Chapter 26 2005
“Hello.”
I had just crawled through the hole, and there she was, Meryl Fairbanks, sitting with one skate-clad foot crossed over the other on the flat rock. She wore the same blue outfit she’d worn when I’d seen her skating the week before. Her blond hair glinted in the afternoon sun, and she was smiling.
She was older than I’d thought. The way she’d leaped and spun, I’d assumed she was a woman in her twenties. But up close, I could see she was probably closer to Ivy’s age or maybe even as old as Mother.
My voice had lodged in my throat, so I lifted my hand in a wave.
“A for effort. F for execution,” she pronounced. Her voice was clipped and bright like a bell. “Chop-chop, put on your blades. Time’s a wasting.”
She stood and nodded to the rock, where I realized she intended me to sit to put on my skates. I hurried over, unzipped my pack, and when I pulled out the first skate, the wadded baggie fell from it.
I looked up guiltily to see her frowning. She bent, picked it up, and frowned deeper.
“They’re fine,” I said quickly. “If I lace them tight, they’re good. They’re perfect. Thank you.”
“They are not good, and they certainly are not perfect,” she said.
Her eyes were yellow green like a cat’s, and she rolled them extravagantly.
“They are too big. Assuming today goes well, tomorrow I will bring another pair that are your size. But for today, they will have to do.”
I had no idea what she meant or that it signified the altering of my life forever.
All I knew was that she was there and that she was telling me to put on my skates, so that’s what I did.
I took the baggie from her, shoved it back into place, put on the skate, and laced it up tight.
When I finished, she tut-tutted, squatted in front of me, and retied it.
“Tight on the toe, loose on the instep, tight on the ankle. Double knot.”
I nodded and repeated the instructions in my head so I wouldn’t forget.
She stepped back and watched as I laced up the second skate. I followed her instructions carefully, and when I finished, she offered a small nod of approval, and I let out a great sigh of relief.
She walked onto the ice, and I followed. I stepped carefully, not wanting a repeat of the prior day’s calamity.
“We do not clomp on the ice,” she said with a disapproving backward glance. “We skate.” Swiveling around so she was facing me, she demonstrated, sashaying backward away from me with so little effort it was as if her skates were motorized.
She returned and said, “Give me your hands.”
I held up my mittens, and she took hold of my forearms. When she looked down at me, her eyes moved to my nevus, then back to my eyes.
“Do nothing,” she commanded.
She skated backward and pulled me along with her. It took every bit of focus to keep my skates from splaying apart as she tugged me along.
“Stand straight. You are not an elephant. Pelvis in.” She showed me what she meant.
I did my best to imitate her.
“Head high.”
I lifted my face so I was no longer staring at the ice.
“Feet a few inches apart, slight bend in the knees.”
I inched my skates closer and thought about how Coach Blood had taught us that the knees were shock absorbers, and I figured it was the same with skating.
“Now relax.”
It was the only command I couldn’t follow. So badly, I didn’t want to mess up.
She took hold of my arms again, and this time, when she pulled me along, I followed more easily, my legs absorbing the bumps in the ice and my body better balanced over my feet.
Faster and faster we went, zigging and zagging across the pond, the wind whipping my face as I grinned so wide my teeth froze and my cheeks hurt. It felt as if I was flying or sailing or floating . . . or all three at once . . . free and weightless and one with the air.
We were in the middle of the pond when she let go, peeling away and leaving me coasting on my own.
“Lean into the foot of the way you want to turn,” she said, appearing beside me and still skating backward.
I pushed right on my right skate and, miraculously, curved right.
“Now push off it, on the ball of the foot to go forward.”
A giggle of delight erupted when it worked, which caused her to laugh as well. I did it again and again, making myself go faster and faster until . . .
I hit a bump and went sprawling.
She skidded to a stop in front of me, spraying me with ice. “You need practice.”
Before I managed to get to my feet, she was skating away, her hand lifted in a backward wave. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she sing-songed.
I rubbed my elbow and watched her go, staring until my eyes blurred, terrified that, if I blinked, it would all disappear and I’d wake in my bed in the dorm to find I hadn’t come to the pond that morning and that Meryl Fairbanks hadn’t been waiting and that she hadn’t taught me to fly.
If it was a dream, I wanted to go on sleeping.
I sat on the ice, not making a sound, watching as she disappeared and praying it was real.