Sam the Slick Takes a Fall

Flash fiction

Photo by Erik Hansman on Unsplash

Sam “the Slick” was hands-down the best skater in Poughkeepsie. You wouldn’t think it when you first saw him—skinny white kid, low shorts, high socks—but once he kicked and pushed his way into the park, he owned it. The place was his. Everybody stopped to watch him—see what he’d do.

Sam didn’t say much. Never did. But in truth, he didn’t need to. His board did all the talking for him. His kickflips were automatic. Variable flips, too. I never saw someone ollie at the top of the staircase by the courthouse, clear it, and then hit a tailslide on the second rail. Slick didn’t discriminate; he’d hit it all, hit everything.

None of us were “school” kids if you catch my drift. So, the Wednesday before spring break—Slick made a rare comment and said we were warming up for vacation—we all skipped school and met up at the skate park instead. The Hudson was rocking that day, thrashing from the wind. Shit was wild. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen the river so choppy.

Someone had brought a cheap bottle of vodka, so in between runs we’d take quick sips to get our spirits up. Adrenaline didn’t come naturally for all of us. We weren’t all blessed like King Slick. Hail!

Right around the time when we were about to close shop for the day, some girl skated down from the parking garage. She wasn’t wearing a helmet. Her dreads were flowing behind her, the wind pushing them every which way.

If you ever wanted to see art in motion—pure poetry—all you had to do was watch this girl kick and push and glide toward us. You could tell within seconds that the board belonged under her feet.

“Damn,” my boy Rodney said next to me.

She skated around the chain-link fence, entered the park, and dipped into the pool. Zero hesitation.

“Ohhh,” we all shouted, as she gained speed, hit the lip, and did a smooth little 180 back into the pool. When she came out the other side, she leaped off her board, grabbed it midair, and landed beside Rodney and me.

“What you got?” she said to us. Her smile was fierce and confident. She knew how good she was.

“Who are you?” I asked. “Where you from?”

Without hesitation, she replied, “Not here, that’s for damn sure. Nowhere important, though.” Then she looked around, challenging us openly, trying to find her competition. Somehow, she sensed it was Sam. She nodded at him as if saying Let me see what you’ve got.  

Sam pushed off toward the rails, his A-game. He hit the first with a tight little boardslide, then popped off into a nose manual. I don’t know how he pulled it off. He was coming down toward the next set of rails and tried going into a nose slide, but somehow, he missed his mark. He overshot, lost his footing, and crashed over the top of the rail. He landed on the ground, busted his face, and sat up with a bloodied nose and upper lip.

“You good?” Rodney called out as he and I ran over to check on him. Once we knew he was okay, we looked back the other way.

The girl got a good running start, then pushed back into the pool—the bowl. I couldn’t believe how high she flew. She hit trick after trick, dreads flying, all of us hollering as she kept her run alive, kept it going on and on, longer and longer. That’s what the greats do, I guess.

The park pulsed with magic.

When it was all said and done, even Sam knew he’d lost his standing. He wasn’t the top dog anymore. The best part was that we never caught the girl’s name. She just showed up, schooled us, then left—like one of those dreams you wake from, want to get back to, but never can.

“Yo, princess, what’s your name?” Rodney called after her as she skated away.

“Just call me Queen,” she yelled back through the wind.

“Queen,” we all murmured, trying to figure out if any of us knew her from school. We didn’t. Moments later she was out of sight.

Queen claimed the throne, stole our hearts, and left us all behind in the blink of an eye. We haven’t seen her since. Still have no idea who she is.

But I’ll tell you one thing: none of us ever forgot the day when Sam the Slick took his fall.

Hi everyone! I hope you enjoyed this story from the archives. “Sam the Slick Takes a Fall” was originally published in July 2022.

I’ll be honest with you: I’m spent. This school year has worn me down, especially over the past couple of months. Sometimes when I’m feeling the effects of burnout or feeling exhausted it depletes my creative spirit. For me, writing fiction and creativity has always been a bit like a pendulum. . . and I know the bursts of inspiration will return. They always do.

If you’re interested, perhaps you’ll join me for some Fifties by the Fire this coming Friday, June 14th. Maybe it’s exactly what I need to work through this slump.

Let’s aim to meet at our usual time, 3:00 PM EST. Please keep an eye out for the thread.

Prompt: Write a fifty-word story (fiction, CNF, or poetry) about inspiration.

Have a great week—hope to see you by the fire!