The Mid 2011 Check In

I'm going to stray from my usual story telling format and do a little mid year review. This is as much for me as it is for you. If I write this down I must follow through. I feel like I need to sort out my brain a bit. Seeing what's going on written down seems to make all the files in my head collate. (Collating is one of my favorite things by the way. I can collate anything and feel loads better.)


Writing
I'm in rewriting mode for my sci fi/dystopian young adult novel. I'm dilgently going chapter by chapter forcing myself not to rush, to take my time and look at every freakin sentence. I finally realized how after a couple pages I start to skim. It's slow going, but getting good stuff done.

Also, my newest picture book, Grambo, will soon be available on Be There Bedtime Stories! The illustrations by the fabulous, Betsy Hamilton are beyond incredible. I cannot wait for the world to see!

What I'm Reading
I'm almost done with The Magicians by Lev Grossman. An amazing read! I was told "if you liked Harry Potter you should read this." I was obsessed with Harry Potter and this is Harry Potter with drugs and sex thrown in. Next on my list are: The Pillars of the Earth and Game of Thrones.

New endeavors!
I've decided to start a log book, an idea stolen from the poet, Austin Kleon. I've also decided to start doing morning pages again. (Writing fifteen minutes every morning stream of conciousness right when you wake up.
I started to make book boxes for my kids and godson. I will collect books for them and on their 13th birthday I will give them their book box. A start to their library and I'll put them in a really cool box too. Hopefully this will turn out awesome not really lame and they will look at me "like great a whole crap load of books, thanks mom/godmother." Hopefully they will love books like I do and be super stoked.

A lot of change in my life is coming. So I'm trying to embrace it all. Focus on making a happy home, keeping at the work I love and keep open to all the possibilities.
So that's about it. Feel free to please comment about what you are up to. I'd love to hear!

Close Quarters

When I was fifteen I had to live in a twenty feet by twenty feet area with my parents and eleven year old brother. I also was pretty sure Charles Manson was working on our kitchen floor.
It was February of 1992. I was in the throws of adolescence and lucky for me, our house was being remodeled and what this meant was, I was forced to live in the dining/living room with my family. There could be no greater hell I could imagine.

Let me give you a lay of the horrific land:

I can imagine the ad in the paper:
A charming room for rent. Perfect for the tight knit family. Furnished with two double beds next to each other in an old dining room. Have a privacy obsessed teenager? Phone/work area within ear shot of anywhere in the unit! Fridge humming inches away from your beds. Perfect for your midnight snack cravings. A cozy T.V. area ideal for family bonding. A cute 3/4 bath. What more could you need?

There was only one way a fifteen year old girl would react to this:

Excuse me while I vomit. Sharing a bed with my brother?? One phone? One bathroom? All I wanted was privacy. A place to be awkward and daydream all by myself sans judgmental audience. This was going to be the longest few months of my life.
I lived in a Walton’s episode every night.
“Good night Beth,” mom said.
“Goodnight mom,” I mumbled.
“Good night Ryan,” dad said. “Good night Ellen.”
“Good night Lee,” mom said.
“Good night dad.” Ryan said. “Good night Beth. Good night mom.”
“Good night everyone,” I said a bit too loudly.
I had about as much privacy as a prison inmate when it came to phone calls. Thank God the bathroom had a lock and it did not help that the disaster zone filled with construction workers that resembled serial killers were held back by the flimsy wall of plywood and tarp. Our house may have been being remodeled, but my insides, my brain, my body was in its own remodeling state. Adolescence was like the Measles. Potentially fatal, but all anyone can notice is how crappy you look. I just wanted to be able to disappear. But we might as well have had a spotlight installed on the ceiling.

INT. MAKESHIFT STUDIO APARTMENT-WAY TOO EARLY IN THE MORNING
Beth is sleeping smashed in between the wall and a thick barrier of down pillows. A spotlight illuminates her.
BETH
What the--

Mom mans the spotlight wearing a huge smile.

MOM
Morning darling!

DAD (O.S.)
Would you like some bacon?

