Therapy (Jalex)

Session 11

Patient: Alexander William Gaskarth

Notes: feeling less bitter and closed off, but still extremely sensitive

-Dr. Bassam Barakat

-

I guided my skateboard down the pavement, avoiding twigs and rocks. Today, I was going to meet Jack at the park, and then we were going to get food at Sonic. At the end of the road, I could see the outline of the playground, so I pushed harder to cruise over faster. When the curb approached, I hopped off my board and grabbed it, jogging to where Jack was waiting.

"Alex!" he called, waving me over. "Hey."

"Hi, Jack," I said, nodding. He was sitting on his skateboard on the basketball court. "Let's go."

We both ran off the park grass and onto the road. After both of our skateboards touched the cement, we kicked off at the exact same time, like we planned it.

"There's a downhill really soon!" Jack called as he sped a little ahead of me. As soon as we rounded the corner, the road began a dip down, causing us to gain speed really fast. I whooped, adrenaline rushing through my veins.

"Aaaaaaaaaah!" I shouted as we careened down the street. I loved skateboarding, especially downhill. Sure, there was the fear of faceplanting on the hard, scratchy cement, but it was like flying. The wind shoved back my hair and my clothes rippled against my scrawny, still recovering body. The howling of the rushing air wailed inside my ears so I couldn't hear a thing. I was breathless, but it was a good kind.

A tingly feeling emitted in my stomach, and I felt some sort of strange sense nostalgia. There was some reason I was feeling it, I knew it.

I racked my brain for any good, significant memory of skateboarding. Without warning, an image popped into my head. I was about six, and Tom was around twelve. We were outside our home in England, and I was on Tom's old black skateboard, pushing myself slowly off as I gripped Tom's hand tightly. He held out his arm for support, and we slowly travelled down the pavement. Little me let out a laugh, and Tom grinned and looked at me adoringly.

Then, my mind was whisked to a memory that occurred a few months later. I was nearly seven now, and I was a good skater now. Tom and I whizzed down the British roads, weaving between traffic. We were both whooping and laughing, our two skateboards slaloming past each other. On both of our faces, there were real, genuine smiles. Tom reached out to take my hand, and I reached back, our fingertips nearly touching.

"Alex!" Jack screamed, snapping me back into reality. I was aware of the wind rushing into my hair, the crevices of my body. I was aware of the fact that I was now 15 and not in England anymore. I was aware that I was still on my skateboard, still speeding downhill.

And I was also aware that I was speeding towards the curb at an unbelievably high speed.

"Wha-?" I had time to utter out one word of confusion before the wheels of my skateboard slammed into the cement curb, sending me flying.

Everything was in slow motion, and I could see the sidewalk nearing my body, but it was like lucid dreaming; I knew what was going on, but I couldn't move or do anything about it. Before I knew it, time resumed its normal speed and I made impact with the sidewalk. My shoulders and head landed on the grass, but the rest of me wasn't so lucky. My elbows and knees skinned over the uneven pavement, and my hips flared in pain. My ankles bounced twice on the painful ground before settling, and my vision was all blurry.

"Shit," I groaned, in too much shock to move myself. Everything hurt, and due to the stinging in my limbs, I knew I was bleeding.

"Alex, are you okay?" Jack hopped off his skateboard and came running at me. He crouched next to me on the sidewalk and looked me over for any serious injury. Worry and genuine concern laced his expression. "Can you move?"