“Rolling Back the Years”
James standing in line shifted his weight from one foot to another, waiting patiently at the entrance to the roller rink, his eyes drawn to the spirited young couples skating hand in hand. His once-vibrant face now carried the subtle marks of age, etched with the wisdom of time and a lifetime of memories. His hair, once a rich shade of chestnut, had faded into a distinguished silver-gray. Every wrinkle and laugh line told a story, and the twinkle in his eyes hinted at a life well-lived, despite the passage of time.
The ticket window loomed before him, its colorful lights flickering in the dimly lit rink. The attendant, a young woman with a bright, eager smile, glanced up at James. Her gaze shifted momentarily, scanning the crowd for any children or grandchildren who might be accompanying him. Finding none, she met his gaze with a puzzled expression. "You alone, sir?" she inquired politely, her tone carrying a hint of curiosity.
James offered a small, somewhat wistful smile. "Yes, just reminiscing, that's all." The attendant's brow furrowed slightly, but she quickly resumed her professional demeanor. "Well, that's going to be 15 dollars, sir," she informed him, her hand poised to take his payment.
He paused, taken aback by the price. James couldn't help but think back to the days when it had cost a mere 5 dollars to enter this very rink, where he had first met the love of his life. Memories of youthful joy and carefree laughter flooded his mind, making him briefly forget the present. But suddenly James stopped himself. Realizing he was starting to sound like an old man reminiscing about the past, he quietly cleared his throat handed the attendant the fifteen dollars, and took his ticket with a nod of gratitude.
Inside, James hunted for an open bench near the rink floor, he sat down and laced up his roller skates. The music playing over the speakers stirred emotions deep within him. James wasn't just here to skate; he was here to relive the magic of the past, to remember the love that had blossomed at this very rink. With every glide, every turn, and every twirl, he would step back in time, to a place where love had sparked like fireworks on wheels.
Standing up James tried to gain some sense of balance. It had been decades since he had attempted such an activity. As James ventured onto the rink floor, the memories of days long gone rushed back with each echoing thud of wheels against the well-worn wooden planks. The sound was like a rhythmic heartbeat, a pulse of nostalgia reverberating through the aged roller rink. He imagined the quick, staccato beats of roller skates, a symphony of life, passion, and fleeting moments etched into the very soul of the floor.
His gaze shifted beyond the swiftly gliding couples, and suddenly, he saw himself on that very floor, hand in hand with Christine, a haunting vision of their young love brimming with laughter and energy. Her hair cascaded like a dark waterfall, brushing across his face as she playfully tugged him forward. Their synchronized movements turned clumsy, and, in a matter of moments, they would be colliding with the rink floor.
James quickly reacted, spinning her gently as they landed with a soft thud, cushioned by his own body. Christine let out a contagious burst of laughter, leaned in with eyes sparkling and planted their first kiss on his lips. It was a sensation that sent shivers down James's spine, a taste of sweet, unadulterated youth and the promise of a love that would endure. The sensation of their lips meeting was a mixture of warmth and electricity, a connection between two souls too genuine to be denied.
She playfully whispered, "Thank you for saving me," a knowing twinkle in her eye as she teasingly acknowledged the tumble. But James understood that he hadn't saved her in the traditional sense. In truth, he had brought them both down with his own clumsiness. The memory of that fall, their first kiss, and the shared laughter that followed had remained a cherished treasure in his heart for all these years. As he glided across the roller rink floor, he couldn't help but smile, the warmth of Christine's memory embracing him like an old, cherished song.
Those were the days, he thought, a quiet sigh escaping his lips as he leaned against the side railing of the roller rink. He was out of breath, and the laughter and music of the rink echoed around him, serving as a stark contrast to the emptiness that had settled in his heart. Seated on a nearby bench, he gazed out at the bustling floor before him, contemplating the uncertain path that lay ahead.
Five long years had passed since Christine had left this world, and not a single day had gone by when he didn't miss her. Friends and family, well-meaning as they were, insisted it was time for him to move on. But the concept of moving on felt like an insurmountable mountain to climb. How could he possibly love anyone other than his beloved wife? The idea felt like a betrayal, a cruel abandonment of her memory.
Examining himself, James's gaze fell to his out-of-shape body, the evidence of his grief etched in a soft paunch around the middle and the faint beginnings of man boobs. The thought of someone loving him now seemed implausible. Christine had loved him because they had aged together, her grace shining even in her final days. Now, he faced the daunting prospect of starting anew. Perhaps he should consider joining a gym or maybe even take up running. His rational mind suggested that he should at least begin with walking more. Yet, the prospect of investing so much effort into forming a new relationship, especially at his age, felt overwhelming.
Above all, what he truly desired was the impossible - to turn back time, to have her back with him once more. The roller rink, once a place of cherished memories, now felt like a shadowed reminder of a life he had lost, a life he yearned to return to, even though he knew deep down that he couldn't.