Pan to dad making some bacon on a hot plate. Ryan sits in the background watching T.V. (He had to deal with this too. He did the best he could.)

MOM
Oh is that a zit?

The spotlight pinpoints on the pimple on Beth’s face.

MOM (CONT.)
Oh and your friend Steve called. He might come over!

Beth is horrified.

Well I survived. Looking back. Eh, shouldn’t have been that bad I guess. But at the time it was torture. Now living 2000 miles away... well... sigh... (in a barely audible mumble) I sort of miss those close quarters. Not THAT close, but you know what I mean. Don’t expect me to repeat this, but ... I like those knuckle heads that are my family.

Note Boyfriend

(This is a smidge true and a smidge fiction. I changed the names to protect the guilty.)


I was the picture of adolescent horror, but I had no clue. It was the morning of my first day of sixth grade. I sat in front of my mirror picking my blonde permed hair into the perfect halo. I adjusted my pink-rimmed square glasses on the bridge of my nose, folded the collar of my turquoise turtleneck dress down and added the perfect finishing touch. A extra long “pearl” necklace. I looked like a thirty-year-old business woman in an eleven year old’s body. All I needed was the brief case. The smile was undoubtedly pre-teen though, under bite and all.
I was terrifically uncool.
“Triangles or squares?” my mom yelled from downstairs.
“They are actually rectangles,” I corrected coming downstairs with my backpack.
“Rectangles it is,” she said cutting my sandwich and handing me my lunch.
“Bye mom,” I said heading for the door.
“Wait for your brother. He’ll be out in a second. Ryan? Triangles or Squares?”
“Tell him to hurry up,” I said walking outside.

Then the first thing that ever really happened to me, happened.

I froze. On the porch was a red rose with a note folded in perfect triangle attached to it. It said my name. B-E-T-H. Definitely boy handwriting. I scrambled to pick it up, ran behind a bush that I’m pretty sure was not tall enough to hide my hair, and unfolded the tightly bound ruled paper
Dearest Beth,
My name is Adam Harris.
I sat in front of you last year in Mrs. Kline’s class.
I think you’re neat. I think you’re the prettiest
girl in school. Especially in that blue dress you wear almost everyday…

“Oh my god.” I could barely breathe. I kept reading.

You’re the smartest too.
I’ve been waiting all summer to see you.
Let’s hang out at recess. I’ll write you a note.
Adam

I didn’t think I had ever talked to him, but that didn’t matter. Adam Harris. A boy.
“We had the same initials!” I thought to myself. “I’d better get to school. Oh gosh. Oh no. He’s going to be there. Oh god…”
I took a step onto the sidewalk and was nearly mowed over by the latest fashion trends.
“Nice dress Beth. Didn’t you wear that last year?” A familiar voice mocked. Amanda Wright. The most popular girl in school. She laughed with her minions as they ran away.
I didn’t care. Adam liked my dress.
“Beth, wait up!” my little brother ran up. “What are you doing? Is that a flower? What do you have that for?”
“Ryan, shut up!” I said. I stuffed the rose and note into my backpack and continued on with my brother trailing behind me.
“Sooooorrrrry,” Ryan whined.
But I beamed.
In school relationships were like the love affairs on soap operas my babysitters liked to watch. Beginning with strangers exchanging glances across a crowded playground, an innocent chance meeting at the drinking fountain, falling in love by Social Studies and broken hearts by Gym class. I desperately wanted to be part of that cycle.
A note boyfriend.
The bell rang.
“See you after school…with your booooyyyfriend,” Ryan teased running off to join his class.
I didn’t care. Nothing could get me down that day.
Adam. There he was. His messy brown hair covered his face. His red converse propped up on the seat in front of him.
My mind was going a millions miles a second.
“He’s not looking over here. He’s staring down at his desk. He must be nervous too. I don’t know if I really want to see him or if I really don’t want to see him. Should I sit by him or should I…Just go, but don’t sit that close. I’m gonna sit down two seats behind him. Go! I’m walking. I’m walking. He hasn’t looked up yet!”
His eyes hadn’t moved. Slowly I took in my breath. I strode passed his desk. I took a deep drunken inhale. He smelled like dirt and orange peels. Just what I imagined. And I sat. Staring at the back of his head. He didn’t move an inch.
“He had to have known it was me,” I thought to myself. “I have his favorite blue dress on.”
Then Amanda Wright sat between us. Perfect.
“I just got a note from Brandon we’re meeting at the swings after school,” She said to her crony across from her.
She wasn’t the only one with a note boyfriend. I had one too. Recess was at 10:20. It was our first possible interaction. I could barely see around Amanda’s perfectly feathered hair to see if maybe Adam was writing a note. 9:30. Nothing yet. 9:49. Nothing. 10:11.
“Maybe I should not talk to him on the playground,” I thought. “I mean...” “PPSSSTTT!” Amanda’s hand crept over her shoulder holding a tightly folding paper triangle. “Here geek.”
A note. I stifled a squeal. I opened it.

