“No.” she said. She let the little curtain fall and I heard her shuffle away. I skated across Lake to Holliston. I wanted to bomb it again. The street lights were coming on and the shadows were growing darker. I sat on my board and looked at the distance that stretched out before me. I concentrated for a moment, trying to see it as time. I reminded myself that the light coming from the trees at the bottom of the street took longer to get to me than the trees at the top of the street, and that everything I was seeing was happening in a different present than mine. As the light turned green I began counting. It was time that I was looking at. It took concentration, but I could see space that way.
At fifteen I pushed off, not too hard, remembering how close I’d cut it the last time. I kept my mind focused on the fact that I was travelling through time. Every rotation of my Hosoi wheels could be divided into an infinite number of fractions, and I could feel as many of them as I wanted. I had to rein in my mind which continually wanted to jump forward to a new point, but I kept the points as close together as possible. Mr. Bennett was right, this was slowing down time. I was in control.
I cleared the intersection and was way down by Avocado Terrace when I saw the van. It was coming up Atchison and if it stopped at the stop sign it would be on a collision course. I immediately forgot about the time thing and put my feet down on the pavement rushing beneath me. I knew the driver didn’t see me, he only made a cursory stop at the sign and proceeded to turn left onto Holliston. I was going to smash into the van. I couldn’t veer right without being run over, so I veered left and hit the curb. My skate popped into the air and I tumbled across the sidewalk and was stopped by an iron gate at the end of a driveway. The van kept going.
I stood up quickly and felt a rush of adrenaline. A high pitched tone was ringing in my ears. My right leg was weak and my arm was tingling. My hearing returned as I walked over to get my skate out of the street. I did a mental inventory of my body. My leg was hurting, but certainly not broken. I’d landed hard on the meaty part of my thigh near my ass. It would be a large bruise. My arm felt strange but I could bend and straighten it okay. I touched it and realized it was wet with blood. I looked at it and saw gravel stuck in my flesh which I brushed off. It started to sting. I turned my skate over and stepped on. My shirt was all ripped anyway, so I wiped some of the blood off on it.
I felt battered and beaten as I skated home, but not just physically. I was filled with an overwhelming sadness and guilt, and I didn’t know why. When I was in my room, sitting on my bed it hit me. It was the memory of an awful event that was burned into my brain. I had no idea where it came from, it just appeared in my mind and I knew it was real.
I was afraid, and I was hiding in a high place and looking down from above. I could see Michael running, and there were two men closing in on him. He was trapped in a corner and he looked desperate. He turned and ran toward them and they shot him again and again. He hit the ground and blood slowly spread out in a dark circle around the upper half of his body. Looking back, I don’t know why I didn’t question this memory or try to pin down when exactly it had happened, I just knew it was real. I accepted it the way you accept things that happen in dreams. In a dream you never ask yourself why you are flying or how you are doing it, you just fly. I had seen Michael shot to death, and I should have stopped it. I was looking down on the whole thing and I could’ve done something, but I just watched. I was a coward. I sat on my bed reliving the moment again and again. I cried softly and buried my face in my pillow. I was ashamed.
10
I woke up early the next morning to the sound of the phone ringing. It was a little after seven and Kate hadn’t left for work yet. I heard her telling the person on the other end that they had the wrong number.
Michael had been shot to death and I felt a gnawing guilt in the pit of my stomach. I could’ve stopped it.
The phone rang again a minute later. It must have been the same person because she told them they still had the wrong number and she wasn’t selling a car. Instantly, I was fully awake. All of a sudden the idea that Michael had been shot seemed ridiculous. He wasn’t dead, I’d said goodbye to him two nights ago at the grotto. He was fine. I had no idea what could’ve caused me to think that Michael had been killed. I didn’t have time to think about it because I was gripped with the fear that Kate would discover my plans. I silently prayed that no one else would call before she left. If more than one person called about the car, and she got the bill for the classified ad at the end of the month, she might put those things together and start asking questions. She would definitely call the cops if she suspected I was using her phone for criminal shit.
