Three Pool Rhumba

The smell of Locos Tacos––sweet and salty with a teeth-rattling crunch.

I'd all but forgotten that smell. It was Ed's smell––Ed wanting to scarf Locos after every session. Ed going, "Your balance is better when you're hungry. You're sharper, more alert when you skate on an empty stomach."

I'd go, "Starvation skaters,” always thinking, Ed, we get together, we can grow more of those boards. But I never did tell him that.

I scanned the crowd to see who was scarfing the Locos. Late-morning sun blazing off concrete, couple of older skaters sharing a cigarette on the other side of the empty kidney, three-four little rippers waiting their turns next to me, not one of them eating. So, where was the smell coming from?

Ed wasn't here, would never be here. 

Nine years ago, after we'd left Balboa, we're crossing Victoria and I was about to tell him how we could grow those boards when a  truc takes a left, doesn't see Ed or me. I remember turning, crouching next to his broken body, on the ground, a pool of blood like a halo around his head.

"Ed," I went, "We coulda grown more those Vermillion Skates if we'd workt together to scrounge, hit up GenSpace, use their BioFabb3r." By then his eyes were empty and dead and I had to reach out and close them like they do in the movies. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and there was the flippin' red and black Doritos Locos Tacos bag painted right on the side of that truck. Right on the side of that truck.

I remember going, "Fuckin' chinga tu fuckin' madre."

"Chinga," I said right now seeing how no one was eating yet that smell was so strong I could feel the crunch spreading all over the inside of my mouth.

"Dude," someone said all of a sudden, bringing me back to reality. "Ya drop in?"

I looked up went “Yeah," then whispered "Starvation skaters,” as I slid my board onto the coping, put my left foot on the tail, gave the ciliated grip a second to grab holda my shoes and let gravity do her job.

As I rolled down the wall, gained speed, and sped across the bottom, I decided to take one of those eighties only trick rides and dedicate it to Ed. Frontside air, Madonna, rock'n'roll, invert. Then just like Ed, I'd go grab some post-session Locos. I did that, pulled off the aerials and rocked the roll slide, but the moment I went for the invert, crouched and reached down with my right hand to pull the board out of the bowl, I realized I'd overshot it and there was Ed upside down, facing me.

"Que xopa carnal?" he said.

I went, "Ed?"

And he went, "Xo bro?"

"Is that really you?"

He went, "You called me with my favorite bowl, my favorite run, my favorite tricks. I had to come."

"You smell the Locos?"

"Man... No. But I do miss those." He went, "The only thing I miss."

I went, "I miss you bro." Getting all sentimental. Then, "Always wanted to tell you we could've grown another one of those Vermillions."

"I know" Ed said, nodding. "I know. Woulda been sweet. But you go for it. Hit the GenSpace. Come back here and shred this place on that."

Ed turned himself upside down so his body was facing me while I hung there upside down, my left hand a few inches above the coping, my right gripping the board between my legs. My wheels whoosh-spinning as they spun mid-air.

I went, "Sorry about what happened. The truck and all… you know."

"It's cool," Ed said. "So just swing your board around, land then slide down the wall."

"I'll make it?"

"You will. Then grab a coupla Locos for me."

Which is exactly what I did.

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That's the second story in the series. It's dedicated to my friend Ed who passed away in 2012. Ed was an investor who I learned many years after knowing him, was also a singer in a New Jersey punk band. As I mentioned in the cover notes, the title of the story's a riff on Three Girl Rhumba, a song by Wire, on their 1977 album, Pink Flag. That album's been widely acclaimed and is considered seminal. What did you think? Drop me a line and comment. Thanks for reading.