I got a phone call the other day. The person on the other end told me meet them Monday at Queen Anne Galer at the top of Queen Anne Hill. I needed to wear shorts, a t-shirt, and vans if I have them. 1 O’ clock? Sure, I’ll be there I said.
I show up. I’m anticipating a good conversation, a cup of coffee, or some academic banter. Not so much.
They gave me a skateboard and said, “Skate down the hill.” “You want me to skate down the hill? I skate sometimes, and I have good balance, but that’s gnarly. You got a helmet or pads for me? I didn’t know I needed those.
I’m met with a blank look, and a shrug.
I look back at them in bewilderment.
I take a deep breath, slam the deck to the ground and off I go. I feel hands on my back, someone’s running behind me pushing me. I’ try to carve, but the’res cars in the other lane.
Over the first crest, big air. I land it. Faster, faster, too fast I can’t slow down. Over the second crest, huge air! Hosi would be proud! I land it BAMMM!!!!
I hit a crack in the road. FACE PLANT!!!! ROAD RASH!!! I can’t breath. Did I crack a rib? Oh man, I can’t breath. My chest and ribs hurt. All I can do is lay there. People are just driving by, walking there. I can’t move. Maybe, I can crawl to the curb. I make it to the side of the road.
I almost made it down the hill. No one noticed that. No one noticed the big air. No one there to cheer. They only noticed when I face planted.
So I pick myself up. I limp home to the orphanage.