Will you meet me by the bars at recess? Circle yes or no.

I took a deep breath and decided my fate. I circled an undeniable yes. I carefully folded the note and passed it to Amanda who in turn passed the note back to Adam. The deal was done.
The bell blared. The class stood together in a unanimous sigh of relief and we bolted outside for our twenty-two minutes of freedom.
“Wow! Adam’s already out the door,” I thought.
I walked out slowly. I had heard you’re supposed to make a man wait. I sauntered out to the blacktop. He was standing with a few friends. I walked with my sights set through the buzz of recess: home base and playtime and no tag backs, very careful not to trip as I made my way over to him. His friends hurried away leaving us alone together. I had butterflies in my stomach, but I greeted him with a huge smile. He looked nervous. He had his thumbs in his pockets, his feet kicked the ground.
“Hey, listen, I’m sorry. They paid me to do it,” Adam said not looking up. “They thought it would be funny…” He laughed a bit. Instinctually I began to laugh with him. Until my ears caught up with the words.
Instantly, my feet bolted to the ground. Our eyes locked. His eyes faded from our reflected future to a hard eternal gray. And life had screeched to a halt. I froze time and the playground became full of granite faces. A wax museum. Statues of boys playing kickball, girls ring around the rosy surrounded me. I studied his face for a glimpse of humanity, but his eyes were carved out of sharp glass and his mouth a crudely chiseled smile.
Life was easier when cooties were rampant.
I took the time to cherish these last moments of safety I had. Then I released him from the rock I cast him in and he ran. I sank into the gravel under the bars. And the bell rang again.
I did not want to go back in that classroom. I knew they were laughing. I wanted to scream…You don’t know! He just got scared. He just got nervous!
The day was a blur. Spelling. Irreparable. I-R-R-E-P-A-R-A-B-L-E. Lunch. I sat alone and hid behind my foggy glasses steamed by my soup. Science. Gym. I could have done without the jelly ball smacking me in the face during dodgeball. Finally, school was out.
I could only hope…that they would forget. Maybe laugh at someone else tomorrow. I walked passed my teacher’s desk as my enemy ran out in front of me. But before I can cross through the threshold. She closed the door and knelt in front of me. Her eyebrows curled with deep concern. She smelled like magazine pages. More paper than perfume. She told me of ancient love stories and of a world when love was good and real. Her speech was peppered with phrases like: “Your time will come.” “You’ll bloom like a flower.” And…”There are plenty of fish in the sea.” All I wanted was to get out of there. I looked back at her and she was sitting at her desk, proud. Still lost in her own memories of love. Looking like she became teacher of the year.
Ryan was waiting for me sitting on bench outside.
“Where have you been?? Making out?” Ryan said making slurppy kissing noises.
“Leave me alone,” I said walking the opposite way of home.
“You have to walk home with me. Mom says!” He said pouting.
“Just go! I’ll be there in a minute,” I said.
Ricky started to protest again, but stopped when he saw the tears in my eyes. He ran off.
I wiped the half formed tears and shook the sadness out of me. I opened my backpack and took out the rose and twirled it in my hands and played out my dreamt reality.
“Thanks for the flower, Adam. I love it. The note was really nice too. I know you were kidding earlier. Don’t worry about it. Really? Thanks. It’s ok. I understand. Of course I’d like to go out with you. Where? I don’t know. Anywhere…

