Starting from Scratch (Starting from 2)

Oh yeah, and much to Charlie’s chagrin, he’d started calling me “dude.”

“Thanks. That’s called an ollie, by the way. Well, it’s an ollie with a turn, but same idea. They must have named it after you,” I joked. “Or maybe you invented it.”

He beamed at me and swiped his nose with his sleeve. “That’s funny. I can’t do that.”

“You can if you practice. It’s the gateway trick every boarder learns before they advance to harder stuff. Here’s how it works. You pop your back foot off the tail and slide your other foot to the front…and jump. Like this.”

I demonstrated a few times and ended the last one with a one-handed handstand ’cause I knew he’d be impressed. The easy laughter of an uncomplicated nine-year-old kid did wonders for my fragile state of mind.

“Whoa! Awesome, dude!”

“Thanks,” I chuckled before pointing at his shoes. “Tie your laces, bud.”

Oliver flopped onto the curb and hiked his knee up. “These shoes are dumb. I should get slip-ons like you. Gray has your shoes too. My dad doesn’t have ’em. He gets Nikes ’cause he likes to run. His shoelaces don’t come untied all the time, though.”

“You gotta double-knot ’em.” I sat beside him on the curb and picked up his foot. “Like this.”

“Thanks,” he said, resting his elbows on his knees. “How’d you learn all those tricks? Did your dad teach you?”

So much for uncomplicated company, I mused, shooting a sharp sideways glance at my mini me.

I shook my head. “No. My dad didn’t like skateboards.”

“Why not?” Oliver asked, wrinkling his nose in confusion. “Did he think they were too dangerous?”

“No. He just didn’t like anything unless it was his idea. He played volleyball in school.”

“Oh. Didn’t you like volleyball?”

“Not really. I was too short,” I huffed.

“You? You’re tall!”

“Now I am. But I didn’t grow until I was a teenager. I was a wimpy kid…super skinny and small for my age. But I was pretty coordinated. We lived near the park in Venice. I remember seeing the older kids do tricks and thinking I wanted to do that too. I asked my mom for a skateboard for my birthday when I was really young…maybe five years old, and I just took off. I fu—I loved that board. I’d walk to the park every day and hang out with the older kids and just…soak it in.”

“When you were five?” he asked incredulously. “Weren’t your parents worried about you?”

“No. My mom was sick a lot, and my dad wasn’t around much. I was kind of a street kid. But I lived by the beach, so I was a beach street kid. Different breed altogether.”

“Oh. I wonder what I am.”

“You’re just you.” When his shoulders fell, I quickly added, “You get to be anything you want to be, Ol.”

“I don’t know what I want to be.”

“What do you like to do?”

“Draw.”

“Maybe you’re an artist,” I said.

“That’s what my dad thinks. He told me I could make a logo for his new movie. There’s a safari scene, and he said I could make the design for the Jeep. I think I’m gonna do something with all the animals and make the giraffe stick up in the back.” Oliver circled his hands expressively, squinting as though he could see the design in his head.

“Wow. You’re lucky. That sounds very cool.”

“Yeah. My dad is cool. I don’t see him a lot, but he comes up with good ideas.”

“Is he traveling for work?” I asked.

“Not this week. But he has a new boyfriend, and Giorgio’s a weirdo. He always tries to steal Dad’s attention. He’s immature, but he’s old.”

“How old?”

“Twenty-six.”

“That old, eh?”

“Yeah. Older than Charlie, and Charlie says I don’t have to hang around him if I don’t want to. He thinks I should stick up for my rights.”

I pursed my lips to keep my smile in check and nodded. “Charlie’s pretty smart.”

“He’s super smart,” Ollie agreed as he stood. “Want to go to the park now?”

“Sure. Hey, um…I have a strange question. When Charlie’s mad or sad for some reason, what makes him feel better?”

I withered under Oliver’s penetrating stare until I was pretty damn close to his height. I felt a palpable sense of relief when he smiled.

“Make him laugh. Show him something funny, and he’ll forget why he’s mad,” he assured me. “Works every time.”

“Good to know.”

“What’d you do?” he asked suspiciously.

“I didn’t say I did anything.”

“Oh, okay. Well, do you like him?” He cocked his head.

“Of course I do.” I cleared my throat and jumped on my board before he could begin any major questioning. Then I motioned for Oliver to follow me. “Let’s go while we still have daylight, Ol!”

I wracked my brain for humorous stories or a funny joke to tell Charlie when he came by to get Oliver later. But Gray ended up taking him home instead. I was bummed at first, but I probably needed to put some real thought into it. A joke had to be pretty damn hysterical for it to be memorable. This felt like a “go big or go home” moment.