As James observed the young couples swirling around the rink in the throes of love, he couldn't help but harbor a touch of bitterness. His gaze lingered on the giggling pairs, each so wrapped up in their own little world. He thought to himself, "One day, you'll be standing here, just like me, thinking about the ones you love." The thought was laden with the weight of time, an invisible bond that connected generations.
Taking a deep breath, James ventured back onto the roller rink, his legs trembling under the weight. The popping sounds in his aging knees seemed almost deafening, a stark reminder of the years that had taken their toll. With each step, he felt as unsteady as a newborn fawn trying to stand for the very first time. The rink floor became a testing ground, a place where he wrestled with the challenges of aging and the relentless march of time.
Regaining his composure, James continued to skate, his movements slow and deliberate. He repeated to himself, like a mantra, that he'd complete a few more laps and then head home. As he gazed down at the rink floor, it seemed to blur and transform, whizzing past him in a blur of colors and memories. A full 35 years had come and gone since he had first stepped onto this very floor. He couldn't help but smile, despite the occasional cacophony of his protesting knees. At 55, he stood on the rink floor, not too shabby for an old man who hadn't laced up skates in ages. It felt like old times, reminiscent of the carefree days of his youth, the only difference being the chorus of creaks emanating from his aging joints.
James couldn't escape the constant pull of his memories, his thoughts inevitably returning to his late wife, Christine. With each lap he skated and each beat of the music, he found himself yearning for a sign, something to guide him through this sea of uncertainty. In the midst of his introspection, he always circled back to that vivid memory of Christine's hand in his, the sensation of gliding together across the rink floor, a shared moment etched into his very soul.
In this moment of deep contemplation, as he coasted along the rink, his mind heavy with thoughts of his beloved wife, he felt an unexpected touch on his hand. A jolt of shock surged through him, and his gaze darted downward, his eyes widening in disbelief. There, to his astonishment, a hand was firmly clasped around his, one that was unmistakably attached to a slender arm.
Looking up, James was taken aback by the sight that met his eyes. A woman, not a young hooligan he had half-expected, stood before him. She was a vision of grace and warmth, her age manifesting as a tapestry of experiences etched upon her features. Her eyes, framed by a smattering of fine laugh lines, sparkled with a knowing kindness that had weathered the storms of life. A subtle but vibrant charm radiated from her presence, and her smile, a gentle embrace of time's passage, held a promise of a new beginning.
Taking in this unexpected sight, James realized that the universe had granted him a sign, albeit in a form he hadn't anticipated. The woman's hand still held his, a silent invitation to join her in a dance across the roller rink, and perhaps, across the chapters of life that lay ahead.
She spun James around, her movements swift and uncontrolled, and in that moment, she extended her hand toward him, a silent plea for assistance to maintain her balance. Without hesitation, James grasped her outstretched hand and pulled her close. Together, they twirled with an almost reckless abandon, losing their balance and tumbling to the unforgiving rink floor. The collision was softened somewhat by James's well-cushioned rump, which bore the brunt of the fall. There they lay, intertwined on the roller rink floor, two strangers joined in shared laughter.
While chuckling alongside this intriguing woman, he noticed the lines of her beautiful face etched with amusement. Her laughter wasn't aimed at him, but rather with him, a detail that didn't go unnoticed. In that carefree moment, he half-expected to see her husband swoop in to rescue her from the grasp of this clumsy stranger.
As she gracefully began to lift herself up, a sense of anticipation welled within James, but instead of the appearance of her supposed protector, she extended her hand to help him up. The expectations of a chivalrous intervention faded, replaced by a curious sensation. His brows furrowed as he looked at her, waiting for her response. It was in that moment that she brushed a tender kiss against his cheek, her breath warm against his skin. A bewildered James stammered. She leaned in, her voice a hushed whisper, as if sharing a secret to save him. “Thank you,” “Thank you for what,” James said. "My name is Lisa," her eyes dancing with intrigue, "and I want to take you to dinner to properly thank you."
James stood there with his mouth agape, struck dumb by the audaciousness of her proposal. Not since the days of his youth or the time he courted Christine had he encountered a woman so forthright. Insecurity crept across his face, the years of neglect and self-doubt etched in his every expression. His gaze fell to his own body, a testament to the passage of time, and he felt a profound sense of shame.
` James met Lisa's resolute gaze, his insecurities laid bare for her to see. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice quavering, the excitement of the moment rendering him momentarily speechless. "Dinner with me? Go out?"
Her laughter was like a soothing melody, a joyful response to his jittery, love-struck stammering. With a radiant smile and a playful wink, Lisa replied, "I know what I want."
A blush crept over James's cheeks, the warmth of her intention thawing the frost of his insecurity. With newfound confidence, he extended his hand, intertwining his fingers with Lisa's, and declared, "I know just the place."
With their fingers entwined and hearts wide open, Lisa and James gathered their belongings and gracefully exited the roller rink. The world outside awaited them, a canvas upon which they could paint the next chapter of their lives together.