Gravel

I would guess I was around age nine when I was accused of assault with a deadly weapon. I wasn’t formally charged or anything, but when you’re nine any adult might as well be wearing a cop uniform.
It was a Saturday. I was dragged to my brother’s tee ball game. I took refuge on the playground with my best friend Megan. I could not handle another five year old tapping the ball, letting it dribble off the tee and barely clear home base or just miss the ball completely. We were on the swings. The ground was covered in millions of pieces of gravel. I absent-mindedly kicked them with my dangling feet unaware of how if it was asphalt, maybe this would have gone differently. Then again it could have been worse that way. Asphalt tends to come off in chunks on the edges.
What did we talk about at nine years old? What was on the forefront on our minds?
“I got some new earrings at Claire’s last night,” Megan said pointing to her earlobes.
“Cool. Orange cats,” I commented.
I imagine it was something like that.
I heard the sound of a gravel hitting gravel in front of me. Megan and I looked up to see a boy, younger than us, hanging on the domelike jungle gym. He tossed bits of gravel at us. His face was blank. It didn’t seem too malicious. Just your garden variety rock tossing. Megan and I ignored him and resumed our cat and saturday morning cartoon banter. The boy started throwing the rocks into the air above his head. When they landed it sounded like hail.
I remember thinking, “He’s going to hurt himself.”
Seconds later, he abruptly ran away.
“Do you want to see Splash?” Megan asked me. “My mom and dad have the video at home.”
“Really? The mermaid movie? Okay.” My stomach fluttered. I was pretty sure that was rated R.
“Which one?!? Tell me which one!” I heard an angry woman’s voice yell.
Megan and I looked to our left. Storming toward us was a beet red woman. The jungle gym boy trailed behind her. We froze. I tried to steady my swing with my foot, but my legs were too short and the gravel was slippery.
The woman stopped in front of us breathing heavily. “Come here,” she said to the boy. The boy stood next to her. “Tell me.” She said to him.
He looked at both Megan and I, deciding. His eyes landed on me. “Her, mom,” he said pointing at me.
My heart was pounding. The boy’s mother pulled his lip down and showed me the blood. “Where are your parents?” she growled.
I looked into this kid’s eyes, but he betrayed nothing.
I couldn’t speak. I had no idea what to do. I could only hear Megan’s breathing. She sounded like she was just getting over a cold. I subconsciously looked over to the field my brother was playing on and without warning, this woman, this stranger, grabbed my arm so hard I thought she might have pulled it out of it’s socket and dragged me off the playground in the general direction of the baseball field. Megan followed behind along with the boy. Why did he say that? I was terrified. She pulled me harder so I would keep up with her pace. No one had ever treated me this way before. I was so scared I would be in trouble. I felt completely powerless. This was new. I’d gotten in trouble plenty of times, but never something I hadn’t done. My parents wouldn’t believe me. I had no idea how to handle myself. The walk seemed to be miles. At the most it had to have only been a block or so. I began questioning my own memory. Maybe I did do it. Did I? I was going to be in so much trouble. I was never going to get to see Splash. Could she call the cops on me? She never let go of my arm. She held me so tightly I thought I’d have bruises. I don’t remember my feet moving. I couldn’t feel them.
She said nothing to me as we walked. My parents came into view. They were cheering. Maybe my brother’s loser team was on the upswing. My dad glanced my way and the smile fell from his face. “Beth?” This was it. I was in trouble.
Then the woman started screaming, “Your kid threw rocks at my Bobby! Look at what she did!” Bobby, the stupid fucker, showed him his lip. “She could have killed him!” The woman started to speak again, but my dad interrupted her.
“Get your hands off my daughter,” he said in a tone I had never heard before.
It seemed for an instant that she had forgotten she was holding my arm. She let go suddenly. My dad pulled me over to him protectively. I couldn’t speak. I was shaking.
“She didn’t do anything,” Megan said breaking the silence. “The kid is lying.”
My dad looked at me. I nodded. He then looked at the woman. He didn’t need to say anything. The truth hovered in the air, undeniable. She walked away with her lying son in a huff. I realized I was holding my breath. When I let it out, I cried.
My best friend had my back. That was no surprise. That was in the job description. But my dad had my back too. Maybe that shouldn’t have been a surprise. But it was. If adults say something it must be true. That was what I had always believed. But my dad knew the truth when he saw it. To see an adult really get it wrong, was astounding to me. But to see my dad get it really right, now as a soon to be cynical teenager, that was the miracle.

