4. Secret Bucket
Secret Bucket
Gus opened the door of his dad’s woodshop and let Bridger pass through.
He smelled Axe body spray and fresh laundry as the skater boy crossed the threshold of his domain for the first time.
Gus had been wanting to bring Bridger here for the past few days but had only just felt comfortable inviting him last night.
Gus closed the door behind them. They kept the bright overhead lights off, but plenty of afternoon sun lit the room through the hazy paneled windows.
Bridger’s scanning gaze soaked in all the scattered lumber and sharp machines in the woodshop.
Gus realized he had never been in a room alone with another boy like this before.
It felt more personal here than when they skated together at the park with so many others around.
Each small step of their feet echoed in the tall, wide space.
The sawdust-saturated air felt heavier. Every choice had more weight.
While Bridger touched every single tool and gadget they walked by, Gus gave a free quick tour of the shop. Bridger nodded along while listening.
“—and then after the glued scraps dried,” Gus continued explaining, stopping at his own workbench near the window, “I cut out the shape, sanded it, and painted the board right here.”
Bridger leaned over to inspect the bandsaw closer. “Shit. You make it sound so easy. I couldn’t do any of that.”
“Not yet.” Gus smiled. “I’ll teach you. Just like you’re teaching me.”
Bridger glanced up from the rotary sander he was tempted to pick up and caught eyes with Gus. He bobbed his head with gratitude and lifted a fist for Gus to bump, holding the new skater’s gaze and raising a confident eyebrow.
Each time Bridger smirked at him like this, Gus noticed it. He loved the way it felt. Like they had their own inside joke.
“Your board’s going to be awesome,” Gus assured.
“Hell yeah!” Bridger hooted. “When can we get started?”
“Actually, I—”
The heavy woodshop door creaked open as Dan stepped into the room from outside.
He was carrying a large stack of lumber that covered his face from view.
Gus immediately stopped talking, hastily tucked his homemade board under the bench, and stood up straight.
He thought his dad would be out at the store longer.
Bridger’s brow furrowed in confusion at Gus’s awkward reaction to seeing his own father.
Dan absentmindedly dropped the new wood planks for the next week’s projects onto the main bench, turned around, and finally registered the boys near the woodshop windows. He startled.
“Gus? You’re not working today…”
“Uh. Right, I know. Sorry,” Gus mumbled, shrinking back.
Dan’s eyes darted to Bridger with a quizzical look. “Who’s this?”
Bridger adjusted his hair, flashed a big grin, and reached out his palm to Dan. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
“This is Bridger,” Gus gestured awkwardly.
Dan grunted, surveying all of his nearby equipment as if he knew Bridger had already messed something up with his greasy digits. Regardless, he still extended a reluctant handshake to the boy.
“What’re you both doing here?” Dan inquired.
“I’m just showing him around,” Gus explained. “How we make all the furniture pieces.”
Bridger looked over to Gus with a subtle, unsure squint.
“No using the machines if I’m not around,” Dan warned both boys before gesturing to the wood he brought in. “We’ll start on the birch first thing Monday. I’ll be inside starting dinner. Don’t make a mess.”
Gus nodded as his father turned around and dropped his work gloves onto a shelf. He walked out of the shed and closed the door. The heavy metal latch shut with a sharp snap that rang loudly in the now silent shop.
Bridger twisted toward Gus and peered at him with curiosity. “He doesn’t know about your skateboard?”
Gus quickly grabbed his board and pulled Bridger away from the window as Dan strolled past it up to the cabin. He led Bridger to the back of the woodshop. They stood by Gus’s secret closet.
“He will, eventually,” Gus shared. “I just don’t know how he’ll react.”
“Why? It’s cool.” Bridger shrugged.
“He doesn’t really like… fun?” Gus confided. “He only works. All the time.”
“Got it. My parents are the same way. Secret’s safe with me,” Bridger promised.
Gus opened the door to the storage closet beside them, allowing Bridger to see his contraband.
The bucket of leftover wood, half-used glue, expired cans of wood stain, old grip tape, and his skateboard mold were all nestled inconspicuously in the back corner.
Bridger’s eyes scanned the hodgepodge of materials, bemused that Gus could somehow turn this pile of recycling into a real skateboard.
“I also don’t really want him to know I swiped these supplies,” Gus admitted.
Bridger lightly toed Gus’s secret bucket, jostling its mismatched assortment of lumber. “It’s all just scraps. Why would he care?”
“You don’t know my dad.” Gus placed his skateboard down in the closet next to the wood bucket and covered his board’s beautiful mountain design with the crusty, dirty tarp. “Better he knows nothing.”
