The Dirt in Our Skin by J. J. Anselmi

Author:J. J. Anselmi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rare Bird Books
Published: 2024-01-19T20:02:26+00:00

Me airing the first jump of Orion

23

“Fuck yeah, Ry,” Jason said as I landed back in the quarter pipe after doing a wall tap high enough to graze my shoulder on the roof of the shop, which sprinkled dust in the air. Neither of us had to work that day, so we came home to ride right after school.

It was early March of our senior year, and Suffield was still under two feet of snow. Our classmates constantly talked about what colleges they’d applied to, about all the amazing things they planned to do once they got into the school of their dreams. I’d taken the SATs the previous spring and gotten accepted into Temple in Philly as an early applicant, but I still hadn’t told Jason. He didn’t apply to college. There was no way Laurie could afford it. Having half-assed our way through high school, neither of us were competitive for any scholarships. Riding our ramp that afternoon, I blurted out that I was going to Temple.

Jason forced a smile and said, “That’s awesome.” He and I both knew this would happen, but the sudden reality of it was sandpaper on skin. He spun his pedals backward one rotation, sat on his bike, and cleared his throat. “I’ve actually been talking with a few guys from Bethlehem about renting a house near Posh.” He hadn’t said anything about it to me until that moment, so I felt somewhat betrayed.

“Hell yeah,” I said. “We’ll be able to ride together all the time.” The short distance between Bethlehem and Philly was a salve, but it was clear that change had been set in motion. I wouldn’t have admitted that I was scared to move away, especially since I’d been talking shit about Suffield since middle school—but I was. While I obviously couldn’t wait to get out of my dad’s house, I wanted everything between Jason and me to stay the same.

As Jason rode that afternoon, the sounds of wood slapping concrete and the coping getting jostled rose above the din of Converge’s metallic hardcore playing on Dad’s stereo. Jason had gotten to the point where he had to moderate his airs in the shop, which had a twelve-foot-roof, so he didn’t hit his head. Gravity didn’t seem to exist in the same way for him.

We rode for forty or so minutes but then started feeling restless. My parents weren’t due home for at least another hour, so we decided to go into the enclosed tool room, which had become our place to fool around when it was too cold to ride outside. Neither Jason nor I even thought about watching out for my parents. There was something more pressing to deal with.

Of course my dad came home early, and of course we didn’t hear him yell our names over the loud music. We were focused on how good we were starting to feel—on the mad rush of blood that tunneled our reality, and the sharp need to extract that energy.

And, of course, he caught us.

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