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andre being a skateboarder.

his brother taught him when he was little, back when they still got along. young andre would always come home with bloodied knees and scratched up palms. he fell more times that he’d ever admit as he’s to proud of admit to failure.

now, he skates around town. he would skate all the time if he wasn’t pushed by his parents to drive his car and he didn’t have to take cal to school and basically everywhere in town. when he has free time, he’ll skate down the streets by his house or near the abandoned park in new stratford that used to overflow with kids.

there’s a difference between skating and everything else. when andre runs, he imagines he’s running from something or someone. when he’s driving, he’s always thinking about the next turn and the time between him and his destination. when he skates, though, there’s nothing in his mind.

he’s not going anywhere. he’s not escaping from something. he’s just moving. it’s rare that his mind isn’t roaring with worries, plans, and thoughts. times like this, when nothing is bothering him other than a bit of cold wind in his face, are andre’s favorite parts of life.