Stoked (6 page)

It’s funny how a whole city can change like that, from an earthquake or a flood or economic problems. Think about Detroit. Sometimes I want to go there and see what it looks like with all those empty buildings. The pictures are amazing.

Gotta go, sweet Kiwi. Love to hear more travelogues. Do you know where else you’re filming? Guessing it’s not all Queenstown. Maybe Milford Sound? That’s a big one, but it takes forever to get there.

I’m thinking of you tons, Jess. Glad you’re enjoying all of it so much.

Xoxox

Tyler

––––––––

F
or a minute after I send it, I sit at the table and look at the picture, zoom in on her face. I miss her, but in a way, not Skyping is easier. If I talk to her, actually talk, I’m not sure I can talk about anything but training, and I’m still not sure enough of what’s going on here to tell her.

Is that a mistake?

I’m thinking it might work out that I’ll be in Queenstown next week, or maybe the week after. Maybe we’ll be there at the same time, and I can surprise her with the news that I’m training for the Olympics. I imagine walking into the Bardeaux and seeing her there, see her launching herself into a big hug.  Then me telling her what’s happening, how the training is going, that I might rock it. Her eyes will shine with pride and happiness. I imagine that she’ll stand on her toes and put her hands on my face and kiss me.

The daydream eases my worry over whether I should tell her about the training, be real with her. The surprise will be worth it.

Now, a few beers, show my mug to the bros, and try to forget ache of missing her, the worry that I’m losing her.

chapter SEVEN

––––––––

I
n the space between the oblivion of sleep and the reality of waking, I drift in and out of a beery doze. I’m dreaming of flying high, catching air as I spin through nothingness, sky-snow-board-snow-sky, whirling, landing perfectly. Again. And again. 

I dream that I’m curled around Jess, her smooth naked body next to me under the covers, hair against my face. My dick leaps to attention, and I’m in her, biting her shoulder, hand on her supple breasts, nipple hard against my palm. As she makes those soft, panting cries, I come like a geyser, driving all the way into her. Relief. Even if it’s only my own hand.

In the empty bed, I keep my eyes closed a minute longer, wishing that I could open them and find her coming out of the bathroom, her hair tangled from sleep, those long eyes blinking at me. Is this what love feels like? It’s like having a thumb cut off, noticing it every minute.

I’ve thought I was in love before. With Alice, once upon at time, and a girl in high school named Cora, who had great tits, so high and fat and pink-tipped that no guy could help staring, wanting to plunge into them. We were an item for a year, but she hated my intensive training schedule and dumped me for a guy who was headed for law school. Broke my heart to smithereens, but I never missed her when I was off training. I never even thought about her unless she was right in front of me. Or rather her tits, always bobbing so lusciously whenever she moved.

In my defense, I was sixteen.

With Alice, it was different. More mature. I fell slowly, admiring her mad skills at first, liking her long, athletic body. She’s smart and made me laugh and we come from similar family backgrounds—hers from Connecticut, mine from Philly. Hers in shipping and imports, mine in banking. She was the black sheep, her family failing to appreciate her extraordinary talent, even when she swept the top awards in half-pipe in every category for five years running. It was a burning wound, one she hid behind hard shots of white tequila.

At least I have my father. He might be a douchebag, in a lot of ways, but he believed in this. In me and boarding.

I should give him a call later today. Reach out.

As sleep drops away completely, realize that nearly every square inch of my body hurts from the training yesterday, ranging from muscle soreness in abs and thighs, to mild headache from beer and a face plant to stiff, burning hip. I shift off the offended joint, roll on my back.

The curtains are open, letting in full cold morning. It’s snowing—big fat flakes I can see even from the bed. I can taste beer, but I kept it sane, just a few beers with Alice and some of the other riders. A couple were dudes I’ve known a long time. Several others were new, their faces too young for beards, probably for beer. I felt old in their company, the grandaddy trying to find an edge with the young whippets. Alice laughed at me when I said that, clapping me on my shoulder. “I’ll bring you a wheelchair for your quarter-century birthday,” she said.

“I’ll need it,” I replied darkly, taking a long swallow of the yeasty local brew.

But it felt good. Real. True. My tribe. I felt like myself at that bar, talking snow and boards and injuries and tricks and wax and gear.

