In the winter in the East, you keep moving so you don't freeze. We stay in motion to generate enough heat to stay warm for part of the year. The chances of surviving a Massachusetts winter went up the more you stay in motion.

In California you learn to wait for the traffic, a cold drink on a hot day, and early on you learn that you needed to wait for a wave. One thing is for certain, you aren't in danger of freezing out here.

Waiting on a wave isn't on a Massachusetts' boy's mind. It wasn't on mine. I had to learn how to wait. It's not taught in school back home. Hurry up and hurry some more is taught in eastern schools. It's why you have three minutes to make a five minute trek across the school to reach your next class.

What's the hurry? It reminded me of Pavlov's dog while bells were ringing. Would it hurt to add ten minutes to the school day so you could get to the next class without the teacher's disapproving stare, when I arrived after the late bell.

Have you ever tried to hurry a wave? In California you don't have to learn how to be patient. If you're born in California, you don't need to be told to wait. Once you've been surfing the first time, waiting is built into the equation.

If I can spend Wednesdays waiting on a wave, I can spend the rest of the week waiting for love. Catching a wave is one of the biggest thrills you can have. Falling in love is as thrilling. Once love has come and gone, you paddle out to get back into the game. I was paddling as fast as I could, but nothing was happening. I can see time. I didn't see time before I came here. I can see time when it moves. I can see time when it stands still. After catching a wave, there is no time. There's me, my board, and the wave.

Time doesn't enter into the picture, until Skip says, "Time to call it a day."

Riding a wave is timeless. It's effortless, once you learn how.

Skip was one of the friendliest guys I'd known. There was nothing undesirable about his easy going nature. Even his forwardness had its charm. If the truth were known, I wish I was more like Skip, less like the shy hesitant Z. I learned more from Skip than most people I had known. He has an honesty most people like.

I liked Skip because he treated me like a valued friend. What value I offered to the equation was unclear to me. That left me a bit insecure. Skip didn't need me and the lack of passion since the week Free came home, made me think Skip was reconsidering our friendship. Nothing changed, but the passion wasn't there.

Skip was true to his word. He was still picking me up to take me surfing. Looking for Chet was on the table each Wednesday. Once Skip found Chet, our friendship would most likely change. Not having sex wasn't that big a deal.

I was still looking for a window to keep my eyes on, but all the windows were too high for me to see out of at Hitchcock's Market. There were plenty of windows at the house. The chance of someone coming in one was slim to none.

Since Free came, Skip had been quieter. I'm sure my experience with Free had an impact on him, but we didn't speak about it. I'd said that Skip was as likely to find Chet on the streets of El Cajon, as I was to find Free there. I did find Free here. Was he thinking he was closer to finding Chet? Was I thinking Skip was any closer to finding Chet? It the past was any indicator, the answer was no.

I wanted Skip to find the boy he loved since forever. I didn't want Skip to find the boy he loved. It was selfish of me but it was true. Things were good for me, except for the love deal, and I wasn't ready to jump back into loving someone. The pain wasn't anything I liked. I didn't like losing either.

It was on a Friday. I do remember what day it was.

As usual, my mind was off on a tangent of one kind or another. I really don't know what my thoughts were about. I was just thinking as I worked in the produce bins. I was sitting on a milk crate reaching into the pile of red onions. I was humming The Little Old Lady From Pasadena, while putting a couple of nasty looking red onions to one side. My mother could cut off the outside layers to reach the good meat in it.

Someone leaned against me as he reached up to get some of the specialty bottled items that were on shelves above the produce bins.

The front of his Spandex rubbed my shoulder. I was immediately mesmerized. Spandex can do that, depending on what I'm seeing.

"Excuse me," the boy said, and he did it again.

This time I leaned toward him as he reached above me. Now, that I'd had a close up of what's up front, I wanted to see who it was attached to. As displays went, this guy had one. He had more than one if I wanted to be honest about what I was seeing, and it's the kind of thing I looked for in Spandex.