The Kiss

I was deathly afraid my mom would say “war-sh.” It was annoying enough that she seems to work in talk of washing into conversation, but for her to use the Iowan slang, “war-sh” instead of the normal "wash" terrified me. (I’m not sure why though. I’ve found out since many moms say this except for ones from New York of California). I was fifteen and I was waiting for my first date, James, to pick me up and war-sh was all I could think about. My mom hovered in the kitchen making dinner while I waited with my face pressed up to the window in the living room. I racked my brain for topics to steer clear of: dishes, clothing, b.o. I was sweating so the b.o. might be a problem. I imagined James walking into my house meeting my dad who was half watching the Cubs game.
My mother pulling meatloaf in the shape of our high school mascot, the Trojan, out of the stove. “Hi James. Beth you better war-sh up!”
And my brother wearing his Michael Jackson glove, “Hey James. What’s your favorite Phil Collins song?”
Okay, I would not allow this to happen. I was not going to expose the ususally hidden strangeness of my family into the open. My Dad would probably lop off the trojan’s head to have him bring home for left overs. I made a quick phone call.
“Hey mom. I’m meeting him at the Tivoli!” I called to her.
She popped her head out of the kitchen looking a bit disappointed. “All right. Ten o’clock. I’m waiting up.”
I waved a quick goodbye happy to take any contingencies she set.
The Tivoli movie theatre was only four blocks away. Meet me in front, he said. Everyone would see us there. I turned the corner there he was. Long, blonde hair. Cigarette in hand. He hadn’t seen me yet.
“Hey!” I yelled a bit too loudly. He turned toward me as he flicked his cigarette to the curb. For a moment I was completely mesmerized. The way he looks at me…into me.
“Let’s go in,” he said.
His fingertips tickled my palm as he dropped the ticket into my hand. I headed to my usual seat in the 22nd row when...he quickly grabbed my arm.
“Why don’t we sit here?”
Fifth row from the back.
The back.
A place reserved only for… for lovers.
“Ok,” I said. I sat in my seat afraid to look at him. The only guy I’d gone to the movies with alone was my Dad. This was decidedly different. I had no idea what to do. Then as if mocking my panic the light suddenly faded to black.
Oh God it’s starting, I thought to myself.
James grabbed my knee. “Kinda a chick flick, but it should be good.”
Don’t panic, I thought.
And the movie began. I experienced the movie as a berage of color, sound and movement. My eyes fixed, unfocused on the flicker of film and the rattle of the projector filled my ears. All I could think the entire time was how I could still feel his hand on my knee. Those words went through my mind like on a digital screen: His hand is on my knee, his hand is on my knee, his hand is on my knee!An imprint forever left on my virgin skin, only touched before by mom medicating a scrape. My mind searched for a way to preserve that moment. A rush of anticipation filled me. I left my hand hanging over the armrest less than 2 centimeters away from his. My body pulsed with a tingle I only had felt before when I used to play with He-man and She-ra. My body was the epicenter, feeling the quake start to rumble.
“Beth, you ready to go?” He said.
The credits were rolling. The lights burst on unmasking my blushing face .
“Let’s go. I’ll walk you home,” he said.
We walked and we talked the movie and about Nirvana and The Pixies and school. Mental note: Buy those tapes tomorrow. He didn’t treat me like everyone else. We reached the front of my driveway
He leaned in.
Oh God, what do I do, I thought. Do I open my mouth? What do I do with my tongue? My shoulders tightened. Relax, Beth, relax. Here it goes…his lips touched mine…
Suddenly we were falling…weightless, a million miles an hour through phantasmagoria. There was nothing else, but us. He was familiar and sweet. I couldn’t feel where my body ended and his began, like we were dipped in bronze and we have finally come to life. Our lips hummed together. Our breaths in unison. I felt the warmth of our bodies curl around us, pressing us closer and closer until my skin sheds a layer of innocence and--
“I had a great time tonight,” He said.
“I had a great time too. Bye. Goodnight.” He walked down the block, his long blonde hair catching the snowflakes that were starting to fall. The air tasted fresh and new or that could be the junior mints he had during the movie.
True to her word my mom had waited up for me. She didn't press me for detail just went upstairs relived her daughter was home and finished the "war-sh." I sat in the kitched eating the left over trojan head and replayed the kiss over and over. He leaned in…a wave crashing on the shore, he washed away my lips like footprints left on the sand and I was submerged.

