In the center are the experts. One woman in a black dress holds her leg out to the side and slowly brings it into her body for a fancy, fast spin. She whips around so quickly that I start to feel dizzy watching her. I shake my head. How is it possible for a person to even do that?
I wonder what type of skater Fernando is. He’s mentioned doing triple jumps in passing, and competing, but until now, it hasn’t seemed real. As a pairs skater, I’m sure he’s used to lifting people over his head. I shudder. If that’s something he wants to try with me today, it’s a hard pass. I draw the line at trying to go backward.
My thoughts are interrupted when Fernando returns and plops down next to me. “They didn’t have any size thirty-sixes left, but I think the thirty-six and a half will work.”
I tug the skates on, and just as he predicted, they fit, although they’re a lot tighter than I’m used to. He assures me that’s a good thing. It means my ankles are fully supported. Could that have beenwhat my problem was all along? I guess we’re about to find out. We snap a selfie, then I follow him to the doorway, waddling like a duck.
“It’ll get easier in a minute. You won’t have to pick up your feet. You’ll be able to glide.”
“If you say so,” I reply, my voice quivering. I pause in the entryway, inhaling deeply as I wait for a break in the traffic passing by. Holding on to the wall for dear life, I place one foot on the slippery surface, then the other. I exhale. I’m standing. My feet aren’t slipping out from underneath me. So far, so good.
I take a few steps, feeling more confident. Can I let one hand go? Hesitating, I glance back at Fernando, who is right behind me. He nods, encouraging me. Taking a deep breath, I release my left hand, leaving my right gripping the wall. I push a little harder and start to glide a few inches. “I’m doing it!” I exclaim. A rush of excitement fills me.
As I turn my head to glance back at Fernando, a kid darts between us. My body stiffens and I lunge forward, losing my grip on the wall. I squeeze my eyes shut, memories of the last time I went skating and fell flashing before my eyes. I wait for the hard impact, except it never comes.
“I promised I wouldn’t let you fall,” Fernando says, his hands wrapping around my waist.
I exhale deeply, relief washing over me.
“You were doing so well, Ava.” As if I’m a rag doll weighing nothing, he hoists me to my feet and steers me away from the crowd. “You’re more skilled than you let on. Let’s go out in the middle where there’s less people.” He sends a glare in the direction of the kid who bumped into me.
“The middle?” I sputter. “Away from the wall?” I glance longingly at the plastic barrier.
“Sí, it’s the safest place to be.”
My breathing quickens. I have to remember Fernando is an expert and I need to trust him, even though my instincts are screaming at me to flee. “Okay,” I squeak.
We find a small patch of ice on the opposite side of some orange traffic cones. “Ava, it’s okay.” His voice is calm and reassuring. He doesn’t release his grip on me. “You’re safe. I’m going to be with you the whole time. I won’t let go until you’re ready. You can squeeze my hand or grip my arm as hard as you want.”
“I don’t want to make you fall.”
“You won’t.” He puffs out his chest. “I haven’t lost a student yet.” Keeping hold of my hands, he turns backward and says softly, “Relax your body. Skating is just like walking. You move one foot and then the other. One-two.” He counts out. “One-two, one-two.”
My head goes to my feet. I focus on untensing my muscles, but it’s easier said than done. “Keep your head up, Ava. You always want to look at where you’re going.”
“Mm-kay,” I mumble.
We continue a couple laps around the perimeter. By our tenth or eleventh time around, my body begins to understand how to move and Fernando talks me into easing my death grip on him.
“That’s it! Fantástico.” We stop. He pulls out his phone and opens the video app, gliding back a few feet from me. “Try skating toward me.”
“On my own?”
“Si. Just a few steps.” He nods encouragingly.
“I... I don’t think I can.” My body quivers.
“Yes, you can.You are ready.” Fernando lowers the phone, and comes toward me, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Repeat after me: I can do this.”
“I ca—I can do this,” I choke out.
“I’ve got this.”
“I’ve . . . I’ve got this.”
He lets go and glides backward a few paces. “When you’re ready.”
If it were up to me, I don’t think I’d ever be ready, but if Fernando believes I can do it, I’ll try. I dry swallow and wipe my sweaty palms against my jeans. My heart pounds against my ribs.Timidly, I take a marching step forward, followed by another. I glance at my feet.