Now, 30 years have passed since that fateful encounter, and I sit here in my rocking chair, holding the hand of my love, Lisa. Our roller-skating days are distant memories, but the pair of skates perched on the mantle remains a reminder that love can appear when you least expect it. The passage of time has not dimmed the spark between us, and as we look back on our journey, we're reminded that love, much like the ever-turning wheels of a roller skate, keeps us moving forward, hand in hand, into the future.
Young Love on Wheels
Alex swiped at the sweat beading on her forehead with the back of her hand, cleaning the other off on her tattered jeans. She'd been outside for nearly two hours, already emptying three big gulps from the corner store and yet still felt the summer heat sticking to her like the uncomfortable grimy lick of a mange-ridden dog.
She let a grimace unfurl when the sweat settled into the dampened dishwasher curls around her neck, sighing.
She'd spent the better part of the two hours applying new grip tape to her skateboard, barely getting started on waxing the wheels when her stomach growling became a little more than bearable, and the disapproving pile of blue reflective wrappers that clued in her current obsession with cool ranch Doritos. There were a few brave Blow Pop wrappers disfigured from the sun and Alex's fist that made it into the heap, as well.
Resigned to the fate that she will either procure heatstroke, or die of malnourishment on these potholed covered streets that hadn't seen the tax payer dollar since the founding of its bonds, Alex heaves her supply of trash and skateboard items up into her arms, poking a tongue out from the corner of her blue-raspberry stained mouth to provide a sense of balance. Alex knew exactly where to place her feet on the rotting wood that served as some form of step to the trailer she called home, giving a solid kick to the door with the nose of her converse to find it open, bereft of the lock no one had bothered to fix since it broke during her stepdad's drunken rampage of Christmas, throwing it open and dropping the items with a huff.
"Hey, no leaving your things on the ground." Susan chastised from her spot in the kitchen, slicing up some carrots and pointing the dull blade at her with silent accusation.
She could feel her body unwind at the sight of her mother, still in her waitress outfit and more skin over wiry muscle than much else, dutifully cooking up something that must be edible with half expired vegetables, despite the sunken circles around her eyes begging for sleep.
"Yeah, move your shit."
Alex whirls her steely gaze from her mother to her stepbrother, shirtless and smoking a low haze around the room that wouldn't do much to the aged ambience. Still, his noxious sneer shot over the couch head was button-smashing at least, and anti-button-fascism at worst.
"Fuck off..." Alex grumbled out in response, kicking her board up into her hands and making her way around the kitchen aisle to steal a carrot. "Where's your lovely husband tonight." Her humour was dry, and Susan shot her a look for it.
Rick took a long drag from the cigarette he had just lit, speaking around the putrid cloud of toxic smoke. "At the bar, probably getting so fucking shit faced he doesn't remember your worthless slut of a mother."
Alex tried her hardest not to scream and hit him, biting her tongue and gripping the tail of her board
The lights flickered ominously above their heads- drawing three sets of eyes. "Step dearest can't bother putting some new fixtures in...?"
Her mouth was quicker than her brain, her skin paling as Rick shot up and spat on the floor. "You fucking bitch. Get over here, you ungrateful little shit-" He moved faster then Alex knew what to do with, and lifted up her board again just in time for his fist to land with a splintering of wood and grip tape.
A bulb overhead bursted like a balloon, confetti in form of glass shrapnel raining down on the spot Rick just occupied. He jumped back, checking his shirtless skin over for any wounds.
There were a few superficial scratches, that would unfortunately not hurt for long. Maybe he'd get some lemon or salt thrown at him when he inevitably pisses anoother girl off.
Alex stared down at her split board, her eyebrow twitching with barely bottled anger.
Susan sighed heavily- abandoning the vegetables for a dustpan. "Alexandra will you please go reset the breaker."
Alex clicked her jaw into a line, eyes slanting as she glared.
"Yeah, Alexandra." Rick mocked, gaze unforgiving atop the curl of his glare. She suddenly wished every other light in the house to explode and wipe that shit stain off his neck, his bloody fist wrapping around his smoke.
"Go fix it."
Alex turned to her mother, "But the breaker is all the way by the creek-"
"Go, Alexandra."
"Why can't Rick?" She grunted, throwing the useless wooden pieces aside. "Its flooded, and he's the one with the truck and my board is broken--"
"She said to fucking go, you fucking brat. So listen to her and get the fuck out here!" Rick shouted from where he went back to laying, face unforgiving. Alex's stomach curled into itself as her mother smiled that god awful placating smile she always had reserved for moments like this.
"Hurry along before it gets dark out, Alexandra."
He showed off his teeth, and she flipped him off as she trudged out the door.
The creek wasn't readily accesible-- hence the trip of what felt like overcoming Hellmouth it was to endure. She first had to get through the yard, which was usually overflowing with Rick's weird friends that weren't shy with their wandering hands and slurred come-on's, but also through the thick stack of sheet metal and whatever scrap the asshat and thrown over his shoulder instead of taking to a junkyard. Usually, she could go without the tetanus, but perhaps tonight would be the night for a wondrous trip.
