted to do without hurting. I wanted more drugs. I wanted an excuse to hurt the way I did without having to give up what I loved learning. I ignored all twitches of pain, all recommendations that I lay low at night and not whip the board out, and all lingering knowledge of how badly I was just fucking myself up. I didn't care. I loved to skate.

And today it had been raining over the top of my head like a burden I just couldn't get rid of. Should I skateboard to school? I want to, but I know it'll hurt. I want to, because it's good excersise, but I know I'll have to go slow, and I always get nervous on McAllister and don't ride as much of the distance as can be ridden. I want to, but I got a fuckin' T-square sticking out of my backpack and an 18x24" pad of floppy Newsprint paper to carry with me. I want to, but I really shouldn't. So given the circumstances, I hopped on my board and cruised down Stynner towards the bus stop. Accidentally, I made a turn on Golden Gate when I noticed that the 5 didn't stop at my current location. My misconception of the streets lead me into the greatest ride to school I've experienced to date. I cruised down Golden Gate St. to the inspirational sounds of the music my dying batteries were just barely fueling. The street had such a perfect decline that I didn't have to push off that much and I could just sway on the board a little bit to gain momentum. I was riding with the traffic, stopping at red lights and going at green, only to meet up with the same car at the next intersection. I was swaying from side to side like I was barrelling down a mountain; like I had ridden this road a million times before. I was giving directions to lost drivers, rocking out to drivers with their radios cranked, and conversing with drivers that were intrigued by the longboard I was riding so elegantly; you get a lot of comments from strangers when you carry a longboard. I had scissors and a glue stick stored in my back pocket, my trusty T-square poking a foot from my bag, and a board of Newsprint paper the size of a sidewalk tile wedged into my armpit and supported by my bad arm.

I was surfing on sidewalk; snowboarding on asphalt. I felt so unafraid finally. I wasn't worried about losing my balance and landing on my bad leg, altering the pain and causing a brand new twinge. The road was a mountain back home right after a Noreaster; its powder was thick and white and glittery. It had never been touched by another track, never been tampered with by man. The untouched channel was calling for me from the very peak of that mountain for me to come and ride it. It was mine. I wasn't so scared this time of my angel conscience reprimanding me for so irresponsibly hopping on the skateboard in the first place after I'd wiped out and broken something else. Instead of feeling like everything on the road was against me, for the first time I felt like everything was working with me. I didn't fear the placement of people or cars. I worked in the road so I didn't fear curbs or bumps. The city was on my side.