It wasn't a good idea to begin skating in my neighborhood again. I needed to skate down Broadway and back up again, because it was where I met skaters.

Skaters still said, "Hey, Z," as we passed on the streets of El Cajon.

I no longer stopped to chat when I passed skaters. I always had somewhere to be, but now, I needed to fit back in with the skaters I knew. I'd spend a lot of time chatting up skaters once we moved to El Cajon. I had plenty of time after work to sit and watch television and play computer games, but I didn't meet anyone watching TV.

I never know when I might meet a nice boy skating with a boy I knew, once I dropped my board on the sidewalk. I knew a dozen skaters, and there was probably a million in El Cajon alone. I had plenty of time to skate while keeping my eyes open. It wouldn't keep me from surfing or spending time with Skip.

I started relaxing on the patch of grass beside the mall. At one time, skaters once dropped down beside me to chat. After work, I took the left turn at Broadway that took me to the mall. I usually had more than an hour before my parents put dinner on the table. Lounging on my patch of grass was nice.

When skaters passed, 'Hey, Z," was often the salutation.

When I didn't know their name, I'd say, "Hey, dude."

Boys who said hello were usually known to me. A couple did drop down to chat. Brian stopped, when the boy he was with kept skating.

"Hey, Z, where you been?" Brian wanted to know.

"Oh, here and there. I've been learning to surf."

"Cool, Dude. You're from back east. All boys should surf, Z."

Yes they should. I'd recommend it. It wasn't my favorite thing right off. I spent more time drinking the Pacific Ocean than I did surfing, but once I started catching waves, I realized what a spectacular thing it was to do.

A couple of times I was late for dinner, because a boy sat down to talk. Getting back into circulation was more important than eating. Once I felt like I was reconnected to El Cajon's skaters, I'd excuse myself if someone sat down too close to dinner time, but for the time being, I stayed to make small talk.

My parents knew I'd been sad since Free left. No one but Skip had stayed for dinner in over a year. They were sympathetic. They worried about me. Having good parents meant stability at the house. I was lucky to have good parents. I didn't worry about making them mad by being late. I was a working man, and if I came in late for dinner, how difficult was it to put a plate in the microwave. Had they not been as supportive as they were, my life wouldn't be as good.

My parents were stable influences for me, because they were rarely excited about anything. Even back home, when times were hard, my parents would sit down together and decide how to get through a rough spot.

Now, we ate better than we ever had, and my parents were pleasant to be around. They didn't question me about what was bothering me. They made it clear that they were there to help me, when I needed help. Since we'd never had the talk, and I didn't intend to discuss my sex life with them, they had to figure out that all my boyfriends were boys, and I never brought a girl home. Even when we lived back home, the only girls in my life were girl friends, not girlfriends.

I didn't question them on their sex life, and they returned the favor, but if they weren't sure I was queer, they had to strongly suspect it.

Since life had a habit of throwing high inside fastballs at your head, I wasn't as surprised as I could be. I'd heard Brenda tutoring Free in the back of Hitchcock's for him to pass his GED exam.

Free needed his high school diploma before the Navy would take him. The pitcher was winding up. In the back of my mind, I knew the pitch was coming, even if I wasn't thinking about Free leaving. San Diego was a Navy town.

I ducked when the pitch came at my head, but I didn't wait for another pitch.

My life went to pieces and playing ball wasn't on my mind.

I knew when the time came to get back into the game. I could keep putting it off, but sooner or later, if I wanted love in my life, I needed to play ball. The next boy was out there. I had to be out there if I wanted to hear that click. It was the only way I'd know that he's the one I've been waiting for.

Between the period of time when Free left for the Navy, and the time I met Skip, I brought Free's letters to the table. My father picked up the mail and he knew when Free wrote me. They didn't ask me to read my letters to them, but they liked Free, and they knew he was the one at the time.

Once I met Skip, I stopped reading Free's letters at the table. It was a good thing too, because the letters were fewer and further between. Since I was learning to surf, I told my parents the stories about my travails trying to get up on a wave, because they met Skip when he stayed too long in my bed.

I didn't explain Skip's presence beyond saying, "This is my friend Skip."

I was sure they could read between the lines. I hadn't brought a boy home since Free left, until Skip and I got carried away while giving each other what for.

Skip was careful to leave before my parents got home, but when he didn't leave in time, it was time for my parents to meet him. It was easier than I thought it might be. If they sensed Skip and I were doing each other, they didn't let on. It was time my parents met Skip anyway, and when we came downstairs together, introductions were made.

"Won't you stay for dinner, Skip?" Dad asked. "There's plenty for four."

Skip didn't inquire about what was on the menu before agreeing to break bread with us. He was polite and mannerly and my parents were too.