No, Alex, no suicide... Cam owes me 20 still..
Overcoming the homemade obstacle course, Alex came face to foot with the infamous dip in the land. The creek was overfilled with shrubbery and thick with sludge as she came to a stop on one side, sighing at the path she had made weeks prior that was now deep under the surface from pipe back up and rainwater. Alex leant down, cuffing her jeans up to the knee and undoing the laces of her scuffed up sneakers to toss over her shoulder. Her socks weren't worth the save; holes and frayed seams barely sticking together like the .
She braced her elbows on the dirt mound, sliding awkwardly down the divot in the creek side, inhaling sharply through her nose at the biting cold reaching up to her knee and leaving a gross, murky residue including clumps of something dark and... not worth the thought when it waded away. The sludge at the bottom squishing around her feet and worming between her toes was even more unpleasant.
She chucked her stuff up on the other side, eventually finding the scrap metal tubing she had implemented as a gripping system a few weeks back, using her liminal upper body strength to hoist herself up the flat and over-hanging side with trembling arms and sucking her teeth when her feet slipped trying to find purchase, gashing her knee on a piece of rebar loose from the fray of random shit that the creek had as lifeblood.
The breaker was half a mile out- a stupid place to put it and often caused power outages or surges and Alex desperately wished they'd cut a path in the thick grass so she could ride her board (rest in piece) every fucking time she was forced to fix it, but then again, tax paying dollars had no business on this side of town. Resigning herself to the weeds licking at her hips, she risked whatever lay in the field of greenery that might eat up her feet.
To distract herself, she hums some broken opening notes that usually blasted through Cam's speakers when her gang of friends would get together to fill their bodies with carbs and carbonation. It helps, because surprisingly she ends up to where the structure is falling apart-- three walls, no roof, and a stairwell partially obscured by vines and debris. But she knew it like a second home by now, and forced her body through the heavy weeds until she was shot free like a bullet, groaning at the sudden blood flow to her aching thighs.
It was fenced off-- mainly, in a dozen previous lives from where the Do Not Enter, spray painted red on a piece of wood lay weathered and flat nearby, and she rounded it to head down the story of half broken concrete steps when she fell fully flat on her ass at the heart attack-inducing scare she'd just encountered.
A girl with short dark hair stood there, all heavy black eyeliner and combat boots and a trench coat that was brushing the floor. And eyes-- oh man, those deserved a cautionary tale of their own. She stood amongst the cobwebs and long forgotten litter on a pair of... roller skates?, staring at Alex curiously and with a frown.
"Are you alright, Alexandra?"
"How do you know my name?" The girl fires back, looking from her frazzled, half filthy and half sweaty outfit to the stranger as though she wanted to impress
The girl blinks. Says nothing. Right, then...
"Alex. It's- I'm Alex." She corrected, hoisting herself up and moving tentatively down the steps, stepping around the brunette who's eyebrows furrowed so harshly there would be age lines in time on perfectly smooth skin, if this was a habit. Alex stuffed one hand in her back pocket, and the other fiddled with the locked metal door to avoid the desperate itch her fingers took on to smooth out the displeasure.
"Uh, did you... turn the breaker off?"
She fiddled with her keys, finding the one to open the rusted panel door. The girl didn't answer her, the obvious lack of tampering with the stiff lock sense enough.
her voice was soft and muffled as if she was face to face with the concrete wall.
"He's an ass."
"Oh," Alex nodded absently, leaning her weight on a forearm against the wall as she finally pull open the breaker door, letting out a victorious whoop as she stumbled a bit from its powerful swing.
"Yeah, that's an understatement."
These was nothing wrong with the wiring or circuits, and Alex blinked a few times to make sure the heat of the summer wasn't making her delusional.
"The fuck?" She murmured, checking for any water damage. But of course- it was the butt fuck of summer and, besides the cough-inducing amount of dust accumulated, it was perfect. So she made the journey out here for no reason- and the sky was darkening rapidly.
"Fuck!"
She sighed heavily, closing the door, turning, and nearly shitting herself as that brunette- with nearly black eyes, Alex noticed- was nose to nose behind her.
"Jesus christ, dude!" Alex grappled with her own body, forcing herself to move from the entrapment despite her hearts protests. "Ever heard of personal space?"
"Space?" The girl tilted her head. "Hm. Space is very cool. So many things up there. Do you like stars, Alex?"
The way this girl said her name made Alex's legs wobble like jelly, swallowing thickly against the swarm of butterflies threatening to break from their nest in her belly.
"I- wha? I-" she shook her head lamely to clear herself of her own stupidity, suddenly sounding just like her idiot best friends when she had first met them. Floundering, dorky kids.
She was not a floundering, dorky kid.
