Sigh, Gone by Phuc Tran

Author:Phuc Tran
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Flatiron Books

OCTOBER 1987

Kick. Push. Kick. Push. Coast.

My skateboard sped along. I was about three blocks from Liam’s house, headphones on, a cassette of Stiff Little Fingers blaring away. Gotta gettaway, gotta, gotta, gotta gettaway. The chatter of my wheels over pavement clacked in between the songs.

As I passed the 7-Eleven, the driveway dip-and-rise popped up, and I launched myself into the air. Airborne! Ah nice … ah fuck. My wheels hit the ground hard, bucking me off my deck and sending me flying. An almost landed ollie. I overran my deck and turned around to get it.

I could hear laughter from the parking lot, and I knew immediately.

Shit. Rednecks.

“Hey, nice trick, you fag!” More laughter. High fives. Spitting. Don’t look at them. Don’t provoke them—you’re outnumbered.

I reoriented my board and skated quickly away. Kick. Push. Kick. Push. My haste sparked a predatory instinct in them, and before I got to the end of the block, I heard their truck coughing on as they turned onto the street behind me.

Skate faster. Shit.

“Hey!” they yelled from the truck. “HEY!”

I did the math. One-on-three. I made a plan to hit at least one of them with my skateboard if it came to that, but I was going to exhaust my flight instinct before the fight. I heard the truck stalking me, its low-speed tires making a shurring sound. Headphones on my ears, I clicked off my Walkman to be able to hear them.

“Hey! You fuckin’ faggot! We’re talking to you! With the fuckin’ blue Smurf boots!” They flicked a half-smoked cigarette at me that flared across my path. Instinctively, I made a motion with my head that signaled that I saw them. Big mistake.

I skated harder. They’d have to knock me off my board, and then someone would eat a fucking mouthful of plywood. Kickpushkickpushkickpushkickpush.

“Hey, we’re talking to you, you fuckin’ nigger!”

Jesus, you guys are idiots—did you seriously call a Vietnamese kid that?

“HEY! Stop! We want to tell you something!” That was a rhetorical request if I ever heard one.

I saw Liam’s street ahead and skated hard for it, crossing in front of the truck, kicking furiously. The truck turned and sped up to keep pace, but I saw my salvation ahead: my friends.

Liam and a few guys looked up when they heard my skateboard coming, and then they saw the truck in parallel pursuit. The crew fanned out across both sides of the street, heading toward me, some on their skateboards, some flanking the truck. They knew what was going on. We changed the odds from one-on-three to nine-on-three as we circled the truck, a small flock of overpowering Lilliputians.

Liam called out to me. “Hey, Phuc—you okay?” He spoke to me, but he was glowering directly at the driver, a stubbled kid maybe nineteen years old in a red baseball cap and a denim jacket. Liam’s gaze was still locked on the driver as Liam extended his hand out to me. I was overjoyed to see him and clasped his hand.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I looked at one of the kids in the back seat and gave him the middle finger.

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