In the suburbs of the Arizona desert a boy stands all alone. All alone with nothing but a plank of wood, four wheels, and determination like a hunting lion in the wild. He stands in front of his Spanish colonial house that was colored a light brown, making it look like it was covered in brown sugar. Cradled in his arms is the new skateboard he used his birthday money to buy. He’s been patiently waiting for this moment for months. Patiently waiting to be like the kids on his tv. It seemed almost impossible the way they moved, being able to make the board stick to their feet as they rose into the air, almost as if they had glued their shoes to the top of the board. The way they flipped their boards this way and that, and yet somehow still managed to land back on top, like the board never left their feet. To the boy it was magic.

He stood there with a look of wonder in his eye. Staring at the board. Not knowing where to begin. His parents watched him secretly through a window feeling slightly agitated given that they had gotten him a brand new bike for Christmas not two months ago, which he had begged for and only used a few times before throwing it to the side like garbage. His parents had done their job to expose their son to as many different activities as possible, but no matter what he tried, his time of interest would be short. They watched the boy, thinking to themselves: Here he goes again. Something new to occupy him for some time, before he decides that he’s bored of it, and moves onto another source of entertainment. His parents were quite supportive of the boy, who was constantly rushing around like a river, so even though they thought these things they would simply smile at him when they saw his bubbling excitement for his new toy. 

In the middle of the street a refreshing February breeze whispered in the boy’s ears, and brushed against his face. He breathed in, filling his lungs with the cool air, then exhaled, only leaving him with a grin.

After the first month, the boy was left with ripped holes infesting his shoes, and his legs bruised and bloodied. His arms had scrapes that had begun to form cracked scabs, which felt rough and stung when he would run his fingers over them. He had gone through an immense amount of pain trying to do the most facile things. He had never expected that it would be so hard to do something as simple as going up a curb, or even rolling down it. He was worn out, but regardless of this fact, he was in love. He was in love with the challenge, but even more he was in love with the reward, and the boy couldn’t stop. When he got home from school he wouldn’t make it past the front door before grabbing his precious piece of wood, which to him had become like a child, and run for the street. Hours would pass before he would go inside, with dirt from the street staining his skin and clothes, sweat dripping profusely down his body and mixing with the dirt which only made him look dirtier. His clothes looked like they had been submerged underwater before he put them on, and he loved it all. He had never felt this feeling in all the days he had been alive. It breathed life into him, and made him feel as free as a bird. No rules, no boundaries, just whatever obstacle was in front of him, and his creativity.

Four years had passed, but to the boy it felt like the blink of an eye. The boy had done things that he never imagined he could do. He was just like the kids he had seen on tv all that time ago. All his time was spent at a concrete playground, littered with people of all ages, shapes, and sizes, but they were all just like him. When he would walk into the park, there wasn’t a face he didn't know, and he would always be greeted by someone, almost as if he lived there. The concrete dipped up and down, towered above everyone, and you could see who had been there from the multi-colored markings on the ground and the walls. In the summer the sun would beat down on the concrete, making it like molten rock, so it would cling to any skin that touched it. During this time while the sun was out, the park was abandoned, so you could only hear the birds chirping, and the cars passing by. But as the scorching sun fell into dusk, the park would come alive with people. You could hear the sound of chatter in every direction, metal trucks scraping on metal coping, and the slamming of urethane on concrete at every second. There were people flying in the air, and coming down in the carefully made curvature of the concrete with the gracefulness of a swan. The boy would spend his time trying one thing over and over until he would finally meet the gratifying feeling of rolling away on all four wheels, and every day this feeling would come faster than the last. He would converse on the side with friends that he had been with, and grown with for years, and he loved being with them because they were his people, and he was theirs. Through the years locals would disappear, leaving their dream of skateboarding behind, and there would often be new faces who were just discovering the magic, as he once did. But no matter who was there, and who wasn’t, it was his love for the sport that kept him going. He couldn’t ever imagine himself stopping, and couldn’t imagine his life without it. He had finally found where he belonged.