With new resolve, Alex pushed her shoulders back and huffed- trying to add that familiar edge of irritation she always kept with her. "It's late- and I'm already going to be breaking my own legs just trying to get home so, I better be going."
The girl, fast as lightening, caught Alex's wrist and fixed her with eyes so deep Alex felt like she was sinking in the creek.
"No." The girl said, simply and with far too much meaning in such a small syllable.
"What- no? Who the fuck are you to tell me what I can and can't do?!"
Alex yanked her wrist free, glaring at the brunette with renewed anger. Everyone was so hell bent on controlling her... even a fucking stranger. Even a fucking stranger with eyes that could capsize ships and bright blue roller skates that creaked as she shuffled back.
The girl had the sense to look apologetic, putting her hands up in surrender. "I am sorry. I am not very good with people. You are my first!"
Alex's eyebrows furrowed, sizing the girl up again. Her clothes seemed three sizes two big, and she was starkingly pale like she hadn't seen the sun for a while.
"First what?"
The girl's face lit up. "Friend!"
Alex felt a flush spread from her neck to her ears, rubbing awkwardly at the back of her head for something to do with shaky, clammy palms.
She didn't say anything until after the brunette's smile upturned, and she seemed to collapse in on herself. Alex stepped forward, gesticulating wildly. "That's not- friends are different then just meeting someone" she explains, hurriedly.
The girl cocked her head adorably the side, eyes wide. "How?"
"Well, um. They usually know each other's names and hang out, for starters."
The taller girl giggled, leaning forward as if revealing the biggest secret ever. "Your name is Alex. And we are hang-ing out."
Alex flushed even darker at the proximity, looking anywhere except at smirking lips. She focused on the frayed green of the girl's laces, that hung loosely and with some miracle, she hadn't seemed to trip on them yet.
"I don't know yours. And this hanging out. We're just... in the same place at the same time, for whatever reason..."
The girl nodded, stepping away enough to finally let Alex's lungs release their vice grip as she thrusted a hand out. "I am Art."
Alex chuckled, shaking the hand that felt like a spark shooting up her arm. "Art. This still isn't hanging out, though."
Art seemed to mull the words over, nibbling on her lip in deep thought and briefly Alex wondered what it would be like to take that same lip between her teeth-
"You come with me!" Alex said excitedly, practically thrumming with bottled up energy and dragging Alex up the stairs and in the opposite direction of her house, into the tall grass with clunky, rolling steps.
Alex dug her heels in, chuckling despite herself. "Woah- woah G.I Jane. Can't just steal someone and not tell them what's going on."
Art tilted her head, eyebrows furrowed. "G.I Jane?"
Alex shook her head, laughing hoarsely. "It's- never mind. Where are you taking me? Pretty sure cops would call this kidnapping."
Art grinned that thousand watt smile, actually jumping around in excitement. "My dad is a police! We are going to my dad!!"
"I- why?" Flashes of scattered bruises from Rick's hand, screaming matches that made the walls shake all flickered through her mind like a flash bang went off. Art smiled softly, interlacing their fingers and squeezing.
"It is where I live. And you said to be friends we need to hangout. So we are hanging out!"
Art let their hands hang for a second, before her eyes widened with realization. "We can share!" She said, dropping down without a second thought and yanking one of her roller skates off, grabbing Alex's ankle with fast hands and shoving her cut up foot into the shoe that oddly fit perfectly.
Alex shrugged- figuring if she was going to be murdered, at least it would be by the owner of a heavenly smile, soft skin and bouncing curls. Better that than by Rick, anyway. She gives an experimental push with her free foot, finding that though she was lacking in a few inches and had to stand with a bend to the knee, it was like riding her board.
Art beams, hopping up and imitates Alex's action before re-lacing their fingers.
They waded hand in hand through the grass like that, Art weaving over rocks and through tight tree lines gracefully, while Alex was busy tripping over her own feet and trying to calm her pounding heart every time Art's fingers gripped hers a little bit tighter when her roller skate would slip on the grass, or the brunette would hum into the open sky, littered with stars and the moon almost as breathtakingly bright as Art's strange but welcome presence.
The boys would be smacking her for just heading off into the woods at night with a random girl. And she in every other circumstance would be slapping herself, too. But Art was warm and friendly and her brain felt like it had melted into a puddle.
The grass broke off into trees obstructing even 10 feet in front of them. Alex gulped, looking at the barely visible strip of a path at her feet. Art continued on without a care in the world, while Alex continued to narrowly avoid having herself beheaded by the low hanging branches and-
"Tripwire."
Alex ran into Art's back, as the girl pointed down at the barely visible silver string that glinted ominously in the light. Art let go of their hands, lunging over pointedly, and smiling as she didn't wait up, pushing forward on her one skate into the even forest.
Alex swallowed thickly, the darkness swallowing Art almost completely as she stepped over the trap.
"Why do you guys have a tripwire out here?"