Skip stayed from time to time to make his presence in my life known. Skip was my surfing coach, among other things, but the coaching he gave me in bed never came up, although he taught me plenty. Whoever Chet was, he'd be a lucky lad once Skip found him. I was lucky when he found me. Skip was the man.

I always put Skip in my surfing stories after that, because he was the only boy who took me surfing and introduced me to hot surfers. I left that part out. We'd been living in California for nearly three years. They'd seen surfers. They knew they were a healthy looking lot.

Everything was hunky-dory at my house. I'd covered all the bases and my parents saw that I was doing fine after Free was gone for over a year. I rarely mentioned him and they didn't either.

I didn't say I was over Free. I had a hunch I'd never get over Free, but my feelings for him resided in a special place near my heart and in my mind. My parents saw enough of Skip to draw their own conclusions. I didn't discourage them from thinking what they did. That kept them from worrying about me.

I'd been knocked down by love once, and I was keeping my eye on the pitcher. He seemed comfortable lollygagging at the back of the mound, showing no interest in me whatsoever. I knew, as soon as I let my guard down, that ball would come sailing right at my head again.

It's what kept me out of the game. I didn't like being knocked down. Fear was disabling at times. I knew what I felt. It kept me on the sidelines, but it wasn't going to beat me. I wouldn't quit. I wasn't a quitter. It was time.

Slowly, I let my presence be seen on that patch of grass. I wasn't really planning to come up to bat, but I was seen in public more often. I was casual and skater's I knew did sit down from time to time. Z was back but not playing ball. If I saw someone I liked, and didn't know, I'd say, "Hello, I'm Z."

I was knocked down by love once. I wasn't letting it happen again. Skip was open about boys he liked. He was honest about loving Chet. If another pitch came at my head, it wouldn't have to do with Skip. I knew what I knew about him, and as much as I liked him, he wouldn't go down that road with me. We were friends.

I was knocked down. I got back up. I didn't get back into the batter's box. I more watched boys I liked from a distance. When they were surfers, they were safe, because they might live an hour or two away. It wasn't the only reason why I wasn't back in the game.

There was no chance of hearing the click at Malibu or Pacific Palisades. They were great beaches I knew about before I left Massachusetts, but like being in Massachusetts, they were too far away for love to bloom there. Even if I had an inkling about seeing a boy I really liked, Free would pop into my mind.

I wasn't ready yet. I didn't give up on love. I still loved Free. I wasn't ready to get back into the game. It was safe to feel the way I felt about the first boy I loved. Love had come and gone, and I was biding my time.

I wasn't giving up on love yet. Taking some time off wouldn't hurt anything. I was in no hurry. I wasn't going to forget how to love.

I spent time practicing being cool. A California boy, by definition, is cool. Nothing makes you cooler than lookin' good on a skateboard or surfboard.

I surfed as often as I could. I was no longer embarrassed by catching a wave in front of other surfers. I looked damn good, and I was getting better.

Skip was my best friend. We always had fun when we were together. We'd gone from surfing on Wednesday to surfing Wednesday and on some Sundays. It gave us more time together. I didn't bring him home to give him what for in my bed every time we went surfing, but he had a comfortable backseat. He knew places where he could park so we weren't bothered. Skip was versatile. Whether in my bed or in his backseat, a good time was had by all.

Skip cared about me. He made sure I looked cool on a surfboard. He always knew which surfer caught my eye. He followed where my eyes went, and I got an introduction if Skip knew the boy who I fancied.

I wasn't looking for love. I loved Skip. Skip was my friend. I was content with allowing a boy I loved to provide me with a social life. I never had a closer friend back home. Skip drove into my life and he never drove out. He wasn't in love with me. So, I wouldn't fall in love with him. I loved him as my friend.

It was safe until I was ready to get back into the batter's box.

It was a Wednesday, after we'd driven up and down the streets of El Cajon in search of Skip's friend. I wasn't sure what Chet looked like. It didn't stop me from looking at boys, but I could see Chet and never know it.

"You've never described Chet for me. I don't know what I'm looking for."

"Didn't I tell you, he looks a lot like me. He has red hair. He was a little bigger than me the last time I saw him. I may have grown a little. He may have grown some, but if you see a guy who reminds you of me, that's Chet."

Imagining a guy who looked like Skip was no hardship, and it was that night while lying in bed, I remembered the boy in the storm drain who put on a show for me on the bridge to Santee. I'd seen him shortly after we moved to El Cajon. I'd dreamed about the guy, but I'd forgotten all about him.

That guy had to be one of the best skateboarders I'd ever seen. He put a smile on my face the day he gave me a show. I didn't remember he looked like anyone in particular. He skated in and out of my life two years before I met Skip.

There were many more red heads in Massachusetts. The Irish influence was big in Boston. It meant a lot of red heads. I'd always liked red heads. Most of them were hot and Skip didn't take a backseat to anyone.