Rolling out of bed, I wash up and brush my teeth and pull on a thick robe. It’s cold, but I never mind a snowy morning. It gets my blood rushing. I’d love to get out and shred the slopes, but Alice has ordered a rest day and I’m following coach’s orders. I’ve got books to read, a big chair to kick back in and watch the view. I’ll treat myself to a steak later, book a massage to ease the soreness, then a good soak. Rest day.

What I wish is that I had some of my art supplies. Never occurred to me to bring them, but I’ve been away from it all week and my fingers a little itchy. I’d like to sketch the slopes, the skiers and the kids and the boarders, the action and activity out there. Wonder if I can find anything at the resort, or ask for something to be delivered from Santiago? It’s Sunday. Not every place stays home 24/7 like the US.

I brew a pot of coffee and punch the start button. It’s not even quite seven. Jesus. I grin to myself. Back to training hours. Feels good.

What time is it in New Zealand? I pull up the world clock on my phone and see that it’s not quite 11 pm. Was she traveling today? I can’t remember.  Worth a try.

I fire up the computer and send an email:

Jess, I’m up. Can you Skype?

There’s a ton of email, I notice with surprise. One is from my dad and I’m about to open it, the program dings and it’s from Jess:

Yes! Let’s try it! We’re at a lodge (fancy pants) and the internet is good. Two seconds.

My face half-splits with a grin and I carry the tablet over to the chair by the window and prop it up on my knees. In less than a minute, Skype rings. I open it and there is her face, full screen. It’s idiotic how my chest fills up with light. “Hi!” she cries.

“Hey.” I drink in her face, the wide-spaced eyes, the hair, kind of messy tonight, her elegant cheekbones. Behind her is a classic rock-and-timber room, and I can hear music pounding in the background. I touch her chin. “It’s so good to see your face.”

“Tyler, I love the goatee!” she cries and leans in, kissing the camera so it’s her lips I see. Her fingers move across the screen. “But what’d you do to your eye?”

I forgot about it, and reach up to touch it self-consciously. “Kinda bad this morning, right? Training mishap,” I say before I remember. Despite my reputation, lying is not my strong suit. Too much trouble. “Mountain biking.”

“It looks like it hurt.”

I shrug. “Did I ever tell you about the time I fell off a mountain bike and looked up to see a cougar staring down at me from a rock?”

“Really?” She leans in, and something about the tilt of her head gives away her tipsiness. “Were you scared?”

“He was beautiful, Jess. These amazing eyes and paws and—“

A face leans in above her, a girl with expansive cleavage showing. “Hi, Tyler,” she cries, and Jess leans sideways to let her have access. “I’m Darcy. We’ve heard all about you.” She leans in. “You’re HOT!”

I laugh at her drunkenness. “Thanks. Nice to meet you.”

Jess fills the frame again. “Don’t mind Darc. We went to that bar you recommended. It’s practically a blizzard here and we can’t do the shots we were supposed to, so we have a day off.” She widens her eyes and I see they’re a little bloodshot. “I’m gonna sleep all day tomorrow, I swear.”

“Poor baby,” I say, smiling. “I have a day like that here, too. Rest day. I’m going to just read. I was thinking about getting some art supplies, but not sure I can find any.”

“Where are you, Mr. Mysterious?” She inclines her head and her hair tumbles down her arm. “Are you still not going to tell me? I’m so curious!”

“Not yet,” I say. For a second, I’m tempted to turn the camera to the view, but then she might put it together. “It was court-ordered. That’s hint number 3.”

“Hmmm. The hints don’t add up, you know.”

I grin. “That’s the point.”

She shifts, plopping backward and I think she’s on a couch. There are people around, I can hear them. I wonder why she didn’t go somewhere private. “Does the Internet work in your room?”

“It’s not private there, either,” she says with a sigh. “We’re a pack. That’s what we do, move in a group like a school of fish.”

“Pod of dolphins,” someone says. A guy with a strong Kiwi accent.

“That’s Kaleb,” she says, and clicks the camera. He’s at her feet, more or less, and the picture is a little grainy and dark. He’s a pretty big guy, tall and lean, but broad through the shoulders. Still a boy, which stings in a way. He can’t be more than twenty-one, face still smooth. He looks at the camera and again I notice the eyes—tilted and golden, like a tiger. One eyebrow cocks, and with a clear understanding of exactly who we are to each other, he says drily, “Hey, mate.”