Art turned, moving backwards without a single worry or glance back. Just that idiotically beautiful smile.
"Keeps out the bad men."
Alex looked around nervously, "Bad men?" stumbling a few steps as the cursed lace caught beneath her, and flushing under Art's amused expression.
"Yes."
"You mean like- murderers."
A dark shadow crosssd over pale skin, a frown painting her lips.
"They are maybe worse."
Alex tilred her head, but her questions fell short after they passed into a small clearing with a dark cabin peering out from in front of leaves.
"Home!" Art exclaims, pushing forward and nearly getting caught on the loose lace. Alex catches her by the shoulder, tugging her back and pointing at the shoe.
"Let me teach you to tie your laces before you break your pretty head."
"Pretty?" Art asks as Alex stoops down, tying a bunny knot in both their skates. Alex nods jauntily, focusing on the task at hand instead of on the overwhelming lance in her heart.
"Uh- I mean, yeah? Your head is- it's a good one, y'know. Wouldn't wanna crack it-"
Art stoops, too, eyes kind as they find Alex's. "You have a pretty head too, Alex."
Alex gapes, uncertain when a light flickered on in the dark, and a big burly man appears from the home, backlit by a hearth. "The hell you got there, Art?"
Alex stumbles back to her feet, offering an awkward wave and half-assed polite smile that the man probably knows is new for her, given his slight grimace. "Alex, sir. I'm Alex."
Art swoops around, bounding toward her dad with a bright grin.
"She is Alex! I found her, dad!"
The man nods, looking down at his phone, voice gruff below his thick eyebrows. "Oh, alright then- mind telling me why the hell is there an ABA out on Alex?"
My White Swan
March 16, 1958
Her chin-length curls were carefully arranged and gave off a hint of sexy, like Marilyn Monroe. Red lipstick and tight-fitting capris completed her look. I would daydream about the next time I'd see her. Those images kept my mind busy on monotonous days. Thoughts enamored with pictures of her gliding across the rink, more beautiful than a white swan. Her laugh contagious even with the distance of the rink and my rental hut. I spent hours in my hut renting skates but more importantly, admiring her. I looked forward to when she returned them and I could catch another whiff of her L’air du Temps Perfume and all its spicy notes. Spot forty-six belonged to those skates and those skates will only ever belong to her.
“Ok Dear, I’m finished reading to you, ” Charles said setting down his beatup leather journal by the nightstand.
“ I have to go now, Ill be back tomorrow as normal.”
Kissing her soft wrinkled forehead he whispers “I love you.”
“How was she today?” Grace questioned as Charles walked towards the Visitor's booth.
“Not good, it's been weeks since she could remember who I am.” Tears started to swell in his eyes.
“I even read an entry from my journal to see if that would help, but nothing.”
Depressingly, Charles continued through the double doors and out of the nursing home knowing this place would ultimately take his wife.
Now home, he heads straight to the bedroom closet and digs through clothes, containers, and bags until he finds it. He pulls out the oversized shoe box, lifts the lid, and inhales the spicy notes of L’air du Temps.
Painfully sliding down the wall, he grasps the box to his chest squeezing it as tight as a boa constrictor. Tears pouring down his swollen cheeks he stares at the beloved roller skates that will only ever belong to Nancy and spot forty-six.
Passing Regrets
You know those roller skates that almost look like sneakers? Where you can put the wheels inside the sole of the shoe when you want to presentably walk by instead of skating?
Well, I wish I had worn them more often.
I wish it wouldn't matter that Marcus once during lunch break said they're stupid to all of our friends.
I wish I didn't care about how Kelly said she wouldn't wear them because “they're heavier than all the other shoes”.
I wish I wouldn't have outgrown them in just one year.
I wish they made my size! I'd buy them!
Rock Creek Park
I had met Connie seemingly at random, October 18th, 1996. I was recently separated from a very bad thing, two sons taken far, far away, lost and drifting, and doing a very new and important job.
I worked in Poway California for a small (I was actually the first hire in June) fuel cell car company. The first program, the raison d'etre for the company, was a contract with Georgetown University's energy program to develop a 40 foot hybrid fuel cell bus. This was a new thing at the time. I felt honored to be the first hire, to go to Vancouver BC to the Mother Ship, to be trained very much like a bootcamp in a technology which I had loved from afar for years...The wife had told me, yes, take the job, and had promptly left me and absconded with my babies to Washington state, while I was in the middle of 'boot'.
In early October, Rick C., the honcho and the man who had believed in me, still does, said 'hey John, I need to you to do a thing for me in a few weeks. I was eager to please and he filled me in on the details...
"You just need to go meet the team and be yourself. You're going to do great."
I showed up in DC the day before, late. Didn't sleep well. Wrote a poem about/to Rory the elder of my sons at 3AM. Tossed in the anonymous hotel bed almost until dawn. Got up early, hopped into the rental and jetted cautiously to Tysons' Corner Virginia to meet the twenty or so men who comprised the sub-contracting team on the bus program. Battery guys, bus coach guys, power electronics guys, and the fuel cell guy, me. Like riding a bicycle...