If I found a boy who looked like Skip, I'd ask him for a date, but I didn't tell Skip that. Red heads weren't as common in California. I had little difficulty remembering the ones I'd seen. The way Skip looked, he could find a lover with no difficulty at all, but he insisted he was in love with a boy from high school. I was in love with a boy who would be stationed in Japan for the next year.

Skip and I may have been the odd couple, but we matched up well. I began to think he was as likely to find Chet in El Cajon as I was to find Free there.

We didn't spend as much time on the streets of El Cajon, and once Skip was satisfied, we headed for I-5 North and whatever beach we would surf that day. Compared to most surfers, I didn't look like I was a California boy. Even while riding a wave, they looked like bronzed gods, and while I tanned well, I still carried that extra weight that kept you a warmer during Massachusetts' winter. I wasn't fat by any means. I didn't have perfect lines other young surfers had.

There was no shortage of surfers who chatted me up, because I was with Skip. It surprised me how much attention he got. No matter where we surfed, someone there knew him or knew of him. What was amazing, Skip didn't have a lover on every beach, because he was welcomed at all the beaches.

Skip was easy to know and he acted like he knew everyone. He acted like he belonged on every beach. Some days the surf was rip roaring. I was worn out paddling out after each ride. In a minute or two I was back up on my board.

On lesser days, surfers chatted each other up. There were some real good comedians among the waiting surfers. There were jokes on and about surfers.

I met some boys I hoped to meet again some time. Once they moved their board next to mine and hooked their leg over one of mine, we stayed together in a most delicious way, while waiting for a wave that wasn't coming on days the surf wasn't up.

Guys were way easier out here. It always surprised me at how relaxed boys were with each other. No one ever wore that much and it wasn't hard to get the right idea when surfers came too close and then, got even closer. I didn't know what I looked like to them. It was hard for me to think with a hot guy's leg hooked over mine with our thighs rubbing together as we drifted on water.

What did he say his name was? Too hot to handle would fit him, and most surfers. I couldn't imagine any boy I knew from Massachusetts being as casual as these boys were. It was a different world out here. I was happy to be here.

"Getting late," Skip would say. "If you're taking a boy home with you, it would be a good time to pick one out."

I was going home with Skip, and he knew it. I didn't have enough nerve to try to make a date with a surfer, even after one came on to me. When the chips were down, I folded my hand. I left with Skip. There wasn't guesswork with Skip.

He might ask me to do him while he drove, and he might wait until we got to my house and headed upstairs for my bed. He might ask me to do him on the way to my house, and then follow me upstairs to my bed. Skip was predictable. I could fall in love with him and never give it a second thought, except for Chet.

If he continued to look for him, sooner or later he might find him. Where was that going to leave me? I certainly enjoyed being so close to him. If I didn't make arrangements, I might find myself out in the cold. No matter what I did, sooner or later, Skip was going to be a distant memory.

I worked. I had a good home with parents who loved me, and I had a boy who took me surfing. I was more settled in California than I'd ever been in Massachusetts. I felt like I was on the outs back home. I knew why I felt that way. I didn't know what to do about it. Moving to California solved my problems.

I told my buds, "I'll be back."

There was nothing for me to go back to. I didn't know anyone back home. Yes, I knew their names. I went to school with them and skated with them. I knew nothing about their lives. I may not know much about surfers, but I saw a lot more of them than I ever saw of the boys back home.

My job took up a lot of my time. For this I was grateful. It also allowed my brain to slow down and not spend as much time in thoughts of Free. Stocking shelves was a time when I did a lot of thinking. The repetition of putting up canned goods didn't require a lot of thought.

Considering the circumstances, going into my third year in California, I was stable and moving forward at a comfortable speed. I began circulating more. I was getting back in touch with skaters I knew, and a few who I hadn't seen before. I needed to be available to boys I liked.

Once I met Free, I stopped circulating. I spent all my time with Free, until he was gone, and then, I had time on my hands, and no idea what do with it. While I was with Free, I forgot about everyone else.

I didn't do anything but sit at the house when I wasn't at work. My skateboard crossed Broadway, the main thoroughfare for skaters, every day I worked. I crossed it without thinking of the skaters I knew. Being on automatic pilot meant skating straight to the house. My get up and go, got up and went. Skip rescued me in a Chevy with his surfboard on top. Skip was hot, but it was the surfboard that got my attention right off the bat. Would a boy ride around with a surfboard on the top of his car who didn't surf?

I knew surfers were like totally cool. Skip was obviously cool, not to mention, hot. I didn't pay as much attention to him as I should, because he was talking to Gordo. I'd been talking to Gordo because there was no one else around. Then, I was talking to Skip. He offered to take me surfing and to teach me how to surf.

