The Bubble Wrap Boy (8 page)

I
lived at the ramp after that. Sprinted there after school and on weekends, made my deliveries in the quickest time possible. Anything to grab even five minutes pulling the tricks I'd been trying to master. I was able to get the bike tire fixed at our local gas station and was keeping it out of sight while I ran the deliveries on my skateboard, returning the embarrasing contraption to its spot in the shed once I was done. I didn't want my mom finding out it had gone missing.

I had the ollie under control now, sort of, bending my knees deeply before springing both myself and the board skyward. Within a month I was tentatively trying other stuff: shuvits, kickflips, heelflips, tricks I'd seen online but never dreamed that I'd actually attempt. Dan, Stan, and the other kids I'd met were amazing, encouraging me all the time, helping me adjust the way I stood, how far I could balance before falling.

It didn't even matter when I wiped out spectacularly: they did too. Didn't matter that I was the smallest kid in the park by a mile either.

If anything, they thought it helped me.

“Pocket Rocket is Charlie.”

“Low center of gravity. Helps him nail it every time.”

It felt weird to hear their compliments. I didn't really know what to do with them. It wasn't what I was used to.

I listened harder than I ever had in my life, just in case they were meant for someone else. I mean, even Sinus, my only friend, wasn't exactly known for his random acts of kindness, so I felt myself growing every time they puffed me up.

It made a difference outside the skate park too. I didn't feel quite as embarrassed walking into school every day, even though most kids had no idea about my new hobby. I started looking at people's shins instead of at the floor, even managed to speak up for myself when someone stepped on me by my locker.

The only downside was Sinus. He disappeared. I looked for him every break and lunchtime, but he'd gone underground.

And when I
did
track him down, he was quiet, blunted, lacking any kind of sharp comment or dig in my direction. Maybe he was jealous or pissed off at what I'd found. Either way, things had changed with him, and I couldn't seem to do anything about it. I did try, out of guilt at how I'd idly watched the guys at the ramp badmouth him. But when my attempts were met with shrugs and silence, I stopped trying so hard. There was too much fun to be had at the ramp.

Life at home was different too. Mom had thrown herself into a new course, something to do with hot-stone therapy. Sounded more like torture than pleasure to me. Either way, it meant more commitment, more nights at college, and we saw less and less of her.

The weird thing, though, was that she didn't look too happy about it. She was distracted, lines cobwebbing her forehead.

“Are you really
enjoying
this course, Mom?” I asked.

The smile I got back wasn't convincing. “Wonderful,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

“I don't know. It's not like you're bouncing around the place.”

That was true, but there was more to it than that. She hadn't fussed over me in weeks. Not really. Even when I cut my cheek after a really gung-ho session at the park.

She noticed it, of course she did, barging into the bathroom as I cleaned it with cotton balls.

“You all right, Charlie, honey?”

I felt my body tense, brain scrambling as it processed what the right answer could possibly be.

“Yeah, it's nothing. Got a bit rough with one of my pimples, that's all.” I wanted to groan at the lameness of what had come out of my mouth.

Normally that would've been enough to have her furiously searching the web for
facial injuries,
but not today. She didn't pounce on me to inspect the damage. Nor did she try to wrestle me into the recovery position. Instead, her gaze seemed to go right through me, like she was looking at something far more important on the wall behind me.

“You'll do your skin no favors, bursting them like that,” she said with a sigh, before passing me the antiseptic cream from the medicine cabinet.

I should've been relieved, or grateful, or both. But I wasn't. Something was up. Personality transplants didn't take overnight. Not in our house.

So for once, I was the one asking worried questions.

“You, uh, all right, Mom?”

“That's very kind of you to notice, my dear,” she said, and pulled me into a hug. I felt her body shake for a second. “I'm fine. Really. Be even better if you left your poor face alone.” And that was it. She was off again, back on the bus to torture some other poor unsuspecting soul with a handful of pebbles.

“Is she really all right?” I asked Dad, in a lull between customers.

He was as helpful as ever, watching her until she turned the corner at the end of the street. “You know your mom…,” he said, and he shuffled back to the kitchen sheepishly.

I chewed it over as I sat behind the counter, bagging up prawn crackers, feeling torn. Should I be concerned, or would that make me just as anxious as her? I squashed the urge in favor of a mild celebration. If this new approach gave me room to breathe, then it might give me more room to skate too….Maybe it was all good after all.

With Mom elsewhere, mentally and otherwise, I took full advantage. Pounding the pavements on the skateboard, deliveries flying in quicker and quicker, the tips piling up in the cash box under my bed.

All the time, though, I could only think of one thing: the half-pipe. The ramp. The gargantuan beast that I desperately wanted to tame. I knew that if I could conquer that, then the respect of the others would be complete and I'd never be the king of clumsy again. The thought of it made my palms sweat.

