In Too Deep by D C Grant
There was no one using the bowl when he arrived, but there were two boys on the edge, talking. They looked up as he approached and he recognised them. They were from his school. He didn’t know their names but he knew that they hung around with Bevan. He couldn’t see Bevan, but he hesitated in case he appeared. He didn’t want to mess with Bevan that night, or any night.
He and the two boys looked at each other from opposite sides of the bowl. No one else appeared.
“What the hell,” Josh muttered to himself; thinking things couldn’t get much worse and dropped into the bowl. His skateboard wheels made the familiar whirring sound as he went through the transition and up the other side. He pulled a frontside ollie then pumped back down through the transition, slashed across the bowl and up to the lip where he did a rock 180. He forgot about the two boys watching him, forgot that his father had stuffed up his life and forgot that he had a Maths exam the next day. His thoughts were focused on his movements in the bowl and his control over the skateboard under his feet. The board moved like it was directly connected to his brain and nothing mattered except maintaining the momentum of his board over the concrete and his passage through the air. Each trick he executed was perfect. Perhaps it was the anger, but tonight he was hot.
It couldn’t last forever. On one of the kickturns he mistimed his landing and missed the board altogether. He landed heavily, but he rolled his body through it so that the impact was absorbed while his board slid away and came to a stop.
Josh got up carefully and tried out his legs. Nothing seemed to be broken. His right knee throbbed where he had taken the initial impact, but not enough to stop him walking. He picked up his board.
“Cool moves,” said one of the boys at the lip of the bowl.
He’d forgotten they were there. Josh nodded his head in greeting.
“Got a name?” the other boy called out.
“Josh,” he answered as he made his way out of the bowl.
One of the boys came over to him. Josh stood his ground, wary. The boy had something in his hand and Josh got ready to duck.
“Want one?” the boy said, holding out what Josh could now see was a can of beer.
“Yeah, sure,” he said as he took the can.
“I’m Scott. That’s Mitch. Don’t you go to our school?”
“Yeah.”
Scott nodded. “Thought I’d seen you around.”
Mitch dropped into the bowl. Josh popped the pull-tab on the can of beer and downed half of it.
“Where’s Bevan?” he asked. These guys seemed friendly but perhaps that would change if Bevan came.
“He’s gone to the beach. Back tonight,” Scott said.
“Beach?”
“Piha. His folks bought a bach down there.”
Josh felt a wave of anger rush through him. “They bought a bach? Just like that?”
“Yeah, sure. Bevan said he wanted to surf down there and the folks thought it a good idea to pick one up.”
“Just pick one up?” Josh said. “Don’t you know how much a bach at Piha costs these days?”
“Doesn’t worry them,” Scott said with a shrug. “Heaps of money, man.”
“But Bevan can’t surf,” Josh blurted out.
Scott frowned. “You’ve seen him surf?’
“Last summer he was out at Piha,” Josh said. “I think he caught more rides in the rescue boat than he caught waves.”
Scott scowled and Josh felt his stomach muscles flip. What was he thinking?
“I mean,” he said quickly, “I’m sure he’s gotten better this year.”
“Sure,” Scott said and smiled.
Josh relaxed. He’d got away with it.
“Shit!” It was Mitch. He’d fallen off his board and was getting to his feet. He rubbed his hip as he made his way out. Scott grabbed his own board and dropped into the bowl. Mitch offered Josh another beer, which he took, and a cigarette, which he refused.
The moon came out from behind a cloud and cast a bluish light over the pale concrete. The whirr of the skateboard wheels was the only sound and for the first time since leaving home Josh relaxed.
The house was dark when he got back. He hadn’t taken a key with him and he had no idea how he was going to get back in. He tried the front door and was surprised to find it unlocked. He stood just inside the door while his eyes adjusted to the total blackness. He could hear no movement inside the house –no one was waiting for his return and he wouldn’t have to explain where he’d been or why he’d stayed out till so late. Neither was there anyone around to smell the alcohol on his breath.
He closed the door slowly and began to feel his way along the passage. He had just about reached the stairs, when a sudden sound from the family room stopped him.
He waited, expecting someone to call out his name but no one did. He started forward again and reached the bottom of the stairs. Again he heard the muffled sound. He went past the stairs and stood in the entrance way of the family room.
There was someone in the armchair, sitting in the dark. The figure was hunched over and Josh stood still, trying to make sense of the scene. The beer had slowed his brain and he couldn’t think. The shape moved and Josh stepped back into the darkness of the passage. It was his father, and his father was crying.
He turned and made for the stairs. He was halfway up when he heard his father call out, “Josh, is that you?”
He didn’t answer. Climbing the last few steps, he headed for his bedroom. He leant his board against his bed and quickly jumped in, fully clothed. He turned his face to the wall and tried to slow his rapid breathing. A moment later, his father stopped at the bedroom door.
“Josh, are you there?” he said softly.
Josh didn’t answer. His father came into the room and stood beside his bed. Josh waited, slowing his breathing, trying to fake sleep. Time seemed to drag on forever. He was going to have to take a deep breath soon and then his father would be on to him.
“Goodnight, Josh,” his father whispered, placing a hand on his forehead and brushing his fringe aside. It took all his self-control not to react to his father’s touch. He continued to hold his breath as his father left the room and closed the door behind him.