9 x 7 = Comfort

In the sixth grade my biggest wish was to see the inside of a semi’s cab and nine times seven was keeping from this.
I never could remember nine times seven. I still can’t. I seriously just had to do it on the calculator on this computer. I mean I can figure it out if I didn’t want to throw everything off my desk because it was taking so long. 63. Whatever. Ugh. Math has never been my thing. And in sixth grade our teacher Mrs. Langely gave us timed times table tests every week. Once we passed our 1’s we’d move on the 2’s etc. and if you made it through 10 we got the prize. THE prize. We would get to tour in the inside of her husband’s semi cab.
Looking back at this I realize this may sound stupid. But kid you not every single one of us in her class could not wait. I don’t know about everyone else, but I know what it was for me. I loved the idea that you’d have this cozy little home on wheels. This place where everything you could possible need was within reach. The thought of it still makes me sigh. I loved playing the game I called raft on our big guest bed. I’d pretend I was on a raft far off at sea and had to get everything I would need to survive on it. I remember designing a room for myself when my parents were remodeling the house. It was a room within my room that I could read in and have hot chocolate. Cozy. The architect was not on board with it though something about support beams and well he didn’t get it. Then I put together a proposal for my parents to make the dank, mildewy, nasty fruit room in the basement my own personal hideaway (I was really big into writing out proposals for my parents when I wanted things by the way. I loved making charts and presentations and visual aids. It worked with my puppy project. I put a whole report together of research on breeds, a chore schedule. To close I drew a picture of my family with a question mark next to us. Who was missing? I think I saw tears in my mom’s eyes. That locked it for me. Seriously I think I would have been a great business woman.) Alas the fruit room bid did not work out. Apparently the old furniture and boxes put in a better offer.
So seeing proof this space existed was really exciting for me. But damn it all if nine times seven was getting in my way. I had done every other test. I had only the nine left. I skipped it at one point and just got ten out of the way, because I might suck at math but you’d have to be an idiot to mess that one up.
Every friday Mrs. Langley would say."Ready go!"
We all would scribble away. I felt the penetrating eyes of Mr. Multiplication staring down at me. In my mind he sounded like Mr. Belvedere, “Now Miss Hilsabeck I know you know this.” Grrrrrr. But then after weeks of failure. It happens. Quite by accident. I didn’t mean to look at Tyson’s paper (and even if I did he never had the right answers) and there it was. 63. I DID IT! Now I know I cheated. Shame on me. But something in my brain would not let me remember that answer and it hasn’t since so that’s a dysfunction and therefore I deem the cheating fine.
So I got to see the cab. And it was worth my moral discrepancy.
The day of the semi’s arrival (no jokes) I had butterflies in my stomach. Mrs. Langley (who remains one of my favorite teachers of all time) was excited too. She took us outside and there it was. Comfort on wheels in. When it was my turn, Mrs. Langley helped me inside the cab.
“So proud you did your nines!” She said. I felt a little bad. Then I panicked she would ask me the equation that was my kryptonite, but she didn’t. Whew. The sleeper cab was all I dreamed it would be (minus the pink fluffy pillows). A cute bed. Fridge next to it. Drawers for clothes and my sticker book. A T.V. What more do you need? I think I was drooling because Mr. Langley said. “Pretty cool huh kid?” Then gestured to his lip.
“Yeah. Pretty cool,” I said.
As I exited I noticed Mrs. Langley’s picture taped up on the dashboard. I guess not everything he needed was in reach. Hm.
So even though my ticket to paradise was stolen I cherished it all the same. Thinking about it. I still long for a place of my own. Even within my own house. That place I can have everything I need. The place I can feel all safe and cozy.
Shit.
I’m one of those nut jobs that wants a bomb shelter.