How did I start practicing on it in front of the others? I mean, they always said it didn't matter if you fell, but there were so many bodies on the ramp at one time….What would happen if I wiped everyone out? A multiboard pileup. My head raced with images of frantic emergency crews dashing to untangle a dozen pairs of arms, legs, and boards. Paranoia filled my head. It wasn't a good place to be.

I tried going down to the ramp after dark, when it was quiet. It was a real risk: Mom's timetable was unpredictable, so if I found her on the front counter I had to spin a line about homework at Sinus's. The lie stunk so bad I expected to leave surrounded by eager flies.

Still, she bought it, but only just, because she wasn't keen on Sinus or any of his family. I think she worried that I'd trip over one of their huge body parts and end up in the hospital.

Turned out my idea was a dud, anyway. The lights in the park were way too dim to penetrate the blackness surrounding the ramp, and without a decent set of floodlights, there was no way I was going to learn. Not without ending up attached to an IV drip.

It started to bother me, to play on my mind more than it should have. I was sketching ramps when I should've been embracing trigonometry. Teachers noticed, and threats were made about letters to parents. It was bumming me out.

In the end I turned to my new friends, Dan and Stan, for help.

I saw them at school a lot, stood on the edges of their conversations, laughed when they did, nodded at what they said, but we didn't really talk much unless we were at the park. Which was fine, you know; they were older. Permission to breathe their air at school was acceptance enough for me.

They laughed when I told them I was nervous about the ramp.

“Dude! Of course you're scared of it. That's the whole point. Without the fear there wouldn't be the buzz.” Dan was wide-eyed as he spoke, like he'd slurped a dozen Red Bulls through a straw in thirty seconds.

Stan was equally animated.

“Exactly. If you don't respect the ramp, it'll eat you up. There's nothing to worry about—you've got the best teachers in the whole park right here. We'll show you the ropes.”

I grabbed my board impatiently, pumped up by their words.

“Whoa, whoa, big man,” gasped Dan. “Not now. It's way too busy in there. Sunday morning. It'll be quieter, less crazy. Less chance of maiming yourself.”

And with a nod and another handshake that moved so fast their fingers blurred, they launched themselves onto their boards, leaving me to count down the seconds to Sunday.

S
unday finally arrived. It wheezed toward me asthmatically, refusing point-blank to take a hit on its inhaler, compounding my paranoia and fraying my nerves still further.

I'd focused on nothing but dropping off the top of the ramp for the first time. It occupied my every thought, awake or asleep.

As I brushed my teeth impatiently on Sunday morning, I stared into the mirror and cringed at the bags that hung beneath my eyes. I knew no one could look more tired than me. Until I saw Mom.

She was slumped at the kitchen table, every inch of her sagging as she clung to a steaming cup of coffee. I asked her if she was okay, but it took three attempts for her to even hear me.

“Hard week at college?” I asked again, wondering if I should try sign language instead.

She tried to smile, but failed. “No, no. Lots of fun. I think I'm getting the hang of it now.”

She wasn't herself. In fact, she wasn't my mom at all. Some kind of personality abduction had occurred. I felt like I should check the backyard for signs of a UFO. There had to be some explanation for what was going on.

She looked so different. Like someone had slapped twenty years on her by scrunching up her face like an old piece of paper. She rubbed self-consciously at her cheeks, the wrinkles fading momentarily before creasing again.

It freaked me out, of course it did, because Mom never, ever looked defeated by anything.
Defeat
wasn't in her vocabulary.

If anything or anyone had the audacity to challenge her or try to prove her wrong, she'd fight back, nails exposed and voice raised if necessary. She might have been a monumental pain in the nether regions, but at least she had energy and enthusiasm. She wouldn't have endlessly gone to night school for the past eight years without it.

So what had happened? I had to ask.

“Are you
sure
you're all right, Mom?”

She managed to raise her eyes to mine, and they twinkled with affection for a nanosecond before fizzling out.

“That's very nice of you to ask, Charlie. And I am. I'm just a bit tired, that's all.”

“Why don't you go back to bed, then? I'll bring your cup up for you if you like?”

I felt bad suggesting it, and there was no way she'd accept, but it'd be easier to sneak out if she was back under her comforter. Easier on my guilt levels too, if I didn't have to lie to get out the door.

“Maybe I will. Another half an hour wouldn't do any harm, right?”

“Absolutely.” I nodded, though her answer made me want to probe further, dig into what on earth was going on.

We sat in silence for a minute. She looked like she might drown in her coffee cup if I abandoned her.

“Go on, then,” I whispered encouragingly in her ear. “Get yourself back to bed.”

