Skates, Quarterbacks & Vogue
What many of you won't know, mostly because I have never opened up about this before, is that I'm a crack on roller skates.
I mean it. I can twirl, zigzag, spin, turn and cut corners like a pro. And, like most of my more useful skills, it came from having absolutely nothing better to do.
I grew up deep in teleport-over country. Every now and then someone would accidentally crash nearby while flying over a nearby border, but apart from that, not much ever happened in our town.
Except at the skating rink.
My first pair of skates came from Goodwill. They were battered, slightly too big and probably had already lived several lives before they ended up on my feet. But apparently I showed some affinity for the whole thing, because for my birthday I got a brand-new pair.
After that, they could barely get me off the rink.
Rolling across that polished wooden floor became my escape. Round and round, faster and faster, until everything I didn't need to remember disappeared somewhere behind me. So I spent most of my time there.
I met my first boyfriend there too. Quite predictably, he was the quarterback of the local high school team. The rink was where we broke in on our second date, where I discovered a few pleasures I still appreciate today, and where I took my first straight line some months later.
It was an educational place.
Had it not been for that scout from Vogue who somehow stumbled into town on one particularly hot summer day, I would probably still be living there. Married to that quarterback, perhaps, cooking dinner for my hubby while waiting for him to come home from another shift at the mill.
Things turned out differently. Which, of course, hasn't only been beneficial to me. It's been rather fortunate for all of you as well. We would never have met, and your lives would have been so much more boring.
You're welcome.
I bring all this up because last Monday the F*ck Monday crew invited us to the Mayonaka Roller Rink and apparently my legs remember.
With every turn, another memory came back. Every lap around that rink took me somewhere else, and every swirl made me feel fourteen again. For a little while, I was back on that polished wooden floor with nowhere particularly important to be.
Sometimes it makes me wonder if I should go looking for my sister. We were inseparable at that skating rink, but somewhere along the way we lost contact. Even now, whenever I walk into a rink, some part of me still hopes I'll suddenly see her skating toward me.
I didn't see her Monday.
I did see a whole lot of other great people, though.
Have a look.
Click them for a larger resolution and save.
This post is not sponsored or paid for in any way. I was also not blackmailed or tortured to write it.
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