07:45, October 18, 1996. I met Sam Romano, a legend, the former program manager of the Lunar Rover projects, now the head of the Energy Program at GU. Jim Larkins, his capable and affable second, a former Air Force Major who had managed airborne laser programs for DARPA. These guys were the shit. They welcomed me, but from the first there seemed to be something hanging in the air, and the nervous and jumpy Romano said
"Where are your materials? You seem to be traveling a little light".
What is he talking about? Over the next minutes it became clear that Rick had failed to communicate to me that I was on the hook for a four hour presentation of the fuel cell technology, PEM fuel cell technology in general, the specifics of our engine design...I and a couple of engineers had only been making the diagrams and drawings for the engine for three months. I felt like an immediate impostor. Adrenaline exuded from my pores. I had a moment of panic, and mastered it. My face must have looked blurry for a moment as I went through this rapid series of emotions and settled on the relaxed smile of a West Texas boy, complete with cowboy boots, jeans tucked neatly in.
"No problem, Sam. I got this. I need some acetate sheets and a sharpie. I need a lot of black coffee. I will reproduce the materials in the next twenty minutes and we will do this thing."
Thanking the gods for a photographic memory, which had been a curse in times of sorrow, I disengorged the complete design drawings and process flow diagrams onto eight or nine 11"x17" acetate sheets and said the only prayers I could remember.
I told them I was ready at 10 after 8. I faked a confident saunter into the large, ornate conference room, with tables arranged in a horseshoe, twenty three men I didn't know, and a lectern in the hot zone, with a really fancy overhead projector at its side.
The panic threatened to rise, and then I saw her.
There was one woman in the room, seated in the middle at the back. A vision in a plum sweater, brown hair and eyes, a broad smile that genuinely seemed to encourage me directly, eager curious eyes, wanting to know what I had to say...
Four hours later I was spent. She had been my anchor for the whole thing. I locked onto that smile, those hungry and curious eyes, and gave an amazing presentation. I flirted with technical details, expounded, expanded, responded to good questions and stupid ones with respect. By the end I knew the faces, names, voices and personalities of the men I would work with for the next four years to make this beast roll.
I didn't yet know her name. She hadn't been introduced. As it all wrapped, and Sam and Jim congratulated me and gave my directions to the Silver Diner where we would have lunch (I had bonked in the process of the morning, I thought there would be snacks...), I locked onto the fine young woman making her way out. Sam caught my laser-like focus on the feminine divine, and introduced me. He had the great good sense to make himself scarce at that point, plus he was just a very busy man. Always on to the next thing.
"Hi, I'm John Fisher. I really appreciated you being here."
"I'm Connie Tath, the program accountant, and contract administrator for the GU Energy Program! It's so nice to meet you! You really know this stuff. I've never been to one of these before and I was just really impressed with your knowledge."
"Aww, thanks. If you're not busy, I would love it if you could show me around Georgetown tonight."
It was Friday night, and Connie accepted with a very cute and vulnerable smile.
We spent the entire weekend talking and eating and making love. It was the best weekend of my life to that point. Not just sex. Not even the sex. The intimacy, another human valuing me for who I was...intoxicating. I had it bad.
Over the next months we fell deeply in love, writing each other several times a week, sending photographs (remember those?). I came back to see her for the first time at Christmas. I had been in Tacoma, WA visiting the boys, in my ex's house just prior, was trapped on the wrong side of Tacoma Narrows Bridge by the Ice Storm of 1996 for five days in Wendy's house. Misery and pain. I escaped, a cold night turned the icicles on the Narrows Bridge, which had been deadly spears dropping to the deck, into an epic holiday tree decoration. I made it out and caught a plane to DC, and arrived at Connie's one room efficiency in North Arlington, VA. We spend six days together and by the end I knew this woman would be my second wife, eventually.
We went to Rock Creek Park to roller-blade, it was a dry winter in DC and the conditions were perfect. The trail was thankfully immaculately paved, and wide. Connie had her own skates, she worked out five days a week, three hours at a time. Her heavy muscles were a huge turn-on, she was not a dainty girl. She did yoga as well and had taken me to a class, I was hooked on that and her. I bought my first roller blades that day, and we went for it. The hills were a challenge, inline technique was new to me. I had only ever been on four wheel skates for birthday parties and street hockey in Brooklyn, and I was generally quite lame that day. Connie didn't care about that. We held hands and went until my hips and ass ached (more). Hours later, the pain became a rhythm, and I forgot about it with Con by my side...
The skates, and the better ones I got later became a fixture in our relationship until maybe 2002. We moved in together in Mission Hills (San Diego), CA in April. Drove across country together across the south. Skated in many towns and along southern highways. Kept her kitty dosed. Saw so many things with our own eyes and through each other's eyes. Skated regularly together for hours around the little lake in San Diego. We married in 2000, the divorce from Wendy was protracted by legal shitstorms, Con stuck by me. The skates, inline, moving forward with power, hand in hand, side by each, were the metaphor for our best years.
