"Diamond Run" Christ Sol
Disclaimer: Queer fiction. Adult themes and language. Not for the sissys.
Fan mail to webtrash@unpunk.com
Chapter 3
My mouth opened, I went to say something. I guessed hi would do, so I smiled and said "..." "SCOUT! C'mon man, let's GO!" "Orrite already!" I grumbled, scrambling out of my bindings and walking towards the lift at the second-lowest elevation. Looking back, I saw Ry pause for a moment, look back to the dude in red. The awesome guy with the blue hair and amazing smile.
The look I found on Ry's face was one of sheer contempt. I saw contempt because, until that moment, I didnt believe Ryan was capable of hate.
We got to the lift and climbed on. I was the first to speak.
"Someone you know?" "I was gonna ask you the same question." "He knows his shit."
Ryan grunted and stared out into empty space.
(Drop it, Scout.) (What the fuck's up dude?) (I don't know. Just drop it.)
I sighed, and was glad in a kind of empty way when we reached the track out to the carpark.
The tuning room was like almost every other one in the country. Back room of a Jindy pub, the smell of dope and boardwax, laughter and conversation and an old radio belting out local rock.
Ryan was upstairs in the room, showering, so I figured I'd start on his board. I ran the diamond file over the edge absently, listening to the conversation around me.
"---complete fucking joke. She's twice his age and she's got a kid. It won't last---" "-- so after I saw the blood I freaked out, I was like FUCK and all I could think of was ramming the branch up the ass of the plowguy. My sponsor said they would sue Hotham, like the owners and shit, but you know, it's---" "Hey, anyone got some spare gummy paper?"
Turning at that last voice, I held up a fresh sheet from my box. "Yeah dude, enjoy."
The blue-haired dude took it and smiled. Half the blood of my upper body flashflooded my cheeks and crotch and I grinned stupidly back.
"So, -- good day out today huh?" "Yeah, it was perfect weather. Those southerlies blew themselves out by noon. Last thing we want is a snowstorm."
I just smiled back, the diamond file in my hand forgotten. "Yeah. Especially if you wanna, uh, take the whole summit in one hit."
A curious look crossed his face. "Don't think anyone this year's serious enough to take the third and fourth elevations."
A cool, calculated voice broke in from across the room in a tone which chilled me to the bone. "We rode from third elevation today. Scout and me."
The way he said 'scout and ME'. Was that jealousy? If not, why did he sound so possessive? I tried to shrug it off, but it stared, like a thorn in my mind.
"Hey Ryan, how was the shower?" "Wet. Were you going to tune my board or stand in front of it with your dick in your hand all night?"
There was a low chuckle from across the room, and I was suddenly very, very angry. Bad move.
I fired the file at his chest with almost as much strength as I had, feeling a sick sense of glee as it bounced heavily off his chest, slightly winding him.
"Tune your own fucking piece of shit, cunt. And when yer done with that Fisher Price My-First-Snowboard, get a real deck and let me know."
I stormed out, the shock on his face worth every second of it. I dont care how many times we've exchanged secrets, bailed eachother out of a crisis, how many dozens of times we've slept, arm in arm, feeling him still inside of me. He had no right to treat me like that, and I was determined to let him know that.
I spat on the ground outside, my breath making little clouds of perspiration in the chilly air. The pub door opened and slammed again, but I didn't look.
"You too pissed to talk to me man?"
It wasn't Ryan. I turned and looked deep into his eyes, which were a light stony grey. He really was beautiful.
"Nah man. Could do with some decent company right now anyhow. Name's-" "Scout. I know."
He proffered his hand. "Mark Devon."
I shook his hand, gloveless but warm, and leaned back against the pub wall.
"How long you been riding, Scout?" "'Bout four years." "Which makes you about 21?" "Yeah. Ho'd ya know that?" "You got the kind of balance you gotta develop young. You ever surf?" "I hate the ocean. Anything that bites and swims faster than me freaks me out."
Mark barked a short laugh, his eyes lighting up. Then we stood in silence for a while. It was am amazingly clear night for this altitude, and billions of stars speckled the inky sky.
"You feel up to going back inside now? Cold out." "Nope." "You can't stay out here all night. Come back to my van, listen to some tunes."
I turned and looked at him intently for a second, his eyes shining jewels in his weathered, but young, face. "Sounds like a plan."