Orange Sunday

18

It is January, a new year. A year in which he is the first thing I see every morning and the last thing I see every night.

I am happy, I tell the mirror.

I want my mom, I tell the ceiling when I can't fall asleep.

On a day when the weather is less severe and the wind doesn't seem to blow over houses, he takes me skateboarding.

He has a longboard, and borrows an identical one from his friend. This friend sits in a chair in the driveway, watching, laughing, Snapchatting.

He holds my hand or puts his hand on my lower back, but whatever he does he does not stop touching me.

The board rolls over the street beneath me, rattling as the wheels go over rocks and old gravel. His hand is warm, almost on fire, and I can feel it through my jacket. His jacket, actually, but it's mine for now.

He stays beside me. He shows me how to move my feet, how to turn, how to start and stop. Within the hour I am gliding up and down his street with ease.

He takes me to the street that is a continuous downward slope. It leads to my house. I used to sprint down this street everyday to see my mother's house, and walk back up it to get home.

With a simple push, I am flying. The street has bends and curves, and I take these gracefully, surprising myself. My speed brings wind, and the wind takes my breath away. My hair is whipping all around me, my body crouched low over the board. For some reason, I hold both my arms out.

I pick up speed. I do not slow down before each curve, as he does. I leave him behind within the first ten yards.

I am high. The speed, the exhilaration, is intoxicating.

My mother would have loved this. We loved roller coasters, or anything else that got the adrenaline pumping. I imagine that she is right beside me on a board of her own, laughing and wobbling on her feet, trying not to fall. I can almost see the green of her eyes.

I stop at the bottom of the street, and he finally catches up to me. His face is flushed, his hair blown back. He is beautiful, there's no denying that. I am lucky to have him.

Only when he reaches out and brushes the tears off my cheeks do I realize I've been crying.