The Gift

You sit on a bench in bright sunlight, grinning because I hadn't seen you and had walked the other way
and I'm a bit annoyed because I've got a heavy case and because you didn't bother standing up although I'd come all this way. Beside you is a longboard and I think it's yours. The wheels are the same but the board is different. "You've changed your board", I say. You flip it round to show me. It has new grip. Bright blue. "Do you like it?"
"Pas trop," I say. "Too flashy."

Your face falls. "Its for you."

I'm shocked and silenced. Sorry.
"Tu l'aimes pas?"

It's not that I don't like it no no not at all. I just wasn't expecting it. I said I wanted to learn but I probably didn't mean it. No I definitely didn't. Its just one of those things I say sometimes. What am I going to do with a longboard? It's heavy it doesn't match my shoes I'm going to fall off I'll be terrible I'll look stupid people will laugh at me. And now I've hurt your feelings.
I feel a little burdened. I say nothing.

"I can change the grip. Any colour you like. I can take it off."
I hold your hand and see where the skin has been left rough putting it on in the first place. I sense the hours you'd put in making it neat and perfect for me. I sense the disappointment you're trying to hide.

"Maybe tomorrow you can take me for a ride?" And if I fall off and hurt myself, at least I can say I tried.