The zamboni turned into its garage and the gates opened.
"Come on mom, lets go. It's time."
We step down on the ice. It is like we have been there all along. Never stopped.
I cannot find the keystrokes, alphabet order, words to describe the sound of my blades on the ice.
The ice is clean, there are only about five other people here. We start gliding a little faster. Mom looks comfortable. Steady. Happy. I say "mom, can I go?" She nods and I am off.
My legs push, the picks launch me off and I am stroking around the ice. My ears are so cold they hurt and my legs feel a familiar burn. I can hear my blades. I wish I could describe the sound. I turn around, backwards crossovers, I can still do this. I can do this. Mom says try a jump. I do. Down I go. Sliding on my hip across the ice. Oh, no. I can do this and I find myself in the air with my arms and legs wrapped properly around my body into a graceful landing. It is a single. But it is a jump. I did it. Big smiles. Heart pounding. I feel such a freedom out here.
Try a spin. I cant. I get dizzy now. I try and try. Nope, that I cannot do. Not with any grace.
Mom says "You used to a beautiful Ina Bauer."
This is a pic of what an Ina Bauer looks like:"Ha, ha, mom, nice try, as if my body can twist like that now."
I feel challenged suddenly. Ok, I start skating - faster and faster - I go to the corner and cut diagonally across the ice - I twist my legs and feet in position and lean my head back. I do one. I hold it the length of the ice. I feel graceful. I feel like the teenager that was a skater way back then.
For the full forty minutes we were on that ice the ping pong mess of thoughts that have been ravaging my brain for months ceased.
My head felt peace.