Josh let out the pent-up air in his lungs and drew in another breath. It took him a while to get his breathing back to normal. He realised he still had his shoes on so he reached down and slipped them off, dropping them one by one onto the bedroom floor. He sighed deeply and let sleep overtake him.
He and the two boys looked at each other from opposite sides of the bowl. No one else appeared.
“What the hell,” Josh muttered to himself; thinking things couldn’t get much worse and dropped into the bowl. His skateboard wheels made the familiar whirring sound as he went through the transition and up the other side. He pulled a frontside ollie then pumped back down through the transition, slashed across the bowl and up to the lip where he did a rock 180. He forgot about the two boys watching him, forgot that his father had stuffed up his life and forgot that he had a Maths exam the next day. His thoughts were focused on his movements in the bowl and his control over the skateboard under his feet. The board moved like it was directly connected to his brain and nothing mattered except maintaining the momentum of his board over the concrete and his passage through the air. Each trick he executed was perfect. Perhaps it was the anger, but tonight he was hot.
It couldn’t last forever. On one of the kickturns he mistimed his landing and missed the board altogether. He landed heavily, but he rolled his body through it so that the impact was absorbed while his board slid away and came to a stop.
Josh got up carefully and tried out his legs. Nothing seemed to be broken. His right knee throbbed where he had taken the initial impact, but not enough to stop him walking. He picked up his board.
“Cool moves,” said one of the boys at the lip of the bowl.
He’d forgotten they were there. Josh nodded his head in greeting.
“Got a name?” the other boy called out.
“Josh,” he answered as he made his way out of the bowl.
One of the boys came over to him. Josh stood his ground, wary. The boy had something in his hand and Josh got ready to duck.
“Want one?” the boy said, holding out what Josh could now see was a can of beer.
“Yeah, sure,” he said as he took the can.
“I’m Scott. That’s Mitch. Don’t you go to our school?”
“Yeah.”
Scott nodded. “Thought I’d seen you around.”
Mitch dropped into the bowl. Josh popped the pull-tab on the can of beer and downed half of it.
“Where’s Bevan?” he asked. These guys seemed friendly but perhaps that would change if Bevan came.
“He’s gone to the beach. Back tonight,” Scott said.
“Beach?”
“Piha. His folks bought a bach down there.”
Josh felt a wave of anger rush through him. “They bought a bach? Just like that?”
“Yeah, sure. Bevan said he wanted to surf down there and the folks thought it a good idea to pick one up.”
“Just pick one up?” Josh said. “Don’t you know how much a bach at Piha costs these days?”
“Doesn’t worry them,” Scott said with a shrug. “Heaps of money, man.”
“But Bevan can’t surf,” Josh blurted out.
Scott frowned. “You’ve seen him surf?’
“Last summer he was out at Piha,” Josh said. “I think he caught more rides in the rescue boat than he caught waves.”
Scott scowled and Josh felt his stomach muscles flip. What was he thinking?
“I mean,” he said quickly, “I’m sure he’s gotten better this year.”
“Sure,” Scott said and smiled.
Josh relaxed. He’d got away with it.
“Shit!” It was Mitch. He’d fallen off his board and was getting to his feet. He rubbed his hip as he made his way out. Scott grabbed his own board and dropped into the bowl. Mitch offered Josh another beer, which he took, and a cigarette, which he refused.
The moon came out from behind a cloud and cast a bluish light over the pale concrete. The whirr of the skateboard wheels was the only sound and for the first time since leaving home Josh relaxed.
The house was dark when he got back. He hadn’t taken a key with him and he had no idea how he was going to get back in. He tried the front door and was surprised to find it unlocked. He stood just inside the door while his eyes adjusted to the total blackness. He could hear no movement inside the house –no one was waiting for his return and he wouldn’t have to explain where he’d been or why he’d stayed out till so late. Neither was there anyone around to smell the alcohol on his breath.
He closed the door slowly and began to feel his way along the passage. He had just about reached the stairs, when a sudden sound from the family room stopped him.
He waited, expecting someone to call out his name but no one did. He started forward again and reached the bottom of the stairs. Again he heard the muffled sound. He went past the stairs and stood in the entrance way of the family room.
There was someone in the armchair, sitting in the dark. The figure was hunched over and Josh stood still, trying to make sense of the scene. The beer had slowed his brain and he couldn’t think. The shape moved and Josh stepped back into the darkness of the passage. It was his father, and his father was crying.
He turned and made for the stairs. He was halfway up when he heard his father call out, “Josh, is that you?”
He didn’t answer. Climbing the last few steps, he headed for his bedroom. He leant his board against his bed and quickly jumped in, fully clothed. He turned his face to the wall and tried to slow his rapid breathing. A moment later, his father stopped at the bedroom door.
“Josh, are you there?” he said softly.
Josh didn’t answer. His father came into the room and stood beside his bed. Josh waited, slowing his breathing, trying to fake sleep. Time seemed to drag on forever. He was going to have to take a deep breath soon and then his father would be on to him.
“Goodnight, Josh,” his father whispered, placing a hand on his forehead and brushing his fringe aside. It took all his self-control not to react to his father’s touch. He continued to hold his breath as his father left the room and closed the door behind him.
Josh let out the pent-up air in his lungs and drew in another breath. It took him a while to get his breathing back to normal. He realised he still had his shoes on so he reached down and slipped them off, dropping them one by one onto the bedroom floor. He sighed deeply and let sleep overtake him.