I leaned back to see a shock of reddish hair on his head. I couldn't get a good look at his face from my angle, because of how he stood.

He had my complete attention as he looked at a bottle of shrimp cocktail. He made no attempt to move so we wouldn't be touching. His peripheral vision was probably good, because he was using it on me while reading the label on a bottle that wasn't that big.

I looked at his bare stomach his cutoff tee-shirt showed off. His belly button had a thin line of red hair that plunged into the top of the Spandex I had my eye on. He was a natural red head, and I naturally wanted to know more.

My face was hot. I pushed down on my apron so it didn't stand out when I stood up. He watched my movements. His clear green eyes were on me. I still didn't know what he looked like. I needed to take a step back so I didn't bump him while getting a better look at a most interesting boy.

I moved one step back as those green eyes followed my motion. I didn't know if the heat was coming from him or from me, but it had gotten hot. We were close enough to kiss. Neither of us moved. I would have kissed him, except I wasn't in the habit of kissing Mr Hitchcock's customers.

"Can I help you?" I said.

He watched my lips move as I spoke. Was he lipreading. Had I misread the situation? When he smiled, I thought he might be reading my mind. If he was reading my mind, he'd have been blushing.

"Kiwi. He likes kiwi," he said after he took a good look.

I reached across his chest as I got the two best looking kiwi from the bin.

"Anything else," I said, as neither of us gave an inch.

Once he had the kiwi, my hand brushed his bare smooth stomach.

His eyes stayed in mine.

"What?" he said after a minute.

"Anything else I can help you with?"

"I'm sure there is. I can't think of what right now. What is your name?"

"I'm Z."

"Z. Easy to spell," he said, after watching my lips moving again.

"My name is Zane. I like Z."

"Easy to spell," he said, after watching my lips again. "Like the author."

"Like the author?"

"Yes, that's how it's spelled. Are you from around here?"

"El Cajon."

"Me too."

"You two as in you and...."

"My parents. I live at home."

I looked him over. I liked what I saw.

I pushed my bulging apron down as he watched me do it. His most serious look turned into a smile as he looked me over.

His Spandex began to expand. If his eyes were any more green, I'd have fallen into them. I didn't miss what was going on in his Spandex. He knew exactly what I was looking at and his smile only got bigger.

I looked up, and then, I looked down again. It was difficult to breathe and the heat was on the rise, not to mention other things. I needed to stop acting like a ninny. He was a Hitchcock's customer, and I needed to act accordingly.

He had me sweating. I couldn't think. What was wrong with me? We hadn't known each other for five minutes and I could hardly breathe. I intended to get to know this boy better if I could catch my breath.

His eyes stayed on mine. His smile had grown by the time I got my eyes off the expanding Spandex. This was a customer who was growing on me.

How appropriate, we came together over the produce. I wasn't sure what we might produce, but I had high hopes.

Once again my attention was on his red hair, which I almost forgot about, while noticing his other assets. It was about then, I thought I recognized him, but from where?

I backed up to get the big picture.

He didn't move as he looked disappointed about me backing up. My mouth went dry. The heat was on as I tried to think of what to say..

"I've seen you before," he said.

He sounded serious. I'd remember a guy like him if I'd seen him before.

"Me? You've seen me? I haven't been anywhere but here."

"Believe me when I say, if I see someone who looks like you, I don't forget."

"You part elephant? I don't ..."

He laughed.

"No, but some guys think I'm part horse," he said smugly.

He knew where my eyes were most of the time since he walked up.

I couldn't help but smile, while I looked him over more closely. Where had I seen him before? He looked familiar.

"I've seen you too. There aren't that many red heads around here. I've seen you. Give me a minute and I'll remember where," I said.

I looked at his long well shaped legs. I looked at his face and the red hair.

It came to me in a rush. I knew where I'd seen him. I knew who he was.

