Chapter 25 2005
Nothing happened.
That day and the following, I waited anxiously for Ms. Bamford to call me to her office to tell me she knew my secret and that she would punish me in some horrible, mortifying way.
Her favorite form of humiliation was to make a disgraced student stand in front of the entire student body and explain their transgression and then apologize for it.
If they’d committed a particularly bad crime, they were sent to the “sanctuary,” a windowless, dank room, where they were meant to pray until they remembered how grateful they should be for all the privileges they took for granted.
The third day after seeing the skater, I was so worried about Nick I decided I didn’t care if I got in trouble.
Backpack full of scraps, I sneaked out during study time.
It was late afternoon, the time the rabbits most liked to scavenge for food.
The storm had mostly passed, and though it was bitterly cold, the snow was light and I was able to make my way quickly to the pond.
To my great relief, Nick was there. He was thin, and his winter fur was patched in spots and matted, but his marble eyes were bright and alert. He hopped close, and as I dropped radish tops (his favorite) at his paws, I told him about the skater, and he listened with great interest.
“I’ll show you,” I said and set the baggie on the rock, then shuffled onto the ice.
Clumsily, I pretended to skate as I hummed the minuet.
I flailed my arms and spun until I was breathless and dizzy.
It was great fun, slipping and sliding and pretending the rabbits were an audience and that I was at the Olympics.
I imitated the skater, spreading my arms wide as I twirled, then attempted to glide on one foot.
I did a cartwheel, and emboldened that it had gone so well, I tried a handspring.
My mittens slipped out from under me, and I landed with an “oomph” on my shoulder and decided handsprings on ice were probably a bad idea.
I return the following Saturday to a surprise. A red duffel covered in a light dusting of snow sat on the flat rock.
For a long minute, I stood just inside the wall, looking at it, unsure what to do. I could see faded footprints in the snow leading from the rock to the frozen pond, and it occurred to me that the bag had likely been left by the skater.
It looked like a bright red Christmas gift waiting to be opened. It also looked like it could be a bright red bomb ready to blow up my world.
Eventually my curiosity won out, and I crept closer. Pinned to the top was a baggie with a folded sheet of notebook paper inside. Scrawled across it in blue loopy cursive it read: For the Rabbit Whisperer.
Stupidly I looked around, as if the duffel might be for someone else.
But, of course, it was only me and the rabbits.
I must admit I was very excited. The duffel had bumps and bulges and was quite large.
I dusted snow from the rock, sat down, and lifted it onto my lap.
It was heavy, which added to my excitement. Nick hopped close, interested as well.
As Boodo had taught me, I opened the note first.
One cannot skate without a proper set of blades. I hope one of these pairs fits. Leave the others, and I will find other good homes for them.
Sincerely,
Meryl Fairbanks
P.S. No more handsprings. They are illegal in competition and extremely dangerous.
My heart clattered wildly in my chest, and I pivoted my head all the way around, wondering how she possibly could have known about the handspring.
Unable to figure it out, I returned to the duffel, unzipping it so quickly it jammed, which meant I needed to rezip it and unzip it again, which was very frustrating.
The first pair of skates I pulled out were white and scuffed, but the blades gleamed like mirrors and looked so sharp I was sure they would cut my flesh if I ran a thumb across them.
I knew they were too big. My feet and hands were the stumpiest parts of me, oddly small in proportion to the rest of my body.
I pulled out the second pair, and my heart sank. They were even larger than the first pair.
Closing my eyes, I prayed to God and then to Allah that the last pair would fit. I reached in and pulled them out. They were beige and more battered than the previous two pairs, but they were also a good measure smaller.
I wrenched off my right snow boot and pulled on the skate.
The toe was at least an inch too long, but I didn’t care.
They were the most wondrous gift anyone had ever given me.
I pulled the skate back off, shoved the baggie that had protected the note into the toe, and put the skate back on.
I laced it as tight as I could, and though it wasn’t terribly comfortable, it was snug.
I dumped the trimmings I’d brought for the rabbits on the snow and stuffed the baggie into the other toe and tied on that skate as well.
Trembling with excitement, I stood.
“Okay. Here I go,” I said to Nick who tilted his head in the direction of the pond, which I took as a gesture of encouragement.
I teetered my way to the shore and tentatively stepped on the ice.
My ankles wobbled dangerously, and my knees knocked together.
I steadied myself, then pushed off with my right foot the way I’d seen the skater do.
I lost my balance, nearly fell sideways, then overcompensated and landed hard on my hip.
“Ow,” I said, rubbing the spot.
Getting up proved nearly as difficult as skating. Finally, butt out, feet spread awkwardly, and arms held up like chicken wings, I managed it.
Carefully and with great intent, I inched my left foot forward. But as soon as I did that, the right skate slid back, giving me a net gain of zero.
Skating was much harder than it looked.
Luckily, thanks to gymnastics, I was quite used to falling. Though ice was considerably harder than a gymnastics mat. When, hours later, the first dinner bell sounded, warning me I needed to get back, I was bruised and battered and the happiest I’d been in months.
I didn’t have a pen, so the thank-you I left for the skater, Meryl Fairbanks, was a pine cone heart on the flat rock beside the duffel. As I crawled back through the hole, I hoped someday I’d be able to thank her in person.
Someday came sooner than I expected.