Chapter 9 Shape Their Minds, Gild Their Hearts #2
“Anything but,” I agree. I could tell him that I don’t drink to be cool, but because I’m broken.
I could tell him that, one day, he’ll be just as broken if he keeps it up.
And I could tell him that alcohol and drugs just make everything worse.
They numb you off but, afterward, the pain always returns, suddenly, violently, and overwhelmingly.
The only thing I do say is, “Your air-to-fakie before was really badass. Respect.”
My plan works. A glow appears in Trevor’s dark eyes, and I even recognize the start of a smile. “Really?”
“Hello? Would I lie about an air-to-fakie?” I give him a soft punch on the shoulder. “But you should apologize to Gideon. Stealing someone’s board is also something that is definitely uncool.”
Trevor seems ashamed. He bites his lower lip, drives the tip of his boot into the snow, and shrugs.
“Yeah. You’re right.” Then he runs off. I watch him go back to the others and talk to Gideon for a moment.
The two exchange a few words, without looking at each other, and then go back to doing their own thing.
With a smile on my face I straighten up. At those moments, I’m not just proud of my kids, but proud of myself. And that is goddamn rare.
Suddenly I hear a scream. I whirl around and see one of the older kids, Steve, go after his brother.
“Goddamn…” I take off but stop when I see the figure skater step between them. With a power I never would have expected her to have, she tears Steve off his brother. He moves to hit her, but she keeps him at arm’s length.
Everything turned out OK, I think, and at first I am really proud of her until all of a sudden…
She yells at Steve. I can’t understand everything, but I don’t have to.
It’s enough for her to raise her voice, because Steve is special.
You’ve always got to speak to him real calmly.
No idea what he experienced at home, but he is extremely sensitive to loud voices.
Above all, when they’re directed toward him.
I know she means well. She just wants to help.
She probably just went on instinct, having obviously experienced violence herself in the past. But, damn it, I don’t have myself under control.
From one moment to the next I feel total rage.
This figure skater has no right to butt in.
These are my kids! She has no idea how they tick!
Steve’s reaction comes quick. He falls onto his back, starts flailing his arms and legs, and yells for all its worth. The tourists are casting us curious looks, and then I am back in motion, running over to him.
She’s standing there as if in shock, staring down at the boy. When I reach them, she looks at me with large eyes and helplessly raises her arms into the air. “I don’t know what’s…”
“Out of the way.” I’m a bit too rough pushing her aside, but I’m too angry and worked up to care.
I sit down in the snow next to Steve and begin to speak slowly and soothingly to him, just like his caregiver told me.
After a while, his yells go quiet, and then his limbs fall into the snow.
He’s still breathing quickly, but we’ve made it past the worst part.
He slowly gets up, buries his hands in the pockets of his ski pants, and shuffles off.
I know that he’s got to collect himself, so I let him go.
Then he comes back. He’s not like Trevor.
He doesn’t want to provoke anyone. He’s just a bit… a bit unstable.
Sarah appears almost out of nowhere. She immediately sits down in the snow next to him and starts speaking to him softly. Meanwhile, I stand back up. It reassures me to see her taking control of the situation, even though it’s hard not to intervene a bit more.
My heart is still racing. Only after I’ve sent the kids back to the half-pipe do I turn to the girl. My jaw is tense. “What the hell was that?”
“I only wanted to help,” she answers quickly. Her face reflects a sense of guilt.
“That’s what you call helping? Yelling at someone you don’t know?”
“He kicked the boy!”
“You don’t know anything about these kids!
” My voice is louder than I intended, but I’m really pissed off!
With a single move she ruined what I’ve been working on for weeks.
I’m boiling, although it’s not her fault.
She didn’t know any better. But, to be honest, it’s just the right time to have an excuse to be mad at her.
A reason not to have to keep thinking about her sweet laugh or her lovely floral scent.
The voice that wants to protect her is too quiet.
I don’t listen to it and let my temper win out. “Just go, okay?”
She looks as if she’s seen a ghost. I even think my behavior has frightened her. Good. Maybe she’ll stay away from me now, and I’ll manage not to think about her anymore.
The figure skater swallows hard, flares her nostrils, and lifts her chin.
What she thinks of me at the moment is crystal clear.
In her eyes, I am the worst. A part of me wants her to have a better image of me, the image of a guy who buys her buttered popcorn and laughs with her about aluminum helmets.
A part of me wants to apologize for the way I acted, but another part of me, a shattered part, tells me that it’s better this way.
That, in any event, she is off-limits for me if I don’t want to plunge into the abyss.
Because with the abyss comes darkness.