Stewart's Story by Ruth Madison Page A

“I transferred,” he said. “I was wondering if I could stay with you until I get set up here.”
    Jeff sat up straight suddenly. “Are you saying you’re moving back?”
    “That’s what I’m saying.”
    Jeff clapped his hands and said, “This is going to be awesome.”
    Over the summer Stewart had reluctantly agreed to come back to California at Jeff's insistence. His friend had wanted him to give a speech at the annual surfing competition. There was a time when Stewart dominated that competition.
    He had been surprised how nice it was to be back in the ocean, surfing again. When it came time to travel back to Massachusetts, he found himself reluctant to go. Stewart hadn’t expected to feel torn as he left. The ocean was pulling him, drawing him to stay. California was his home. It was where he had been born. Despite all the running he had done, what he had left behind here would not stay quiet in his mind.
    “You going to see your dad now that you'll be here longer than a few days?” Jeff said.
    “Wasn't planning to,” Stewart answered.
    Jeff didn't pursue the subject. “You're totally welcome to stay here as long as you need.”
    “Great, my bag is in the car.”
    “Why don't we get it on the way back after the bar? I need to get down there. The kid I hired part time gets off in about twenty minutes.”
    “Sounds good.”
    “Cool, I'm going to call Lee and Leah and see if they want to meet up with us. It'll be just like old times.”
    Stewart chuckled to himself. Jeff's optimism was unbeatable. It was unlikely to be just like old times. The summer he was sixteen Stewart was the local surfing champion, Leah was his girlfriend, and Lee was always in his shadow.
    Outside they started down the sidewalk towards the sunset.
    “Are you okay to, you know, well...walk?” Jeff said.
    Stewart looked up at his friend's concerned face and couldn't help the edge of his mouth twitching towards a smile. “I know where the damn bar is, Jeff. How many times have I crashed at your place?”
    “Okay, yeah, but that was seven years ago. Things are different,” Jeff said.
    “Right,” Stewart said, beginning to push down the street towards the bar. “I wasn't paralyzed.”
    “Now that you mention it,” Jeff said, “I thought something was different.”
    Stewart laughed. “I'm not offended by the word 'walk,' okay? So don't worry about it.”
    Sand was brushed up over the sidewalk and it caught in Stewart's wheels, showering down over his hands. The warm air picked up salt from the ocean as it whipped down the beach. Jeff's small wooden shack rested right at the edge. People crowded around the doorway smoking, more leaned against motorcycles or strolled slowly down the boardwalk nearby. As they got closer, Stewart noticed the wooden ramp on the side of the stairs.
    “This is new,” he said, pushing himself up it.
    “Someone told me I'd get a tax break,” Jeff said, “But I think he lied.”
    "You need an incentive not to break the law?" Stewart called over his shoulder. Jeff followed him inside.
    Stewart paused in the doorway to take in the scene. He had missed this place. Not much had changed in the years he'd been gone. There were a few tables, a long wooden bar, a small dance floor, everything in dark wood. This was where all the locals came. Jeff lived for this place, building it into the perfect hang out.
    Leah was already there. She was leaning over the bar, wearing a mini skirt that didn’t quite cover her butt and a sport’s bra. Her warm honey skin glistened, still wet from swimming. The few patrons inside were all riveted to her. As Stewart’s wheels rumbled onto the wooden floor, she turned and fixed him with her well-honed siren smile. Jeff gave her a wave, then went into the kitchen to get them food. Stewart slowly wheeled forward and Leah joined him at a table. He pulled a chair out of the way and slid into its place.
    “No girlfriend this time, huh?” Leah said.
    "Nope."
    "Good. That kid was