I wish I could say it went on forever. It didn't.
Roller Skates in a Bag
Rollerskates were a mixed bag of feelings growing up. At the roller rink, my only friends were the disco ball lights, and the candy from that claw machine that guaranteed you always win. Nothing else really ever went my way.
Both desperate to be seen, and wishing to hide. Feelings that my young mind could barely process. The rush of air past my face as I skated mimicked the rush in my heart. Surrounded by people, but always alone.
Both trapped and free, inside of me was that mixed bag of feelings.
@chrissadhill
Big Brother
The funny thing about roller skates
is how the angular velocity
just dwarfs the RPMs of a bike.
Because the wheels are small, they have to spin
a lot more to go the same distance.
Spinning your wheels, and getting nowhere fast.
My big brother and I shared a pair.
He'd pull me on his bike, we'd go so far,
But we'd always come back home by dark.
He hates his birthday, trips around the sun,
each reminds him of mortality.
But I'm a brat, so every year I call.
What's that? I think I heard a clock tick?
All of the days spin into years too quick.
Brother races through life like he's chased
by demons or fate. He fears he won't do
all he's meant to do before the end.
LOL, I tell him, "you're only twenty-five."
We were born in New Jersey, moved to
Wisconsin, then to Maryland where I stayed.
Brother leaves to find his fortune, love,
or a sign he's made it, to find some peace.
Golden coast of So-Cal, white beaches,
to Hawaii where Mom and Dad were born.
Finds a home in Vegas, and a wife.
Bouncer, scientist, athlete, salesman, father.
Has all that spinning finally paid off?
Keep racing, it'll never be enough.
The world spins, the wheel turns, a spiral
is just a circle that misses its start
each time it goes around. And we miss
each other a little less as years pass.
When we meet, our bond persists, our wheels
still spin in tandem, a bike pulling skates.
We meet for Mom's death. She was the best
of us. How's that for a volta? Spin on.
Birth of his first, Mom's eyes in a babe.
Seems we only meet to bury or birth.
Bye to our Dad, hello to my first.
Life is a revolving door, in and out.
Round and round we go. When will we stop?
Nobody knows, but we'll fall like a top.
Cancer sucks. I think, if only he
had raced less, had listened more, than maybe
he could have kept all his parts. His wife
thinks it's cool to love a bionic man.
They somehow spin out another life.
Why does he feel he's still spinning his wheels?
We meet again to celebrate life.
We hug, we part, and then, he dies. Sepsis.
I miss saying goodbye by an hour.
Spirals can never return to their start.
But somehow he does, dying just two
miles from where he was born in New Jersey.
He closed the circle. Is this closure?
He went fast and in the end got nowhere.
I try to find sense in stanzas, meaning
in this senseless story, spinning on skates
too fast to care, I find myself screaming,
"Did you find purpose, or were you too late?"
I think to call today, rub in your next
lap around the Sun, but the laps don't count
when you are dead, maybe you did know best,
Icarus was always meant to crash down.
Your wife, young children, family, countless friends,
our grief and guilt spirals, we're incomplete,
your story broke, impossible to mend,
and no piece of you will ever know peace.
This sonnet, your story, diminished but true,
It fits to leave it, unfinished
rubber wheels
There used to be worn out rubber wheels that fit snugly against much smaller feet, they used to lie haphazardly around messy rooms, laces permanently knotted in a patten too incorrect to unravel, soles so worn out from carrying the weight of the soul my mother loved so much.
There now is broken wheel, balancing precariously against boxes in the attic, boxes that used to be so full of memories and love, now bring only nostalgia and tears. The laces unraveled one random summer, and there were no little hands to knot them up once again, the patten they had was lost to the constant ticking of a clock.
There still is a constant hum of concrete against plastic, outside every evening. Still tinkling laughter and joyful yelling. The kids that race past the houses have different smiles on their faces, different skates on their feet.
They still run like birds from a cold winter, like restless spirits that refuse to be bound down. They talk shamelessly of their newest treehouse, and do not hold the burden of mortgages and taxes in their heads, only cartons of toys and games in their hands.
Roller skates still defy the laws of physics and speed, ignoring the fiery friction that heats up the bottom of rubbery wheels. But soon enough they will be ignored in the passage of time, hidden away in cardboard boxes for only memories to find and adults to keep.
@ChrisSadhill
Tea party
Oh little CiCi,
Won’t you play with me?
We‘ll have a tea party,
under the Cherry tree.
Oh yes Mommy,
I want to play with you.
We’ll have some cookies too,
at our tea for two.
Oh sweet Angel,
Why don’t we roller skate?
We can skate away,
into a brand new day.
Oh how I love you,
My little darling Ci.
It’s just you and me,
it’s perfect anyway.