All Skate! All Skate!

It’s raining. I’m standing in line with a huge crowd like I’m at a hot new club, but instead of sleazy wannabes and whored out women I’m surround by junior highers and a few scattered chaperones. I’m at the roller rink. I can’t wait to get in. The chaperones ogle me because it’s fairly obvious I don’t fit in either group (Note: I thought these people were chaperones, but when the rink was cleared for advanced skaters and they glided out with ease I realized they hung out there).
I was meeting a new group of friends there for a fun friday night adventure. But so far I was the only one there over 14 and under 40. I looked around for my friends casually and noticed the young couple behind me (Rollerskating dates! Cute!) were looking at me with extreme pity. I suddenly was jettisoned back to Junior high where the worst thing in the world was being ditched. Old thoughts wandered back into my head. Do they think I’m pretty? Where are my friends? I look like a loser.
I slap myself silly in my mind and remind myself that I’m 34 years old and no longer need to impress the cool kids. When I kick ass on that rink, I’m doing it for myself not Brandon in eighth grade who laughed at my perm. Though if he was there, he’d frickin’ die to couple skate with me. So there Brandon.
When I near the front I find a familiar face (Take that, couple behind me that thinks I’m a loser). We talk excitedly about how it’s been twenty years since we’ve done this and as we put on our spray disinfected skates I begin to wonder if I can even do this anymore.
The rest of the group comes and we hit the rink. And it’s just like riding a bike. It’s pretty thrilling to tell you the truth. The wind in your hair. The speed. Justin Beiber. What more do we really need? I don’t know how to break, but hey slamming into the wall always worked before.
I remember when I’d go to birthday parties at the local rink as a kid and the birthday gal would get to ride in a giant skate around the rink. I wonder if they still do that?
“Couple skate!” The announcer says. “Pairs or triples only!”
I grab a couple of my new friends hands and sail off. I haven’t felt this free in a while.
The song ends and my friends and I part ways to skate at our own pace.
The referee whizzes by me.
“Keep it moving,” He says to a awkward boy hanging onto the wall.
Suddenly I feel a wave of sadness. I remember something else. I remember the loneliness I would feel when I was that age. I remember going to the rink so I wouldn’t feel that way anymore. I could blend in to the fast moving crowd and still be alone if I wanted, but with a roomful of people. I let that feeling take me over for a minute. I still feel that way sometimes of course. My troubles then were just... very different.
Then I fall into a fantasy I had countless times when I was 13: That a boy would want to skate with me.
It goes something like this-
Boy: Let’s face it. You’re the hottest girl in this place.
Me: You speak the truth.
Boy: Couples skate with me.
Me: You got balls kid.
Boy: So? You coming?
Me: Okay.
Meanwhile all his little friends are jealous and I’m giving him mad street cred. Well, that was an embarrassing part of my brain I just exposed you to. Have fun with that. I’m going to have to write that into something...
My friends and I spend hours skating to the latest pop hits. I was hoping for a throwback to rollerskating’s hay-day and hear a little “ Oh Mickey your so fine,” but no luck. There was plenty of Michael Jackson though.
“Clear the floor,” The announcer yells because some girls necklace broke and beads were everywhere.
As I leave, they are starting the Hokey Pokey. It’s nice to know some things never change.