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JOHNNY

Words and numbers snaked around my brain like hungry little rats. Another day of watching boring lines of text crawl off the page and through my skull just for a paycheck. How I ended up reading insurance gibberish for a living was still shocking to me. The document I’d been staring at for an hour was all about acts of God and how said God might damage, destroy, or otherwise harm Marjory Blandit’s limited edition, one-of-a-kind, please-don’t-spill-red-wine-on-it lace tablecloth.

Holy hell, what had my life come to? I needed one of those acts of God to make an appearance and put me out of my misery.

I was twenty-five years old and felt like a grandpa most of the time. Technically, I was still young, but when I was at work, I felt like I’d already crossed into midlife-crisis territory. After four energy drinks, it was getting hard to focus on work. But this happened every afternoon. I started out the day ready to tackle the world, but sometime after lunch, I started to fade.

How could anyone blame me? It was boring AF to read insurance contracts all day, every day. My official title was Underwriting Assistant, but in reality, it was basically a fancy way of saying I got a decent salary for poring over nonsense for eight hours a day while my soul shriveled like a raisin.

Maybe I was just cranky from too much caffeine or the shitty frozen burrito that was sitting in my belly like a brick, but the prospect of another ten years in this cubicle was making me itchy.

I reread the same sentence for the thirtieth time, and it seriously sounded like it might have been written by a robot. Reading it out loud didn’t help the first few times, but I tried it again. “‘The presence of any inert material found in proximity to said covered property shall not be presumed causative unless stipulated in exclusionary Addendum 5.1(c)…’”

Jeez Louise. For someone like me, who couldn’t even be bothered to read a full text message on most days, my job was actual hell. This Marjory Blandit chick needed to get a hobby that didn’t involve protecting doilies.

And I needed a break. I slammed my laptop shut and spun in my chair, wishing the office was empty so I could take it for a spin across the marble hallway. Those little chair casters could get some speed.

Unfortunately, the office hummed with people. My coworkers tapped away at their keyboards like they were into it, and a random thought came to me that made me smile. If I could knock out the “Bland Blandit” contract by three, I could slip out early and try out the new skate park.

My gear was already in the car and ready to roll.

After a quick run up the staircase to the roof and back down in an effort to get my blood pumping, I opened up my laptop again and went to work. The words started to make a bit more sense, and I actually had a few suggestions to add on the next page, but then I started to fade again.

My fingers drummed on my desk, and after a few minutes, they moved faster and faster as if mocking the clock that was moving in slow motion.

And then a horrible reality hit me. It was only Monday, but it felt like Wednesday of next week.

“Trying to punch a hole in your desk?”

I looked up to see my favorite person in the building standing by my cubicle. Morris was a claims adjuster who was about my age. Even wearing a dorky bowtie and thick glasses, he was pretty damn adorable when he flashed those dimples. “I would, but I don’t think it’s insured.”

“Very funny.” He smirked and sat on the edge of my desk. “So, what are you up to?”

“Trying not to bore myself to death with this ridiculous policy.” I sighed dramatically and rocked in my chair. “Wanna finish it for me?”

“Nope. I got my own boring policies to work on.” He nodded toward my shaking leg. “What’s got you so antsy today?”

I picked up my can of Red Bull and waved it at him. “I’ve been mainlining caffeine all day, but that’s normal for me. Maybe my body is just done being in this chair.”

He shook his head like a disappointed parent but did it with a hint of a smile. “Maybe you should cut back before you vibrate right out of that chair.”

“Only if you put in a good word for me with the boss and get me a raise so I can afford to drink myself into a proper coma.” I chewed on a jagged cuticle, suddenly overly aware of its existence. “Being broke as hell isn’t as fun as you might think it is.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I thought you liked frozen pizza and chicken nuggets.”

“I do, but I’d like them more if I ate them out of choice rather than lack of choices.” I thought about my last shopping trip and the sticker shock I felt. “Have you bought ground beef lately? It’s basically the same price as lobster.” I didn’t know if that was true because I’d never purchased lobster before, but it had to be comparable to ground beef because that shit was pricey!

