Tuesday, February 3, 2009

The Bone Bridge- Chapter Two

(OK, just one more taste then you'll all have to go into rehab. This is your introduction to Adam Moss, our unlikely hero. As you'll see, he's a typical suburban teenager- well-educated, spoiled, superficial and someone who never had to earn anything once in his life. That said, I think he's a likable, fearfully intelligent kid and, hopefully, I've captured the essence and voice of a 17 year-old boy. The chapter excerpt will end not long before his near-fatal accident.

This excerpt begins with the new last paragraphs of Chapter One. After this, you're all cut off. I can't give everything away, guys and dolls. Enjoy.)

“Well, that would kinda strongly suggest that someone or something was chasing them, doncha think?”

We trotted down to the next-to-last floor and walked against the cold draft until we found the broken window. A crime scene tech was already taking pictures of the scene and when he walked away we approached the window and looked out. There were two little lozenge-shaped figures below, one in a body bag, another with a sheet over them. Roddy and I both shook our heads, unable to fathom what could have been possibly going on in this building that would make jumping to your death preferable to staying inside. Some people said the same thing about the jumpers at the World Trade Center but in that case it was understandable. There was fire, smoke, fumes, and structural devastation. There was none of that here. Just some horrified expressions on over two dozen bodies and a few ice crystals that now no longer existed.

We heard a commotion going on upstairs so we rushed up the stairwell and back into the penthouse. Ron, the unimpressed CSI guy, was now very impressed with something. He was yelling into his walkie talkie, “I repeat, get EMS back up here. We’ve got a live one!”

Chapter Two
Halloween Night, six hours earlier

Sk8rgrrl342: bring yr sk8board
Emoghostboi90: ya. cant promise ne thing 2 sketchy rt now
Sk8rgrrl342: cluck cluck LOL!
Emoghostboi90: STFU ill b there
Sk8rgrrl342: cluck cluck LMFAO!
Emoghostboi90: POS
Sk8rgrrl342: k

And chicks call us dicks. When I said in that private AIM chat room that it was too sketchy to duck out of my house to go to a Halloween party, I wasn’t shitting, dude. I was grounded at the time over that board. I cut Calculus a couple of weeks ago so I could go boarding with my friends at the skateboard park on John LeRoy Drive.

It was wicked easy for Clarissa to accuse me of being chickenshit . It wasn’t her cute little ass she was putting on the line by risking getting grounded until the next Ice Age.

“What’s POS mean?” my Mom asked from behind me. Luckily, I already scrolled up the part in the dialog box where Clarissa asked me to bring my skateboard.

“What are you, reading my chat room messages? C’mon, you ever heard of the fourth amendment?”

“Adam, as long as you’re…”

“Yeah, yeah.” The rest of her sentence would’ve no doubt ended with, “…living under our roof, you have no rights to privacy. You want privacy, move out.” Which wasn’t an option for me. I was still in high school and only 17. “And POS stands for ‘piece of shit.’”

“Why are you talking dirty on the Internet?”

Luckily, I have a typical middle-aged Mom who couldn’t tell the difference between an Apache server and an Apache Indian. God help me if she ever takes a computer class. That’ll cark my whole social life and I’ll have to learn how to type with two hands again. I’m kidding about that, by the way.

But for now she didn’t and couldn’t know that “POS” really stands for “Parent Over Shoulder.” It’s the growing glossary of shorthand that we use to inconspicuously alert those we’re chatting or texting with to STFU.

“There,” my Mom said as she closed my sock drawer. “Now you have some clean socks for a change. You know, Hun, you’re more than old enough to throw a load in the washer once a week.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I droned with barely concealed impatience, waiting for the sound of my door to close so I could continue the chat. When I did, I looked behind me to see if she was really gone. Sometimes, parents sucker you like that and only pretend to leave to see what shit you’ll pull next.

OK, so maybe your parents aren’t that sneaky but mine are. My Mom and Dad rewrote the book on neurotic Jewish parenting. No wonder my older sister Laura already had one foot out the door when she got her high school diploma.

I went back to typing on my Dell laptop, whispering the words as I wrote them. “back. ill go when i can. meet me at the park.” Clarissa instantly responded with “k” and logged off before I did.