“Hey, Kaleb.”

The camera swings back to Jess. For a minute, we just look at each other. My mouth is full of a thousand things I can’t say with an audience. Her eyes shine. “Queenstown is my favorite so far,” she says. “It’s so beautiful in the snow. The lake is amazing, right?”

“It is. Did you run into a lot of Aussies?”

She frowns a little. “I might not pick up the differences yet?”

“Ah, of course.”

“Tell me something about you, Tyler. Anything.” She touches the screen, a silent ode to what we are, at the center of us. It brushes over my heart. 

“Um. Ok. I ran into some old friends and had some beers last night. Riders.”

“That’s snowboarders, right?”

I grin. “Yeah. Bunch of guys were in town, on their way to Wanaka to train, actually.”

“Yeah, somebody said there are a bunch of people here training. So did you train for the 2010 Olympics, or just the 2006?” 

A pen is lying on the table, and I pick it up and start to tap on my leg with it. “Both. Shattered my hip before 2006. It was a solid year and a half, but I was training for the 2010 when I got in trouble.”

“That’s when you went to jail?”

I duck my head, tap harder. “Not my best moment.”

“It would have made a lot of things make more sense if you’d told me about all that, you know.”

“Uh, could we not talk about this with an audience?”

“Kaleb left.” She looks around. “They’re all partying.” She flips the camera around and swings it in a pan around the room. I see people in clumps, some around a fireplace, some dancing to the music that’s playing, no one at her feet. The camera comes back to her. “This is about as alone as I can get unless I go into a closet or something.”

“So...?”

Her wide mouth turns up on one side. “No. Just sit right here. What did you do today?”

“Just got up, actually. I’m having a quiet day. It’s Sunday. Kick back, read, let my body have a day off. Same for you tomorrow, right?”

She nods, and I notice she’s leaning way back on the pillows of the couch, her eyes sleepy. “I’m not getting out of bed until noon.”

For Jess, that’s like being asleep at five pm for most people, and I give it appropriate attention. “Whoa!”

Her eyes blink, and nearly stay closed. “I’m so glad to see you, Tyler.” I see her arm, covered in a sweater, along the side of the screen. She kisses her fingers and blows me a kiss. “I’m falling asleep, ‘kay?”

“Okay.” It feels too weird to say I love you, so I put my hands over my heart. “Bye.”

She does the same. “Bye.”

The screen goes dark and I’m left sitting in my cold apartment thousands and thousands of miles away, my chest feeling hollow. Damn.

If I’d known love would feel like this, I would have never let it in. Not that I really had a choice.

chapter EIGHT

The rest day is good for me, filling up on good food and letting my joints and muscles have some downtime. I meet Alice for lunch and we go over a training plan. “You in for this?” she says. “All the way?”

I nod. “I’m in.”

“It’s about to get crazy here, with a bunch of people coming in for the slopestyle competition, and you’re not ready for that. We can come back next month, or maybe head to South Africa for the slopestyle training later, but I’m thinking we head to New Zealand end of the week and what we can do in half pipe. Get you up to speed.”

I keep my face neutral. “Good.”

“Got enough backing?”

“Yeah.”

Her smile is tight. “Daddy’s got deep pockets.”

I shrug. “Better than not having it, right?”

“You’re right.”  She scribbles some notes on a piece of paper. “I’ll get an itinerary mapped out and you can call him or do whatev.”

“Done.”

It’s time to call my dad anyway, check in and let him know how it’s going. He’s been pretty cool about not nagging me this time, so maybe I can show up for once.  He golfs on Sunday mornings with a bunch of his buddies, and I catch him afterward, mellow with exercise and a couple of beers. He’s not a big drinker my dad, but he likes craft beers a lot these days.  His tone is jovial as he picks up. “Hello, son!”

“Hey, Dad.” I stand at the windows and watch the slopes, little figures sailing down in red and black and blue and green.

“How’s the training going?”

“Good. Better than I expected, honestly. I found a coach and we’re going to head over to New Zealand next week, then maybe to South Africa for a short stint after that before the snow melts.”

“Can you do it?”

“I don’t know,” I say honestly, scanning my body, feeling the weak places and the strong ones. “Hip is holding up okay, but I’ve got some balance issues, and it’s going to take some time to start catching air in any kind of real way.”