Longboard

Two weeks ago, I was at my parents’ house in Las Vegas, staying the night on my way back to Utah from Disneyland. Disneyland was fun, even if we did wait in line for three hours for the Radiator Springs Racers ride. And if the new Fast Pass system is exploitive money gouging. And if my feet still hurt two weeks later. It was fun, I promise. But we’re not talking about Disneyland today.

In the few hours I was home, it was nice to see my baby brother, who, at some point since I moved out in 2016, grew to be about 18 feet tall and can now lift a school bus full of snot-nosed children with lead in their backpacks, all by himself. I enjoyed sleeping with my dog at my feet. And I enjoyed eating my dad’s famous Sunday morning waffles.

Also while I was home, I took out the trash. Nobody asked me to take out the trash. I just did it because I’m amazing and helpful. I’m an absolute domestic dream.

Whilst transferring the waste items from the kitchen trash can, which holds some crap, to the garage trash can, which holds lots of crap, I noticed, hanging on the wall, my stripy green longboard.

Me with my stripy green longboard, 2013

I acquired my longboard back in 2013 in the midst of a longboard trend that swept across northwest Las Vegas and didn’t last. I used my longboard only a handful of times as a teenager, and it has continued to live on the wall of my parent’s garage, unused, mostly because I don’t really have much room for it in my small apartment in Provo. Also, admittedly, because, as I get older, I seem to have gotten clumsier, more injury-prone, perpetually achy, and riding a longboard feels risky. I keep telling myself I’m going to start doing yoga or exercising regularly, something to help me be less clumsy or injury-prone or achy, and I never do. Just a few weeks ago, I went to check out the gym at my new apartment building. I literally walked in, said, “hmm, this is nice,” and went to the Taco Bell next door for a Baja Blast Freeze, a beef chalupa, and some Cinnabon Delights instead. But that’s neither here nor there.

In a moment of oversight when choosing the aforementioned new apartment, the one with the nice gym I’ve never used, I failed to check the apartment’s proximity to a bus stop. I take the bus from Provo to UVU campus every day because 1) the Earth, and 2) my wallet. However, I hadn’t realized until after I had moved in that my new apartment is located a mile—a whole mile—from the nearest bus stop. Every morning and every evening, I trudge an entire effing mile up Freedom Boulevard and along the Provo River trail. Especially as the weather gets colder, I’m suddenly overwhelmed with the strange urge to marry multiple women as I feel a connection with my pioneer ancestors that I’ve never felt before.

On that fateful Sunday morning at my parent’s house, while fulfilling unsolicited domestic duties, I gazed upon my old longboard and found what I thought was an end to my daily pedestrian misery.

I took my longboard off the hook where it hung for years and put it in the car to go with me back to Utah.

The next morning, I grabbed my longboard and set off on my morning commute.

I felt so free as I cruised along my usual foot path, now with wheels. The breeze that blew across my face was invigorating. I was shaving significant time off my morning commute. The de-ga-de-ga-de-ga-de-ga-de-ga-de-ga of the longboard wheels gliding across the wood planks of the bridge as I crossed the Provo River was like sweet music to my ears. The experience was ecstatic. 10/10. Do recommend.

Then, everything stopped. I realized that the wheels beneath my feet and encountered an obstacle, and I understood in that moment that I would inevitably die.

In a split-second decision, I side-stepped in an attempt to curb my trajectory away from the unyielding sidewalk in front of me and toward the grassy bank to my left. My brown leather oxfords disconnected from the abrasive surface of the board as my body’s angle relative to the pavement departed from the ideal perpendicular and approached a less-than-desirable parallel position.

My attempt to shift my landing place was, fortunately, successful. I belly flopped on the wet grass and slid. I kept expecting to stop, but I just kept sliding. After penguin sliding around the entire circumference of the Earth, I slowed and finally came to a stop about 15 feet from where my longboard remained, its front wheels nestled snugly in the literal Grand Canyon.

The Grand Canyon, 2022

Time resumed its normal pace. My brain subconsciously tried to utter an expletive, but the only sound that was able to leave my mouth was a deep, guttural moan; the demon in my body evidently decided that it would like to possess *literally anyone else*. I was trying to catch my breath when I realized that the sprinklers were running, which explains how I ended up sliding an entire hop, skip, and jump away from my initial point of impact.

I finally regained my faculties and stood up, wiping water from my face. I looked down to find that I was very wet and very muddy. My pants had holes and my shoes were irreparably scuffed from where they had dragged on the sidewalk before reaching the grass. While every part of my body hurt, I showed no signs of lesions or broken bones. Well, except my lesioned pride and broken dreams.

I didn’t have time to return home and get cleaned up and change clothes—I was almost an entire effing mile from home—so I picked up my stripy green longboard and walked the rest of the way to the bus stop. I got cleaned up in a bathroom once I arrived UVU campus, and plotted to douse the longboard in gasoline and watch it burn.

Now, nearly two weeks later, as I continue to pop Tylenol like Tic Tacs to mitigate the wonders that fall did on my spine, I think back on that fateful Sunday morning when I took out the trash at my parents’ house. What would my life be now if I had left the task of trash removal to my peasant little brother who actually lives at that house, whose rightful responsibility it was?

I can sit and wish I could go back in time, but regret will get me nowhere. All I can do is look forward with determination. Therefore, I, going forward, am determined never to take out the trash again.