Part 1

Mine was red - I can’t recall why I didn’t choose blue, my favorite color. To ride a Ripstik, you had to be an intermediate skateboarder. Instead of a wooden plank, it had the shape of two ovals, requiring the rider to hold a narrow stance. I never wore a helmet or padding. Instead, I hoped the gnawed gravel wouldn't scrape my knees. I’d gone through a pack of band-aids in the first week. If gravel cuts stung more than flu shots, why couldn’t I have used Dr. Ward’s Peppa Pig Band-Aids? The cuts healed much before I found my rhythm. I wasn’t patient then. Perhaps because I didn’t need to be. 

The highlight of my week was the frappuccino I ordered from Starbucks’ not-so-secret, secret menu. From bey blades to wall ball, all the kids would hone their skills in private before sharing them at the playground. On that Thursday, a week and a half after I received the board, I was ready for the playground. I had mastered the twist-and-carve motion, which required trust in myself to turn 270 degrees. As I set out for the playground via board, I made it one pavement square before abruptly falling off. Training on gravel had failed to prepare me for riding over sidewalk cracks. While my body’s inertia carried me forward, the cracks swallowed my board’s wheels, refusing to budge. Instead of carrying my Ripstik for the three blocks, I continued riding, awkwardly hopping with one foot on and the other foot off to defeat the cracks. 

I never did find a way around the cracks. Once I got to the playground, I would ride in circles. If I were feeling nice, I’d let my friends do the same while I chased them on foot. For hours, circles, circles, and more circles. If you traced our paths on the green pavement with the pale chalk, you’d see we had spun a web like Charlotte’s from Charlotte’s Web. I spun so many webs the board’s red paint chipped reluctantly away. Sometimes, I wanted a snack, but it wasn’t because I was bored. With RipStiks, you never got bored. There were never too many circles to make or chalk drawings to trace. On the rare occasion circles became dizzying, we’d resort to tracing the bounds of the basketball court. Sharp edges were more challenging to turn, though. Back then, I didn’t worry about boredom. I was content with just my board. 

It started with the Icees. The cool and equally intimidating  fifth graders indulged in rainbow shaved ice on sweltering after-school days. Instead of my usual web-spinning, I rode up to the playground's black creaking gate, where I found the ice truck parked right outside - emphasis on outside. Hey, even a Ripstiker gets intimidated! I could circle the massive playground without a problem, but leaving the playground was a daunting adventure. 

First, I’d Ripstik to my babysitter (*Ripstiking was also a verb). I needed permission, after all. With said permission, I’d indulge in a rainbow icee. It tasted better while riding because my cherry tongue matched the color of my board. What more could a girl want? I started to get bolder. Pinkberry! Forget icees; I wanted toppings - the Nutella, chocolate chips, the ones you had to pay 50 cents additional. Again, I needed permission to go alone to the corner store Pinkberry. On the occasional Friday, not only could I ride my board beyond the playground gates, but I could also eat Pinkberry simultaneously. 

When assigned the first-grade project of recreating an institution, I replicated the 72nd St Pinkberry down to each green and blue stripe, which my dad cut with an X-Acto knife. Ripstikers weren’t cool enough to use X-Acto knives. My favorite detail was the orders of pomegranate froyo with toppings. I went to great lengths to honor my treat, even recreating the order label and adding the Pinkberry logo onto the Play-Doh cups. Once I made the first cup, I naturally fell into a rhythm. 

Part 2

Every Thursday, the blue bandana girl appeared lugging some iteration of a skateboard. At this point in my shift, I had fallen into the rhythm of taking and assembling froyo orders. Like all kids, she opted for the pomegranate flavor. Her board was much too big for the tiny shop, but her choice to carry it rather than leave it by the entrance suggested it wasn’t a fad for her. I couldn’t help but laugh at her topping selection - Nutella, chocolate chips, brownie brittle, and M&M's. Forget any of the fruit offerings. I wondered why she’d opt for pomegranate over hazelnut in the first place. You’d be surprised by what you can surmise from a customer’s froyo order. Once I handed her the froyo, I’d watch chocolate chips fall as she struggled to open the door while holding her board. Never did I see her let it go. Sometimes, her board would inconvenience other customers, but I bit my tongue, for she was a loyal customer and just a kid. I sometimes dwelled on how long I’d be working at Pinkberry. I, too, started as just a kid. More than myself, I hoped the girl wouldn't grow up. She would remain too short for me to see over the glass of the toppings bar and too small to carry the board easily. When do we ever get what we want? 

Part 3

Just as I can only remember my choice of froyo flavor, she surely must only remember the red board, probably lying in the same closet as my first-grade project.