Taylor and I came in at the same time on Sunday night. I came through the turnstile, walked through the large hallway that connects the buildings, my card in my hand to swipe myself into Stanton. This is a noteworthy experience – I always put the card away after going through the turnstile, and then sigh when I get to the door and have to take it out again. I’m not the only one though. For this reason, I swipe the door, and wait the few seconds that I know I have from the time it clunks unlocked to the time it locks again. And then just at the last moment, yes, I love to play this game with myself, I pull open the door in a quick swoop, I hold it open and turn around to see if there’s anyone else coming down the hall who I can save from the dilemma have re-finding the keys, and re-pulling the card out of it’s holder, and re-aligning it in the machine, and swiping in again. So secure, except for people coming and going, and asking or receiving, or even just being polite. I’m surprise that I didn’t hear the wheels being pulled along the tiles, jumping a bit at every crack. But there is Taylor, coming in from her flight. We laugh at the coincidence, and walk in together. I’m happy she’s back, and not just because she takes my bag with her in the elevator, so I don’t have to carry it up the stairs.
Another game! I race the elevator, though I know it’s impossible to beat it this time, the door had been open, waiting, and there was nobody else in it, no other stops to make. I’m not much slower though. And as I catch my breath, with pauses to allow cool soft water to run down my throat, my heart pounding from the run, there’s another catching going on. (Strangely enough, it’s an up too.) We decide to go skating, both suspecting the canal will close soon, and knowing that even though there’s books to read and assignments to finish, we aren’t going to get any work done tonight anyway. There’s too much talking to do.
The ice is so horrible. I feel kind of the way I feel when I keep something – cake, or cookies maybe – something good, trying to make it last as long as I can, but then keeping it too long. I want to be able to enjoy it every day. I want to make it last forever… But it’s so much better the first time. The three week old cookie doesn’t satisfy, and you don’t savour the last bite the same way you enjoyed the first. Most things cant last forever. It’s covered in the slushy mess that’s a blend of snow and shavings from the thousands of other skates which endured the bumps and gouges which plague the surface. The crevices look much better on the moon, then in the ice which is somehow softer than it was before. It has an evil, misleading softness to it now. My blade sinks in more, and it should be easier to balance. And maybe it’d hurt less to fall, as if it were forest floor compared to rock. But the softness demands a more purposeful push for every glide. And the more you glide the more is shaved away. And the more is shaved away the more flat the ice looks. And hidden beneath this innocent, luminescent ice are the scratches of blades, the blackness of whatever lies beneath the surface, and conniving blemishes which seek to pull the skate from beneath you and drop you abruptly to the ground. My knees, maybe wisely, maybe remembering past experience, are not so easily fooled, and my eyes strain to see through the disguise.
The challenge doesn’t reck the night. It’s clear, and just below zero, pleasant. I slow and stare into the sky. I see Orion. I see a brilliant moon. I’m gliding under the night sky, quiet, focused.My cheeks are cold, and I feel small. Small, and young.
I can feel myself curled up, sitting behind my dad in the car, driving home from Grandma’s house. Tim leans across the seats, sleeping. I can feel his head on the seat beside me. My cheek is cool, pressed against glass, I stretch my eyes, trying to keep them as open as I can. We roll along, and I stare at the same constellation. The same moon. And I’m lulled, almost to sleep, until I feel the sharper turn, and I know dad’s brought us safely home.
Standing on my own two feet, skating away from my new home with Taylor, far from home. I love that, if the sky was clear, all across the country we could see the same beauty.
I’ve been trying for the past two months to phone home while I’m on the canal, and finally, I did it. Guess what I’m doing Dad? Yes, I’m skating, yes it’s late. I’m talking to mom, just about life in general, when Taylor, who’s just a little ahead of me, says something, and I look ahead – the ice is clear. I say a rushed goodbye, and race on to the ice. Soon there’s trees lining the canal, and I can’t see the cars. We race along the ice, laughing.
We’ve been talking about skating the entire canal all year, and the one time we weren’t intending on doing it, we did. We made it out to Dows lake – 6 km down the 7.8 km skateway, and we had the whole thing to ourselves. The ice had just been flooded, and it was reflected the strands of blue, purple, and white lights, reflecting the moon, reflecting the city, reflecting us. It was so beautiful. We lay down on the ice, far enough away from the road – or maybe just in enough awe - that we couldn’t hear the traffic. Are arms under our heads so not to get them wet, we gazed up at the stars in silence.
Maybe we need to go through the bad, so that our eyes are fully open, and are hearts are truly thankful for the good.
