ONE HUNDRED years we’d been skating ! Or, had been waiting to skate. They told us April one The Rink would open, and at the bottom of the hill we huddled until then. They did not lie.
April three : Freeskate (18:00 – 20:00). We rushed after school, after cheese and sharab and mustard. We had not brought our keys and one wheel, rattling, threatened to defect, but still we pushed around and around and around, until the space between slats in the floor drew ovals we were going to so fast. They told us the floor was one hundred years old. We imagined parasols and gowns, a great band on the stage, faces from the balcony seats, seersucker and taffeta. Circles, circling. We did not see a band, listened only to the floor, a wooden hoola hoop, with marbles inside. One gentleman may have been there then and then on through the parade of subsequent fashions, the way he swiveled his hips, tossing his white hair, a reverie, perfectly, moving backwards.
1 response so far ↓
linden // May 3, 2009 at 12:05 am
this is so pretty. I wish someone would write a story about it (hint). Or, that I could have a dream about it.
Kayla, a woman who you worked with at the Good Food Store just came in the museum and asked about you. She said “you know, the girl with red hair, an artist…she went to India”.
i lost that tiny slip of paper that had your email address on it. Please remit email addresses to mine.
Take care.