I remember speeding down the railed ramp, at the back gate of the Heritage Park island near the bathrooms, on my skateboard.
I remember finally making that turn onto the stretch of sidewalk next to the small parking lot.
I remember not making the next, sharper turn, skateboard flying into the street and me flying off the skateboard.
I remember concrete crumbs dirtying torn tights and weeping cuts.
I remember limping home, the sandpaper grip on my board rubbing into skinned palms.
I remember slipping through the wired gate into the gray valley of Coyote Creek, next to the Kumon building off South and Carmenita.
I remember climbing to the top of the smooth, sloping cliff clinging to the side of the water channel.
I remember my skateboard trembling under my feet as I stared down at cold concrete.
I remember kicking off and feeling the wind tug at my hair.
I remember flying,
but this time I did not fall.