I got up and took off my pants and pulled a pair of board shorts off the floor of my closet, sniffed them and put them on. We Emo boys are about fashion and if you’re a skateboarder, you have to be especially trendy. Still, I privately admitted that half my reason for wearing baggy board shorts is to hide my boner when I get within 100 yards of Clarissa Feingold.

I knew even ducking out for a couple of hours was almost a suicide mission but what was I supposed to do while all my friends were at the coolest Halloween party in Braintree? Jerk off to my Danica Patrick poster hanging over my bed? My mother already caught me doing that last summer.

I changed into another tee shirt, the green Tony Hawk one then finger-arranged my hair. Long bangs in the front, sides pushed forwards, short and spiky in the back. I was just about the only blond Emo boy in America and I always felt self-conscious about that. That’s why I dyed some purple streaks into it to break up the boring yellow. But I was having a great hair day and luckily it was carrying over into early evening. Dude, with my great hair and big green eyes, I couldn’t believe I was still a virgin. Well, maybe after Clarissa got a couple of beers in her, who knows how sorry she’d feel for me?

And, yeah, I’m kidding about that, too. I’d never take advantage of a drunk chick. My Dad succeeded in drumming that much into my head. “How do you think your big sister Laura came into the world?”

Unfortunately, Dad wasn’t joking about that.

I spritzed a little more styling gel over the back of my hair and fingered it some more. Then I reached for my iPod, put the buds in my ears, set it to “shuffle” and started listening to my play list. I grabbed my skateboard leaning against my closet door and carefully opened my bedroom window. Hello, Mr. Tree Limb. Going down.

Clarissa Feingold’s folks were at some Halloween party in Boston and stupidly told her that they may stay the night at the hotel. At the very least, they wouldn’t be back until long after we all left her house. We all agreed to meet at the skateboard park near Route 37 on John LeRoy Drive before going over there. It was colder than a witch’s tit but who cared? I hadn’t set one toe on my board in days and was starting to get antsy. Chicks as a rule aren’t into skateboarding but Clarissa’s an exception. I love watching her on her skateboard. I especially love it when she does Ollies and her big boobs bounce up and down for like twenty seconds after she lands. Hey, just because I’m on the honor roll doesn’t mean I have to stop being a dude, right?

I rolled toward the park and could already see some of my friends. I looked for Clarissa and finally found her. I entered the park, slapping hands on the way and kicked the front of the board up into my hand. Knowing how to enter a skateboard park is almost as important as knowing how to dress for it and Clarissa, even though she was still a newbie getting the hang of Ollies, appreciated a kewl entrance. Perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect entrance. So far so good. I could almost hear my cherry popping in the distance.

“Hey!” she exclaimed. I jerked my head up, acting cooler than I really was. I was already halfway to a full-blown woodie.

She wore her best American Eagle clothes and her red bandanna that covered her hair pirate-style was kind of a disappointment since she has wicked gorgeous brown hair. Still, you don’t tell a chick what you don’t like about her looks. They tend to get kind of cranky about that. She walked toward me and put her arms around my neck. I’m 5’ 10” but Clarissa’s just an inch shorter than me. I put my arms around her waist and held her for a little longer than I suspect I should’ve but I didn’t care. So, this is why we dudes wear underwear, huh? She gave me a peck on the lips, maybe out of modesty or maybe to just to tease me.

“Looks like we’re all here. Let’s get some moves in before we start the party, ‘kay?”

Some of the other kids were in costume, some weren’t. We all attacked the course and I did some pretty good grind rails and other tricks while riding fakie just to impress her. I deliberately had my cell phone turned off. Tonight was too fucking promising to have it ruined by irate parents.


At February 4, 2009 at 12:23 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Hey JP,
I really like your writing style; I felt like I was inside the kid. And now I need to read the entire book!

At February 4, 2009 at 9:07 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Give it away give it away give it away now! Good stuff, I'll wait until you cash in to read the rest.

At February 4, 2009 at 12:32 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Great start. Nice style of writing.

At February 4, 2009 at 11:18 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

For what it's worth, I've got a 16-year old son. Adam is totally believable.(BTW, I DON'T read my son's mail, or look over his shoulder when he's chatting)


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