WIN FOR YOU

RYAN MCKAY-BEACH

I can't tell you how many hours my brother has for practicing his hoverboarding. It seems like every day he's been spending countless hours in the garage or at the arena. Adjust and practice, adjust and practice.

Until he had to fix it completely because some kid smashed it. I don't think I've seen him more pissed off in his life. The competition was less than a week away and he'd have to start from scratch.

Unfortunately, this means he had to do all the readjustments and tests within four days. I watched him over his shoulder as he began to rebuild the complex thing. He didn't mind my presence so much. Realistically, he was probably too focused to notice I was there. 

There was something about the way he focused that made you wonder if he had any other thoughts at all aside from "where the hell did that screwdriver go" and "that piece goes here" The blueprint he had made for his competition board had a coffee stain on it, but he didn't really care as long as the paper was still readable, though I don't know how e could read his writing, it's atrocious. 

Some of the parts of his broken board were salvageable. Others weren't. Once he had started rebuilding, he hadn't seemed too upset about the first one breaking. I know he enjoys building, and it keeps him from thinking about worse things, like his failing history grade. He was focused enough on building he didn't come in to eat. 

It took him two days to finish the board, and the test ride went smoothly. He had a day of adjustments and that full Saturday to practice. He looked happiest when riding. Whether its the speed (25 mph max) while standing, the wind going through his messy black hair, or just the thrill of flips and tricks and being able to ride that brought him enjoyment, I'm not really sure.

The morning when the competition came, he went to the cemetery. Upon walking up to the gravestone of his destination, he sat down a small bouquet of white and purple flowers. His getup wasn't necessarily normal for visiting a dead loved one's grave, but he had a valid excuse. In fact, he looked pretty ridiculous standing amongst the dead. His competition gear really brought out his geeky hoverboard engineer. For one day, he is actually wearing knee and elbow pads over his competition shirt and jeans, plus he was wearing a helmet.

He pushed up his glasses with a small sad smile. I wanted nothing more than to reach out and give him a hug and tell him everything is okay, but I refrained. I knew it would do no good. 

On the gravestone it read:

Misaki Nishimura

20 February XX48- 4 May XX62

"Exactly a year today, huh?" He finally let go of a breath he didn't seem to realize he was holding. "I'm going to win this for you, sis." I watched as tears fell down his face. 

"I know you will, Yamato." I stood from my place atop my tombstone and put my hands on the sides of his face and leaned my forehead against his. He shouldn't be crying for me anymore, but here he is unable to feel the comfort I am trying to give him. "You always keep your word." The words I spoke went unheard, like a breeze passing through. "Good luck, big brother." 

​He won the competition that day.