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Doug Corbin

9/20/99

ENC 1101

Core One Essay

Skater Die or Lost in Boston

?Thump, thump? thump, thump? thump, thump,? rattled through my head like the beating of a Native American drum as the car charted across the highway 93 bridge into Boston.

I was with three of my friends who lived in Massachusetts. We entered the city. The buildings were so huge, they were hypnotic, all I could do was stare in awe at the mighty achievements.

?This is gonna be dope, I?ve been waiting all summer to skate Boston!? I said. ?I hope we don?t get pinched.? I heard the cops in Boston didn?t especially care for skateboarders. I heard plenty of stories about kids getting arrested and/or getting their boards taken away, neither of those sounded like much fun to me.

?Where do I park?? said Adam, who was driving.

A symphonic ?I don?t know? came from the three of us. Luckily it was about 8 o? clock on a Tuesday night so the traffic was only awful. After about thirty minutes of looking, we finally found a parking spot. We began skating to the financial district.

As we rolled up to the first stop we were advised to leave by a lowly security guard. So we headed up the block to a gargantuan building with marble ledges glimmering everywhere. I felt like a kid in a candy store. We wasted no time assaulting the ledges because we knew we could be kicked out at any moment. The sound of clicking, clacking, and grinding filled the midsummer night?s air as if it was in Bose Surround Sound. Like four sharks lost in a feeding frenzy, we were racing this way and that, but constantly on the look out for cops. I was surprised at how long we skated there. It was a good twenty minutes before another security guard informed us that we weren?t allowed to skate there.

We then skated around the area randomly doing tricks on this or that, pretty much just having a good time when I came up with a brilliant idea. ?Why don?t we skate Copley Square?? I asked. Copley Square had a thirty foot long ledge that would grind as smooth as ice. It was in all the skate videos and had always been a renowned skate spot.

?That place is swarming with cops,? stated my friend Chris whom was no stranger to the long arm of the law.

?So, let?s just check it out,? I said. The group agreed and we were on our way to Copley. We decided to take the subway since it was too far to skate.

We got to the turnstile and I hear Chris ask: ?Hey Doug, do you think I could borrow eighty-five cents??

?Sure, don?t sweat it.?

?I need to get some too? Please,? Added Adam.

?I spent my last buck on the water,? Said Mike.

?Broke ass little bitches,? I thought to my self.

?This is it; Copley!? I said. The po? folk and I quickly unloaded off the T-rail and walked across the street to find a lovely boy in blue parked right in front of Copley Square who was protecting it from all the murderers and rapists who hang out there.

Mike decided to inform the group that we couldn?t skate there.

Which was quickly followed by a sarcastic,?No *censored*,? from Adam. Who then said, ?Lets go skate the library. Those kids over there are, and the cop isn?t kicking them out.? So we proceeded to skate the City of Boston?s library. I put my bag down and began skating a small set of three stairs. ?This is cool,? I thought. ?He?s letting us skate here. I can?t believe he?s not kicking us out.? I was having a lot of fun. I had just finished landing a kickflip off of the three stairs when everything started flashing blue and white, lighting up the darkness of the city.

?Cops!? someone yelled. We all scattered, like when you touch a potato chip that is being engulfed by hundreds of famined ants. It took me one half of a second to gather my thoughts. ?Stay, run, stay equals jail, run equals freedom? Run!? my brain finally decided. I have heard stories from my friends about spending the night in jail. That was definitely not a story that I wanted to be telling anytime soon. Before I even finished making that fateful decision, my board was in my hand and my feet where already gliding back up the small set of three marble stairs. I quickly grabbed my backpack off of the dull white statue of a lion that guarded the entrance to the Boston Library. It was doing a good job, it already had one of Boston?s finest after us to enforce the ferocious laws forbidding skateboarding. I took off as if it was life or death. The air was hot and humid, not the best for running, I quickly found out. My lungs felt full when I would only take half of a breath of air. My three friends and I rounded the corner, hot on the trail of the two other skaters running in front of us. The flashing lights from the squad car chasing us beamed off of everything in front of me, turning the dark city street into a cascade of blue and white lights. It seemed like a disco, although there was no sign of any Saturday night fever. We were straight up running our asses off! It was not looking good. I knew the cop saw us, and he was also in a car. ?It?s going to take a miracle to pull this off,? I thought to myself. As I was coming around the corner another set of flashing lights reached my eyes. However, this was a new set, in front of us. These lights were orange; they transformed the disco into a dark orange sunset. The street was blocked off due to construction about a hundred feet in front of us. That meant that the cop couldn?t follow us. We also had way too much of a lead for that fat old man to catch us on foot. I couldn?t believe our luck, the first time running from the police and I thought I was going to make it.

?Hey! Hey Stop right there!? said the police officer standing directly in front of us. We came to a screeching halt as if we had just seen a ghost. One of the lead kids got past and was seen rounding the next corner and disappearing from sight. Then confusion quickly set in. We all looked at each other dumbfounded, silently pleading for a way out. There wasn?t one. There happened to be a cop stationed at the construction site, who saw the lights flashing and us running, so he decided to step out and stop us. There were now five of us left in the group. Then we heard the scariest thing a skateboarder could ever hear, ?Real smart, put all the boards in a pile right here. Now!? oinked the pig that was chasing us in his pig mobile. We also learned the second scariest sentence, ?What the *censored* is wrong with you little retards? You ready to spend the night in jail?? No one answered. ?Huh? Are ya??

?No.? we softly mumbled.

?Well then why were you running from me??

A bunch of muffled excuses came out, none of which really made any sense; they really weren?t supposed to anyway.

?This is a crucial point, boys,? the officer stated. ?Do I arrest you? Take your boards? Let you go??

If we were dogs our ears would have perked up at the last question. But our hopes were quickly crushed when he took out a notepad, recorded our names and addresses and rubber banded them to our boards. The cop and his new buddy then threw our boards into his trunk. It wasn?t looking good. All those stories about jail began to race through my head. He then came over and told us what the deal was. There must have been an angel with us that night. I was preparing myself to be cuffed and thrown in the car. I could tell we were going to be arrested by the look in his eyes. He spoke, like a king to his silenced people; ?Can you guys get a ride back here tomorrow??

The group answered with a hopeful, ?Sure, no problem!?

?O.K., if you guys want your boards back then you have to come back here tomorrow. Come down to the precinct and get them from me. If you don?t, you?ll be subpoenaed and brought up on trespassing charges.? He then told us to get lost. We took the T-rail back to our car and headed home.

The general consensus of the group was that ?At least we weren?t in jail.? The next day we made good on our promise to come get the boards. We showed up at the instructed time and claimed our boards. Getting out of Boston was a nightmare. I thought the cop told us that specific time to coincide with rush hour traffic. After about forty-five minutes of inching our way to the edge of Boston we were on the highway, bitching and moaning about how much that whole ordeal sucked.

It certainly sucked enough to change my mind about running from the police. Now I don?t run from cops trying to kick me out anymore. I?ve learned that it only makes things worse. If we wouldn’t have ran, he probably would have given us a little grief or simply told us to leave.

Instead we got reamed, our boards taken, and a tour of Boston during rush hour.


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