"The storm drain. The year I moved here. I saw you skating in the storm drain. I've never seen a better display of skateboarding."

"The kid on the bridge. You're the boy who watched me from the bridge."

"You put on a show for me," I blurted.

"I did. If you'd been older, I'd have introduced myself. You're older now."

"I am and you look even better close up," I said, wanting to say more. "I really wanted to meet you. I mean after you showed off."

"I was a dancer. Showing off was my job."

"Professional dancer?"

"Professional dancer. I danced at a club in LA."

"You dance professionally?" I asked.

"Did. Don't," he said.

"Why would you give up professional dancing?"

"Long story. Do you have a phone number? I can call you and tell you all about it."

I took the pad from my shirt pocket and the pencil from behind my ear. I wrote my name, address, and phone number on the pad, ripping off the top piece of paper and handed it to him.

He smiled and took the pad out of my hand and he took the pencil and he wrote his name, address, and phone number on the top sheet and ripped it off. He handed me back the pad and the pencil. He failed to hand me the paper.

"He?" I asked for clarification.

We would slow this train right here if he had a lover.

"He?" he asked.

"He likes kiwi," I said.

"T. His name is Tevo. I call him T."

"Tevo's Restaurant? That Tevo?"

"Yes, I work at his restaurant. He is coming over and I want to give him the kind of tidbits he likes. He shops here because you have the quality of food he insists on. Tevo believes in high quality food. I decided I'd try you guys. I don't know about the food yet, but the quality of workers is definitely high."

"Did you write that out because you don't want to forget your name?" "I'm thinking. You're young."

"I'm not that young. I'm twenty."

"You aren't San Quentin quail then."

"San Quentin quail?"

"Under the legal age of consent. One can't be too careful, but you're still young and I have a feeling I know where this is going."

"Maybe I should know where?"

Looking down at a name that absolutely took my breath away. I studied his face. I looked at the paper.

"You look like you just sucked a lemon. Did I spell my name wrong?"

I looked at the paper and then at his face. The ball came in fast and straight at my head. I never saw it coming.

I didn't know what to say. I knew what I should say, but no way was I bringing Skip into this conversation. The ball was rolling. I wouldn't stop it.

He was the customer and the customer was always right, but I'd have wrestled him for that piece of paper if he didn't hand it over willingly. I was reconsidering giving him the paper back.

"Where'd you go. If it's my name, I can always change it if you don't like it."

"You're Chet Mosby?"

"I'm afraid so. There have been times I wouldn't admit to it."

This was not happening to me. Life is not this insane. I'd found Chet and I wasn't even looking for him.

"Chet Mosby. You're Chet," I said, finding it hard to believe.

"That's me," he said. "You don't like Chet? Call me anything you like, but by all means, call me."

"You danced in LA? You work at a restaurant in El Cajon?"

"That sums up my last five years. What's the problem? You were hot to trot and suddenly the third degree."

I put the paper in my pocket. I wouldn't let this guy get away. I heard the click loud and clear. I'm almost sure, he heard it the same time I did.

What were the odds that the boy Skip is searching for would walk into Hitchcock's Market? I'd need to think about it, but I didn't think I could stop what had been started next to the produce bins.

I knew what the right thing to do was, and I knew I wasn't worried about the right and wrong of it. I wanted to know this boy, and telling Skip I knew where Chet was would need to wait.

"I've never seen anyone skate like you," I said, regrouping.

"I actually hadn't been on a skateboard for some time, but dancing and skateboarding aren't that far apart as moves go."

"I never thought of it that way. I really should do some work. I'd love to stand here talking, but … you will call? That's an invitation."

"I will call. Will you call me?"

I knew how hard it was for me to make the moves to get things moving.

"Don't worry, Z. I'll call you."

My next true love was already spoken for by my best friend. Should I confess right away? Did I see what might happen if I agreed to see Chet?

"No," I said without conviction.

I put the pad back in my pocket and stuck the pencil behind my ear.