I ushered her to the stairs, passing the cup into her hands as she climbed.

“I'm going out for a bit now. Be back for lunch.”

I braced myself for the inevitable question
Where to?
but it didn't come. Instead, she simply said, “Okay,” and closed the bedroom door behind her.

I frowned. It shouldn't have been so easy. There were no questions, no curfew, not even a searching look into my guilt-ridden eyes.

Puzzled, I considered abandoning all plans, until anticipation started to bite again at my gut.

Shaking all other thoughts out of my head, I pulled on my sneakers without unlacing them and eased the front door shut.

As I hit the street, I glanced backward once, to Mom's bedroom window, my heart leaping when I saw her figure filling the pane.

Is she on to me after all? Lulling me into a false sense of security?

I studied her gaze, my heart settling when I realized she was staring absently into space. She looked so sad that I considered turning back. Fortunately, she shuffled away from the window and my guilt went with her.

Enough of all this. I had to get to the ramp quickly, before I changed my mind.

Dan and Stan were waiting for me, legs dangling from the top of the ramp as they chugged on cans of Red Bull. If bravery was an ingredient, then I'd buy a can or two myself because the park wasn't quiet at all—it was packed.

There were already a dozen kids zipping up and down the half-pipe and at least the same number practicing tricks around the pool. I felt sweat collect beneath my hoodie and tease me by sliding the length of my spine.

My two friends didn't look worried about it, though; they were too excited about seeing me drop in for the first time.

“Savor this day,” said Stan dreamily.

“Everyone remembers their first time,” agreed Dan. “No matter what happens.”

I couldn't quite share their excitement; my guts were threatening to empty themselves at any moment. I made a note of the distance from the ramp to the grim, derelict restroom beyond the railings.

My nerve was failing, but I couldn't let it show. Not now that I'd come this far.

“I think I'll take a little skate around first. Practice my ollie, get in the zone.”

“Do it,” they agreed, watching as I zipped around the old kiddie pool area, confidence spreading through me as I managed the dips and rises that had been my playground, but not a patch on the monster that was the ramp.

Slowly, the fear started to settle. As my momentum built and the board hugged my soles obediently, I reminded myself that I actually had some skills, so why shouldn't I give the ramp a whirl? If falling was the worst thing that could happen, well, I'd done that a hundred times already and was still here. Still walking.

Yep, this was it. It was time.

Dan and Stan clapped their hands as we stood at the top of the half-pipe, looking down into the well before the ramp climbed again.

“This is it, little man. Life'll never be the same again,” Dan said with a grin.

“And, remember, don't try and pull any tricks,” Stan added. “The aim of the game is staying on and feeling the buzz. Get those knees flexed, use your arms to balance…and have fun.”

I stood there, beyond fear or excitement. Every emotion possible swirled and whacked against my ribs. Nervously, I hooked the front of the board over the edge, foot on the tail, keeping me upright. My eyes focused on the ramp, I waited for a lull….

It came seconds later, a clear path parting: it was now or never. Clumsy death or graceful glory.

I applied pressure to the nose of the board, leaning forward with every bit of commitment I had. The ground fell away quickly, too quickly, and my panic levels grappled with the clouds above. I was falling, and in a panic pushed my weight even farther forward, feeling my guts lurch as the wall grabbed my wheels and propelled me on. Before I knew it I was climbing for the first time, wheels racing, a strange, excited, terrified howl blasting from my lips. I didn't know if anyone else heard, and I didn't care.

I was doing it. Having fun. Flying. Forgetting every gibe, every loose elbow, every walk of shame I'd ever been subjected to. None of that mattered if I had this. None of it.

I remembered the bags of Dad's food that had balanced me for hours on end, felt the dull echo of every bruise I'd subjected my body to in practice.

Focus,
I said to myself.
Concentrate, balance, concentrate
.
Don't mess it up, not now
.

I thought of Mom too, of the guilt I'd carried around about hiding this from her. How I could get rid of it all now.

Come clean and show her. Show her she could be proud instead of afraid. I could do this. Look at me!

Every turn became more important than the one before.

Every bit of pressure I put on the board's tail to rotate was measured, precise, anything but clumsy.

At that moment, I wished I had a camera, something to preserve the moment when I was crowned king of the world.

And, as it turned out, someone
was
filming it—not for posterity or glory, but to magnify my ultimate embarrassment.

As I dropped into the bowl for the umpteenth time, I saw something below me.

Someone that didn't belong there.

It wasn't another skater: there was no regulation hoodie or baggy jeans on show.

And there definitely wasn't a board under their feet.

There was just my mom.

With her hands on her hips and a face like thunder.

My heart stopped and the board thundered on, but not for long. The writing was on the wall, and it consisted of two simple words:
GAME OVER.