The Elephant Tattoo.

One

Picture is Noelle.

"Alright, this is what you need to get." My mother said quickly, shoving a fairly long list into my waiting hand. Her hazel eyes were cast down at the BlackBerry that she gripped tightly in her slim and manicured fingers. "Please be quick about it. Also, take your key. I have to run a few errands of my own." She was barking orders at me, but she wasn't trying to be mean. The stress her job always put on her had her in an ever present sour mood. We were holding an open house at one of the Lynbrooke manors and I had to do the shopping. Having a mother who was one of the most successful realtors in Huntington Beach wasn't so lucky as much as it was a chore. Nodding at her already retreating form, I grabbed my key and stuck it between my teeth so that I could carry the list and my penny board.

Opening the door was always a different experience for me. Sometimes you were greeted by the scent of the ocean, a salty, marshy smell. Other times, you could smell the burger place down the street, or the steakhouse a couple blocks down. It always depended on what time of day you left the house, and which way the wind was blowing. This time, the scent of the ocean blew strongly towards the house, swirling around me and making my hair dance in the breeze. Happily, I closed my eyes for a moment and just listened. If you were careful, you could look past the sounds of cars going by and children playing in their yards. You could take yourself all the way to the beach, just a block or so away from our over-expensive house. You could hear the gulls crying, waiting for some poor kids to turn away long enough for them to swoop in and steal some fries.

Skating to the CVS down the street took mere minutes. The lady at the counter knew me by name and gave me a cheerful wave as I entered the store. I soon had everything I needed except for plastic forks. What kind of store runs out of plastic forks? They carried plastic spoons and plastic knives, but not plastic forks. Frustrated, I paid for the items and juggled the multiple bags before I started skating home. It was always possible that my mom could drive me to a Walmart if she was home and we had enough time.

One down side to living in Huntington Beach, California, was that people didn't always stop for you when you went to cross the street. There had been many times when I'd gone to cross the street, assuming the person would slow down, and then they nearly missed flattening me. Lucky for me, today didn't seem to be one of those days. Every time it came to me crossing a street, there were either no cars or the person slowed way down when they saw me. I was just about home when the term 'lucky' no longer was valid for this day. I'd moved to shift one of the bags hanging from my arms and my wheels hit one of the sidewalk tiles that were slightly more raised than the ones before it. On impact, it sent me and all of the grocery bags flying into the street. As if flying through the air wasn't scary enough, the squealing of tires was absolutely terrifying. Of all the things I imagined, I just saw my mom's face if she were to find out I got hit by a car while doing a grocery run for her.

Hitting the ground was a blur, but the pain was evident. Though I was pretty positive I didn't break anything, the air was knocked out of my lungs and I most likely had a serious case of road rash along both of my forearms. I'd landed by trying to throw my arms out in front of me and catch myself, but my elbows buckled and slid across the pavement a few feet. I was then sprawled out in the street, gasping for air, on my stomach. My hair was all over the place and was partially blocking my vision as I felt someone pull me up off of the ground.

"Are you okay?" It was a masculine voice, and screamed California resident. I didn't answer right away because I was still catching my breath, but once I was breathing normally, I shoved my hair out of my face and looked the guy in the eyes.

"Tell me something," I started, glancing at my bloody arms and ripped jeans. "If you'd experienced that, would you consider yourself 'okay'?" My tone came out a little harsh, but the guy smiled at my sour humor.