Chapter 15 Bird
BIRD
Boston. Boston. Boston. “I think he’s in Boston.” That’s what Charlie said on the phone, and I haven’t been able to stop replaying those words all week. Boston. Over the summer, at the workshop, it was only an hour train ride from Providence to Boston. I was so close.
It’s a grainy black-and-white photo, made even grainier by the copy, of two men standing behind a fancy, old-looking bar.
The one on the left is taller and leaner and smiling with a full mouth of teeth, small round glasses, and a pouf of light, wispy, unkempt hair sprouting from his head.
The man on the right is shorter, darker-haired, with a less effusive smile, but a smile nonetheless, one that resembles Charlie’s, and eyes that resemble mine. There’s no mistaking—it’s him.
I’ve spent approximately thirty-six of the last forty-eight hours since I found the envelope in our mailbox looking at it. I’ve unfolded and refolded the piece of paper so many times the seams are getting worn and soft.
“You good?” Kayla’s asking me. When I look over, she’s staring at me from the driver’s seat of her car. We’re stopped.
“What?”
“I said, ‘We’re here.’ Like five times. In la-la land much?”
“Sorry, yeah, I guess.” I laugh as I unbuckle and we get out of the car.
“I don’t know why Dade insisted we do this tonight,” she complains, gazing up at the neon Skateopia sign.
“Come on, it’ll be fun,” I tell her, locking arms with her, and nearly forgetting this evening is really all subterfuge.
“Fiiine,” she groans, dragging her feet as we trudge through the parking lot toward the giant brick building. “The things we do for love, right?” she says with a giggle.
“Right,” I agree. She has no idea the things I’m doing for love—for her.
A bell dings when I walk through the door.
Everything inside is subdued and murky at first: the sound of wheels against wood, muffled voices under the chimes and whistles of the arcade games and pinball machines that line the back wall, music pumping through the speakers, the vague aroma of some sick and comforting mixture of movie theater popcorn and floor cleaner.
It all hits me, engulfs me. As soon as the door glides shut on the outside world, the memories rush in.
This place is exactly as it was when I was a little kid.
Inside, everything sharpens, telescoping in the way it always did when I was little; coming here, walking through these same doors with my dad and Charlie.
Kayla and I walk up to the skate rental counter and there’s a definite hot girl there, hunched over a clipboard, muttering to herself, a whittled-down pencil stuck behind her ear.
She’s so absorbed in whatever’s on her clipboard that she doesn’t seem to notice us. I don’t see any other hot girls around.
“You see Dade anywhere yet?” I ask Kayla, loud enough to grab the girl’s attention.
Kayla looks out at the rink. We’re so early there are only a handful of people out there. “No, but Jessa’s always making him late.”
I open my mouth, immediately wanting to refute that statement, because I don’t think Jessa is the one making them late to everything. She’s too—
“Oh, hi. Sorry,” the hot girl says, interrupting my mental defense of Jessa. As she stands up straight, impossibly statuesque, I see that her name tag reads DAWN.
“What sizes?” she asks.
I wait there while she rolls over to the size sevens and picks a pair of skates for Kayla. She plops them on the carpeted counter and Kayla examines them closely, without touching them. “You don’t have any that are less… gross?” Kayla asks.
Dawn doesn’t say anything, just rolls back to the sevens and selects another pair.
“I’m gonna find a spot while you do this,” I tell Kayla.
“Uh-huh,” she murmurs, inspecting the new pair with even more disgust.
I keep walking, past the racks of identical skates, all tan and brown boots, brick-red wheels, and bright orange rubber toe stops.
With my eighth-grade Christmas skates’ laces knotted together and slung over my shoulder, I secure my ratty knockoff Chuck Taylors from Kmart and my bag—envelope and photograph safe inside—in an open mini locker. I tuck the little orange key deep into my pocket.
I sit down on one of those weird round mushroom-shaped carpeted benches and pull my socks on.
It feels so good to be here in this place, lacing my skates up tight, knowing my dad was here.
That I was happy here once, before things got so complicated and messy, before all these secrets we started hiding from each other.
The multicolored lights are flashing all around the darkened rink.
And the DJ comes on over the sound system, officially commencing the skate session.
“Hey, hey, people!” the disembodied voice echoes.
