| OCR Text |
Show 158 were frozen again and I had to wait for the blood to start moving before I could walk back down the hill. Over the years, Steve made up a lot of stories to explain the scar on his arm. I had heard him explain it as a poorly planned suicide attempt, falling down the stairs, cougar bite, bear bite, dog bite, shark bite, attempted burglary, band saw accident, cooking accident, grease burn and misplaced stigmata. The real story, at least according to me, is brief. Steve was skateboarding on State Street in Pleasant Grove alone and he stopped in a newly paved, sloped parking lot in order to test out how fast he could go there. He skated too fast down the slope and crashed into the window of Daylight Donuts, arms first. He tried to pull his arms out but that cut them more severely. So he stayed there dripping blood on the linoleum floor of the donut shop, waiting for help. I was thankful that Steve drank too quickly and had to go out to the balcony to vomit on his neighbor's car below for two reasons. First, the guy had it coming. True, as a fat white guy with no job and rich parents, he and Steve had little chance at a good relationship from the start. But Steve had put at least two holes in the wall on his account that were motivated by more than status: the first for blasting Nickelback at 1 AM on a week night and refusing to turn it down, the second when the neighbor told Steve he should just go back to where he came from. I was glad secondly because I was stuck on the couch listening to Brad reiterate that everything was connected-you me the stars the trees everything all |