"Tell me you're not with anyone? Lie if you are. Don't break my heart already. I just found you." Chet said.

No, I wasn't with anyone but Skip, and now that I met Chet, What do I tell Skip?. How dishonest was it for me to know where Chet is and not tell Skip? I would tell him, just not yet.

"Your enthusiasm has sagged a tad," Chet said. "Do I have something caught in between my teeth?"

"I ... no. I ... This is where I work is all. I should be working."

"But you don't live here. I have your address. This isn't it."

"No, I live with my parents. I mean. I don't know what I mean. You're ... Someone who looks like you, must be with someone."

"No one," Chet said and I believed him.

I had to tell him Skip was looking for him. That's all there was to it, but I wasn't going to tell him here in Hitchcock's. It was complicated and I'd wait until the time was right to tell him. I wanted to see Chet. I wanted to be with Chet. I wanted that years before I met Skip. I first saw him when I was seventeen.

"You need anything else? I mean, can I help you find anything else?"

"Yes, you can be a big help to me, but this isn't the time or the place."

He had his fingers touching his prodigiously bulging Spandex as he spoke. My eyes were on the fingers on the hand that felt his obviously erect penis.

It was way too late to deny my attraction to him. I gave him my phone number. I tried to imagine talking to him on the phone. He knew what I wanted, and he seemed determined to make sure I got it. Alive with desire, I wanted Chet. I'd never wanted anyone more.

He didn't look like a surfer. His skin showed no sign of being exposed to long hours in the sun. I was sure that my next lover would be a surfer. I'd been wrong before.

"Anything else I can help you with?"

"I'm not sure. I forgot. I will be back. I can use more help from you. You aren't seeing anyone?"

"No one," I said. "I work a lot. I surf. I had a friend. He went into the Navy."

"I bet that's a story worth hearing," he said.

He had three or four items in his hands when he walked to the register. I went to stand in the row that came out at the cash register to watch him.

He gave Mr Hitchcock a twenty and he got one dollar and change. He carried his sack out of the store without looking back.

I watched him conclude his business and go out the door.

I moved to the door and I felt Mr Hitchcock move up beside me.

"Haven't seen him before," Mr Hitchcock said. "I heard that car when he drove up. What kind of car is it, Z?"

By that time Chet had gotten into a very low sleek sports car. When the engine started, I could feel it vibrating thirty feet away. That was quite a car.

"Powerful, whatever it is," I said.

He eased away from the curb a few feet, he waited for a car to pass before he punched the gas pedal. The car did a one eighty. He ended up heading back toward El Cajon.

"Wow," Mr Hitchcock said. "Powerful indeed. Quite a U-Turn."

Chet was showing off. I saw him smiling as he took one glance toward the door of the store. I watched the car slowly moving back toward El Cajon.

He was something. I didn't care much about cars or speed, but I cared for Chet Mosby. I couldn't believe Chet walked into Hitchcock's. By the time he left, he had me hook, line, and sinker.

I'd like to say that I didn't give another thought to Chet.

I'd like to say I wasn't distracted for the rest of that day.

I'd like to say I didn't want him to call me.

I'd like to say that Chet wasn't on my mind the rest of the day.

I'd like to say I didn't want Chet to call me.

Now, I had a memory from Hitchcock's Market to add to the one of him in the storm drain. I got a close up look and I still wanted to know him. I didn't really expect him to call. What did a guy like that want with a guy like me?

I took out the sheet of paper and I read what he wrote on it. I read it again, and then one more time. No, I wasn't trying to memorize it. I read it one last time and put it back in my pocket. I took it out to read it again. I wasn't trying to memorize it. I did memorize it. I felt like I hadn't seen the last of Chet.

If he didn't call me, did I have the nerve to call him? Why was I so anxious to find trouble? The guy was a professional dancer. He had boys lined up knocking on his door. He wasn't interested in me. I sure was interested in him.

Did I really want to go down this road again?