I suppose I'd still be sitting at home watching television if I hadn't met Skip. His Chevy wasn't just good for carrying surfboards. The Chevy was a handy dandy all purpose set of wheels with a wide backseat.

As good as Skip made my life, keeping all my eggs in the Skip basket wasn't wise. As much as I liked him, he made it clear how he felt. While there was plenty of hanky panky by this time, the search for Chet went on.

Where was I going to end up, after Skip found Chet?

I lost Free and found Skip. It wasn't a swap I'd agree to under ordinary circumstances, but the circumstances were, Free was gone, Skip was here.

I was leaving myself open for another crash. If Skip found Chet, my life was likely to go into the crapper. I needed a backup plan in case Skip cut me loose.

I knew where I ultimately wanted to go. I didn't know how to get there. It was easy to look back to see where I'd been. I couldn't see where I was going in front of me. As long as Skip was happy taking me surfing, it worked for me. The idea that after surfing, we gave each other what for didn't hurt my feelings at all.

No matter how crazy about Chet he was, he wasn't having sex with Chet. He never took Chet surfing. He'd been searching for him for some time. I would hang on to Skip for as long as I could, because I really liked him.

I could continue seeing Skip for the near future, but I could still go back to seeing the skaters in El Cajon. I might meet a skater who is the one. This way I could keep having fun with Skip while keeping my eyes open for the right boy.

Skip made the rules, 'No love, please.'

Skip had to know, the name of the game was love. Since he loved someone else, depending on him for love was foolish. What we did, while not being in love, separated sex from love. It was no hardship having sex with him. If I found a skater I liked, and if he liked me, life would go on.

I would continue seeing Skip, but giving each other what for would be out. I didn't know why, but that was the rule, and I'd play by the rules. Since I hadn't met the one yet, I wasn't sure what I'd do once I did.

If Skip did find Chet, where would that leave me? Having a plan was the smart thing to do. Skip had to know that love was the winning hand, the jackpot, the Big Kahuna. The grand prize would always be love.

On Wednesday, Skip was late. I was sitting at the table drinking coffee when he knocked on the door.

"Want a cup of coffee. I just made a pot," I told him.

"Yeah, we'll Skip MacDonald's."

Fifteen minutes later we were driving toward the 5. We had not searched the streets of El Cajon for Chet. Skip was unusually quiet. He had something on his mind, but he wasn't talking about what.

"You realize how many times I've driven you up this road?"

"If this is about gas money, I told you I'd fill your tank."

"No, it's not about that. We've been at this over a year. You didn't surf at all a year ago. You'd heard about but hadn't seen any of the LA beaches, and now you've been to all of them."

"You don't need to remind me," I said. "You know I appreciate it. You're my best friend, Skip. Just to think, we have Gordo to thank for it," I reminded him.

"Don't remind me. Only good thing that kid ever did for anyone, introduce us. I don't spend as much time with anyone as I spend with you."

"Thought you were going to tell me you wouldn't be back," I said.

"Of course I'll be back. I haven't found Chet yet. It's why I go to El Cajon."

"Thanks a lot. That certainly makes me feel better."

"You know what I mean. We surf together. Who'd I go surfing with if I don't take you. Besides, you help me look for Chet."

"Yeah, I'm a big help all right. I wouldn't know Chet if I fell over him."

"He looks like me. He's a bit taller. His hair is a bit more red."

"I can count on one hand the red heads I've seen in California," I said.

"You remember the first time you got up on your board?"

"I fell ten feet into my ride."

Skip laughed.

"You got up. It was a matter of adding distance to your ride once you get up on your board."

Skip had been delirious over me surfing for that ten feet.

"You did it. You did it," he yelled and splashed in the water.

Skip celebrated the shortest surfboard ride in the history of surfing.

The other surfers probably thought we were a bit touched. I didn't care. I'd done it according to Skip. Who was I to argue with my teacher?

Ten feet, eleven feet, then, fifteen, twenty feet, and one day I got up and stayed up. I reached the beach at Zuma. I was so damn proud of myself.

I did it. What would the boys back in Massachusetts say?

"Z is a surfer boy."

"You've come a long way, Z," Skip said. "You're a surfer now."

I was, and he kept taking me surfing. That told me something.

I was insecure. Nothing told me anything. I worried about the dumbest stuff. I worried about losing Skip. Chet was out there somewhere, but he kept coming for me. Free was gone, Skip was here. I had no idea where Chet was.

*****

As I approached Twenty, I was a surfer, and Skip took up a lot of my time. I was happy and keeping my eyes open for a boy I could love. I was back in circulation without worrying about when I'd find the one. All things in their own time. I spent time on the small patch of grass, and for a few weeks, skaters passed and kept going down Broadway. Others sat down to chat.