Finally she left and I could relax. I sat in bed wondering how I could’ve remembered something that never happened. It was so real. It couldn’t have been a dream, I’d been fully awake the night before when it hit me. Possibly it was some sort of hallucination, I’d smoked some herb earlier that day. But I’d been smoking for years and I’d never experienced anything like that before. I wondered if I’d scrambled my brain somehow when I took that spill. I thought maybe I had a concussion. I felt around for lumps on my head, but I couldn’t find any. Last night I’d been sure he was dead, now I was sure he was alive. I decided I’d better monitor myself carefully for awhile to make sure I wasn’t going crazy.
I picked up the phone and called Michael. His mother answered and I half expected her to tell me he’d been killed. Instead she asked me to hold on and I heard her tell Michael not to talk long or he’d be late for school. “Nick? What’s up man?”
I decided not to mention his being gunned down in my broken mind. “Hey, someone already called about the car but my mom told them they had the wrong number. It looks like this thing is gonna go down today, but I don’t know what to tell people who call here. What’s our next move?” I asked.
“Yeah of course I got it. It’s in my backpack.” Michael said. “What’d you think I was going to forget?”
“Oh, is your mom right there or something?”
“Yeah. I’m leaving for school now. I’ll see you in ten minutes.” He said before hanging up the phone.
I decided to take a shower and think about what had to be done. I let the hot water hit my face as I tried to establish an identity for myself. I was a guy selling a car, that wasn’t so far-fetched. Why was I selling it? Because I was going to college back east and I couldn’t take it with me. NYU. That was in Manhattan, so it wouldn’t make sense to take a car. I was playing the part of a smart guy, a college boy. This would require my Good Shirt and my Good Pants. My skate would have to be nowhere in sight. I could do it.
I was a dead man.
The phone rang as I was drying off and I thought it might be Michael. The woman on the other end asked about the car. I told her I had my hands full and I’d have to call her back in a few minutes. I took down her number. I was feeling very nervous about the whole thing as I got dressed. I was trying to make my hair look respectable when there was a knock at the door. “We’re gonna be rich.” Michael said as I let him in.
“Yeah well, two people called already, I guess there’s a lot of interest in it. How are we doing this shit exactly?”
“Tell them to come up to my Uncle’s house. He’s at 452 Altadena Drive. It’s one block in from El Molino. Tell them to come an hour apart so we have enough time to sell that motherfucker if someone wants to buy.”
“Alright, here it goes.” I picked up the phone. Michael sat down on the couch and put his skate under his feet on the carpet as I dialed the number. “Hi, you called earlier about the car?”
The woman on the other end sounded well prepared. “Is the car’s inspection and smog check up to date?”
“Yes.”
“Has it ever been in an accident or had any major repairs?”
“No.” I said, then thinking about it I added, “just the usual oil changes and a break pad replacement.” Michael nodded his head vigorousl
y in approval.
“We’d like to come take a look at it and go for a test drive if possible.” She said.
“Sure, how about today?” I asked.
“Alright. Where and when should we meet you?” I told her the address and to meet me there at noon. I was a little concerned about the ‘we’ she’d used. I hadn’t thought of having to deal with more than one person at a time. All I could think of was the questions they might ask that I wouldn’t have the answers to.
A gruff sounding man called almost immediately and I set an appointment with him for one. There wasn’t another call for a half hour or so, and Michael and I spent the time trying to think up plausible answers to questions that might be asked. When the phone rang again it was an older sounding guy with a New York accent. I tried to set the appointment for two but he told me he couldn’t make it until three thirty. He said his name was Jordy and he had to drive in from Culver City. He gave me his number and told me to call if I couldn’t keep the appointment. We waited another hour for the phone to ring again. We were about to give up when it did. It was another older sounding guy who talked to me like I was a friend. He said he needed to buy a car for his daughter and wanted to make sure it wasn’t anything too