“Don’t fool yourself; he’s not coming.” Said the shorter girl. “He stood you up last time, so why are you still expecting him?”
Hearing snippets of conversation like that is so fascinating. Even if I don’t know what’s really going on, I find it feeds my curiosity; and then my imagination takes off like the wind, filling in details to make an interesting story. I needed more; so, I discretely followed as the three girls skated together around the pond.
“He’ll come Ashley,” said the taller one with conviction. “He said he would, and maybe even bring some friends.” They then turned and skated off in the other direction, arm in arm, like graceful angels, to the accompaniment of Beethoven’s Pastoral, playing on the loudspeakers.
I let them go. I was lost in the thoughts of when I was young, so many lifetimes ago. I was 12 I think, and in middle school. I would go to the local hockey rink on Saturday nights for the free skate, where everyone skated around the rink in the same direction, like a racecourse, or a one-way street; and as we circled, they played classical music on the loudspeakers
I remember this one girl, she was tall too, and we would meet there every Saturday with our friends. I always asked her to skate with me, and we would skate together around the rink, not holding hands, but rather holding onto her skate guard, as a link between us.
A lot of my friends, though, came there to skate fast and do those hockey stops, you know, where you scrape up a spray of ice at someone as you jump to a stop. They were showing off, trying to impress the girls, but at the same time were standoffish and awkward. Better at hockey then enjoying skating as a pair.
I wasn’t much for hockey, but I did enjoy skating with her. She was good at keeping pace with me, even doing a few fancy steps as we went around the curved ends of the rink. She was so graceful; she even did spins.
On unearthing that memory, I realized that she was my first kiss, my first love. I began to picture her face, picture her hands, and her skates with white with pompoms, but somehow her name eluded me. I hadn’t thought about her for such a long time, probably because she broke my heart. One Saturday, I was late, and I found her skating with my friend Scott. Yeah, he was a better skater than me, but I thought we had such great chemistry.
Now I remember; her name was Tessa.
Author’s Note: My apologies to Scott and Tessa, your Olympic Ice Dance performances are so beautiful and inspiring.