“What are you waiting for? Get your butts out there!” He pumps up the volume, Montell Jordan’s “This Is How We Do It” inaugurating the night.
And, on cue, Dawn comes speeding out onto the rink, with her short skirt and fishnet tights and Skateopia T-shirt knotted in the front to show off her stomach. I look over toward the counter, Kayla still standing there with a selection of rental skates lined up in front of her.
I stand up and watch a dozen or so others follow after Dawn onto the rink.
I’ll go around just once, I tell myself.
Warm up while Kayla’s deciding on two acceptable skates to make a pair out of all the equally old and smelly ones available to her.
I step down onto the polished, shiny wooden floor and I wobble a bit.
But a few steps in, the strides just glide one into the next, nearly effortless.
And as I round that first corner, I don’t care about who might be watching.
I don’t care what the song is or if I look stupid.
I’m gaining speed and the air is flowing through me, cooling me off as I’m heating up.
And muscle memory is really a thing, because after two times around I feel like it was only yesterday when I was last here.
I feel myself smiling, arms lifting to my sides as if I’m going to take off, just float away.
I’m gaining speed, I know, only because of how I’m passing everyone by, but it feels like I’m moving at the perfect pace.
My legs feel strong. I feel strong, my hair flying behind me, laughing for no reason. Weightless.
The song changes and the mirror ball begins to spin, flashing its million tiny reflections everywhere, all at once.
I try, fruitlessly, to brush my hair behind my shoulders and straighten my shirt, looking down for a moment—a mistake my dad always warned me about.
If you look down, that’s where you’ll go: down, he always told me.
I look up quickly and regain the footing I barely noticed I was losing.
And just as I’m rounding the far end of the rink, I see Kayla and Dade and Jessa, standing at the rental counter.
Kayla and Dade are watching each other, but Jessa is watching me, elbow perched on the countertop, leaning her weight to the side.
I wave to them—to her, really, since she’s the only one looking.
But in my periphery, I see Dawn double back, crossing the center of the rink and going against the flow, weaving between bodies to get back to the counter.
And so I push forward, harder, faster, to make it around once more, and when I reach the edge of the rink I step up, arriving just after Dawn.
Kayla is still complaining about the state of the skates as I slam into the carpeted counter, landing next to Jessa on the outskirts of the Dade-La orbit.
Sweating, panting, but I’m here. I’m here for my friend. Even if she doesn’t know it. I’m here. “Hey,” I say, breathless. “You guys made it.”
Jessa’s smiling as she looks up at my face.
And then down to my feet. She’s not checking me out—it’s the skates, the height they’re giving me.
“Hi,” she finally answers. “Yes. We’re here.
And so is…” She tips her head in the direction of Dawn, who’s is smiling at Dade, all coy and flirty as she leans her torso onto the counter, making sure he has prime viewing down the front of her shirt.
“It’s been a while,” Dawn coos. “Where you been?”
“Oh. Yeah. Huh,” he laughs, awkwardly looking down at his hand as Kayla interlaces her fingers with his. “You know…”
I look to Kayla—if I squint, I’d swear I can almost see steam coming from her ears. She’s definitely picking up on the vibe. “Yeah, well you know,” Kayla takes over, a bite to her voice. “He’s been spending time with his girlfriend all summer.” She looks up at Dade now. “Right?”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Right.” But I see the way his jaw clenches, his smile too tight.
Jessa bites her bottom lip, fighting the smile that’s forming on her mouth. I give her a tiny nudge so she looks at me. I nod and she nods back. It’s working, we silently tell each other.
“What size?” Dawn is asking Jessa, so I nudge her arm again.
“Skates,” I whisper.
“Oh. Uh, size seven,” she answers.
Dawn waves her arm with a flourish along the counter, where five pairs of grubby sevens are sitting in a row. “Take your pick. Though none of these seem to be good enough.”
Jessa reaches out and grabs the two skates closest to her.
Then Kayla does the same, adding an eye roll, as she turns away from the counter.
Dade doesn’t say anything as he goes to one of the closest open benches and starts putting on the Rollerblades he had tucked under his arm. Jessa sits next to him and follows suit, but then she looks up and sees the way Kayla is standing in front of him, hand on hip. Pissed.