Fall in May

~26~ The Maltese Theater

"The world doesn't make any heroes outside of stories ...well not live ones anyhow. And I love myself far, far too much to be heroic. I'd much prefer iconic over heroic ...at least icons get a free round of drinks somewhere besides hell." ~ Harry Lime  

After school, I drift down to the Old Folks Home, and let the Raisins know I am going out to meet a classmate for an extra credit thing at the Maltese Theater in Fallon. Which in a way is sort of true, more or less? Because it turns out that May gets extra credit in her theater class for going to plays. Because of the obvious issuee, movies pretty much qualify as the equivalent of a play for May, at least according to Teacher Theater.  

So after narrowly avoiding another round of Death by Twenty Questions. I pretend to do some homeworking in not my room, until the clock says time to bail. I take the Deathwish bike out of the garage and fire up the bad boy. With a final nod farewell the Irish Antichrist glaring at me from the kitchen window, I motor down one town to Fallon.

The Maltese Theater on Main Street turns out to be one of those ancient revival theaters. Built back when the Raisin's referred to movies as "talkies". It even has one of those the vertical neon marquee signs, and a detached ticket booth right in front of the velvet curtains on brass and glass doors.

Per May's strict instructions, I am waiting in the dark back of the Plaza. Where a small pack of thirty or so ardent skaters are trying to kill themsleves. From the looks of them they are just a bunch of junior high delinquents, all taking turns trying to break their bones and stones. So I name them the Bones Brigade.

One little nutcase in particular, I've dubbed The Suicide Kid, for the 'Suicidal Tendencies' skeletal motif helmet. He reminds me a little of Gromit's psycho little brother Squid Vicious, but not nearly half as coordinated. In an effort to impress his comrades, The Suicide Kid has made several daring attempts to rail slide down the handicapped ramp to varying degrees of success. His next trick is a horrible attempt to skate along the cement planter, then fly over a trash bin, only to crash on the bricks below.  

I'm pretty sure Suicidal was supposed to get some momentum going first, before trying push off the cement planter for the few feet of clearance before jumping off. Unfortunately in his excitement to kill himself on the bricks, he must have forgotten that part of the trick. So instead of launching off the planter into the air and over the bin? The Suicide Kid barrels straight into the trash can, careening off the side and landing head first on his Skull, with a bone breaking crack at my feet.

He slowly rolls over and sits upright, shaking off the last of the brain damage. After which he only has two words to say to me.

"Crazy me?" He peers up at me to assess the damage to his helmet. Which based on the jagged crack on the side, looks about as broken now as his own skull must be.

"Yeah, you crazy cool, bro." I nod in agreement.

"Cereal cool."  I am unsure if he means a slurry 'serious' or the breakfast food. But he grins with a grimace, rolling himself back upright for another go at death by misadventure.

In my limit experience with this small subset of skaters, The Suicide Kids are always broken, banged up and battered. Like vertigo and pain is like their big thing, their raison d'être. Without it, they would be normal and boring and maybe even sober? And trust me when I tell you, no one wants that ...especially them. So they mummify themselves with duct-tape bandages and Skate or Die skull stickers, and keep trying to glean the cube ...even if it kills them.

Ten minutes, and probably three fractured bones later, I spot the black Range Rover with limo tint windows slide up to the sidewalk in front of the theater marquee. The rear door opens and out jumps April from the passenger's side in her cheery best, to help her sister slowly exit the moving vehicle onto the uneven sidewalk.