Bridger scoffed. “You guys don’t talk much, huh?”
“Not really.”
“Well, what about your mom?”
Gus stopped in his tracks. The casual nature of the quick question caught him off guard, and a tidal wave of memories flooded his brain.
He hesitated for a moment, staring blankly into the dusty closet as he tried to wade past the emotions to get back to the present moment.
Bridger looked up at Gus’s eyes in the prolonged quiet, sensing that Gus was seeing something that he never could.
“Uh… she died. Earlier this year.” Gus braced for the usual awkwardness. “That’s why I moved back with my dad. Way out here.”
“Oh,” Bridger responded softly.
“Yeah.”
Gus closed the closet and walked back to the main portion of the woodshop. Bridger followed, watching his friend intently.
“We’re not close. Me and my dad,” Gus shared, not looking back. “I lived with my mom, just the two of us, ever since I was five. Pretty soon, I’ll leave for college. I’m not here for long.”
Gus hadn’t had this conversation with anyone in Montana yet. He still didn’t know how to handle it. Bridger stepped up next to Gus, back into the window’s fresh light.
“Sorry, man. But… glad you’re here now,” Bridger offered sympathetically.
Gus smiled as he looked up at Bridger. He was relieved when Bridger didn’t ask any more questions and just let things be. Bridger simply offered Gus a fist bump with a somber nod of empathy. Gus was grateful. That’s all they needed to say.
Needing to cut the tension, Bridger leaned over and reached out with a curious expression to touch a drill press nearby. “So how does this work? Is it used for—”
The drill bit fell out immediately with a loud clank. The boys jumped in shock and rushed to put the piece back in place, hoping Dan hadn’t heard them.
When stillness returned to the room and Dan didn’t show, Gus let a deep breath pass through him. Together, he and Bridger chuckled alone in the shop.
~
The next morning, Bridger Owens eagerly dashed down his stairs and jumped onto the carpet of his family’s living room. He ran for the kitchen, accidentally dropping his board and causing a ruckus as he passed the entryway table adorned with multiple posed family portraits.
Once he’d picked up his board and sped into the busy kitchen, he found his whole family staring at him in alarm.
His mother, wearing a purple blouse with her hair tied up in a fraying top bun, poured cereal into bowls.
She handed the cereal to Bridger’s little sisters, Chloe, Abby, and Cullen, followed by glasses of orange juice.
Bridger stomped around as he grabbed his backpack and searched for his shoes.
His father was taking notes intently, a phone gluing his ear and shoulder together.
He scowled toward Bridger and held his palm up, displeased with all the noise. Bridger didn’t notice.
“Bridger, keep it down,” Bridger’s mom whispered angrily. “Dad’s on a work call.”
Bridger rolled his eyes as he placed his board in his lap and started lacing his sneakers. “When’s he not on a work call?”
“Do you want some breakfast?” his mom asked, irritated.
“Nah. I’m off.”
“To the library? Your summer school homework isn’t going to finish itself. You can’t repeat senior year too, Bridger,” his mom reminded intently.
“Yup. Definitely. The library,” Bridger affirmed as he headed back through the entryway.
Pulling their house door shut with an echoing clunk once he was outside, Bridger dropped his board to the ground and breathed in the fresh air of freedom. He smirked as he kicked off down his suburban street.
“Sike!” he exclaimed.
Gus saw Bridger arrive at the skatepark and caught himself smiling as Bridger casually popped onto the concrete with a kickflip. This late June morning was fresh and dewy. They had the park to themselves for now.
“Are you sure you don’t want to just skate with your crew when they get here?” Gus asked. “We don’t have to practice just ’cause it’s my day off.”
“Nah. Max is at work for a while.” Bridger glanced around. “Most of the guys don’t show up until he does.”
“Ah, got it.”
“It’s just you and me.” Bridger smirked. “Today, we’re doing ollies.”
After some minutes of demonstration and Gus scanning Bridger’s movements like a fax machine, Gus made some attempts at his first ollies.
He failed every time. It was just a simple jumping move, but Gus couldn’t nail the carefree balance needed.
Gus inhaled and shot forward on his next go, trying to generate momentum.
He leaned back to prepare, wobbled, and lost his board as he tried jumping up.
“What are you scared of?” Bridger pressed as Gus’s empty board shot past him.
“Falling!” Gus called back. “Duh!”
“It’s gonna happen, Gus.” Bridger laughed. “Get used to that fear. Just keep your arms tight, tuck, and roll. I’m here for you.”