He pushed off my desk and took a step. “Wanna get a beer after work?”

I glanced at my watch and turned back to my laptop. “I can’t today. I’m hoping to get outta here early and hit the skate park. But maybe tomorrow.”

He started walking back toward his cubicle. “So, you’ll need a ride to the ER later?”

“I’ll text you when I’m done.” I chuckled but hoped I wasn’t jinxing myself. “That is, if I have any fingers left.”

I watched him walk away and then clicked through another few pages of the policy before I finally gave up. There was no point in pretending. It could wait another day, but I couldn’t wait even one more minute. I needed to breathe fresh air and feel the pavement under my wheels before I exploded.

My old Corolla wasn’t much to look at, but the stereo worked, so I cranked it up and let the afternoon breeze flow through my hair. On most days, I had more adrenaline than sense, which was how I liked it. If I didn’t have an outlet to express all my pent-up energy, I’d never survive. Then again, my outlet for feeding my need for speed didn’t guarantee survival either…but at least I always had a good story for Morris when he stopped by.

I was happy to let him live vicariously through me. Lord knew the poor guy had no real outlets of his own unless you counted coin collecting and crime documentaries. Which I didn’t.

I sped across town knowing the second I dropped in, I would be flowing —like every line was calling my name. Skate or die, right? That’s what we said when we were thirteen, which was pretty much the age I still felt on a daily basis. Except when I had… Well, I never had opportunities to regress younger than punk-ass kid, so that’s where I thrived.

Just independent enough to make bad decisions and hope I lived to tell about them.

The new skate park had just opened up on the west side, and I was gonna be one of the first to wreck myself on the fresh ramps. Thanks to an obscene amount of caffeine and reckless ambition in my veins, I would likely be taking Morris up on his ride to the ER, if a paramedic didn’t scoop me up first.

The voice in my head was that of a bratty kid who didn’t know how to get positive attention, so I settled for…destructive attention.

I pulled up to the park and my heart started pounding faster. All I could see was fresh concrete, ramps, and rails waiting for me to show it what was up. The place was bigger than I’d expected, and there were already a handful of kids ripping it up. A guy with long hair was blasting out of a bowl and another was sliding the ledge like it was no big deal.

I turned off the car and grabbed my gear, eager to get in there. Armed with the deck I’d sanded and painted myself, the old-school helmet with scuff marks like badges of honor, and the knee and elbow pads I wore not to get hassled by park monitors, I headed to the gate that was surrounded by stoners. My people.

I’d done this routine a million times, but today felt different. The past few weeks at work had sucked the life out of me, so this outing was about more than just a need to skate. It was about needing a reminder that I was still young and strong and adventurous and…up for anything. Because I totally was. Even though I knew I’d regret it later when everything hurt and I was either limping out of an urgent care clinic or trying to patch myself up with an ACE bandage and peroxide.

But for a little while, I’d be seen. People would be impressed and encouraging, and they’d egg me on. Yes, they were likely waiting for the dumpster fire to ignite when I did some really stupid shit, but I didn’t care about that.

I just needed someone—stranger or not—to watch me and tell me I was doing good.

Until I wasn’t.

I almost laughed at how pathetic I was. I might as well be some lovesick kid waiting for a crush to notice me. I was trying to outrun the boring inevitability of my life, trying to hit pause before I drowned in paperwork and Red Bull.

Reality and the future were things I didn’t spend much time dwelling over. The present was sad enough. There were some things I didn’t need to think about.

What if I got hurt? What if I didn’t get hurt? What if it didn’t make a difference to anyone?

I stepped onto the board and aimed for the quarter. I hit it first then pumped through the bowl, catching the floaty little air that made me feel like I’d left gravity behind. I was dialed in, like my board knew what I wanted before I did.

These were the moments I lived for. The only ones I had that made life worth living.