But he does get moving, right into the middle of the entryway. He slowly puts one skate on the ice, refusing to let go of the sides of the entrance. Respectable. Except he’s taking a while to get the second foot on the ice and a small crowd is forming behind him.
“I was kidding about the shiv, but it’s getting more likely with every second.” I skate to him and grab his arm.
After some tugging, he puts his second foot on the ice, still holding on to both sides of the entry doorway.
“Half of the battle won. But now you have to choose a side and go that way. Or you’re going to be playing a very lonely game of Red Rover.”
He ignores my solid childhood reference. Instead he awkwardly and very slowly, to the chagrin of the people behind him, moves his left arm to the wall on his right. He has an intense look of concentration on his face, brow furrowed.
“First step accomplished. Now let’s move on to step two. It’s a literal step...well, more a glide. Just move either foot back.”
He looks down at said feet without moving anything.
“Anytime is good, but sooner is better.”
The judgement spurs him to action, and he makes small, choppy steps with each foot in turn.
“You’re getting it, just trust the skates.”
“They’re instruments of death. I’m not trusting anything they do.”
“But you’re the one wielding them. So trust yourself.” I skate around in a circle to emphasize the great advice I’m giving here.
He snorts. “That’s not a real convincin’ argument.”
“Oh, this got very deep for ice-skating. Where do you think your self-distrust stems from?”
“Probably because I didn’t get that second puppy when I was growing up.”
“I cry you a river. I didn’t even get one dog.”
“I sense the sarcasm. But the one dog was a working dog and didn’t have time to play moonshiners-and-the-sheriff.”
The conversation distracts Beau enough that his strides have gotten a little longer, but he’s still clutching the wall with one hand and moving slowly.
“Wanna go off wall now?”
“Sure. I can do this.” A group of elementary school students whiz past him, taunting him with their speed and skill.
He slowly lets go of the wall, jutting his butt out and his hands in the opposite direction for balance.
“Here, grab my hand.” I turn around and skate backwards, hands extended out toward him.
“Now you’re just showing off,” he grumbles, but grabs my hands.
Note to self: he does not like being vulnerable. I mean, I don’t either, but he’s whining harder than Ajay when he has to do actual work.
“Do you need one of those little helper plastic penguins the kids use?”
“No, this is embarrassing enough.” Despite his words, he’s getting a little better at this, moving smoother as we go.
To be fair, it would have been difficult for him to get worse at this.
We’re still being lapped by children, but Beau gets enough confidence that I let go of one hand and skate next to him instead of in front of him.
He still has a death grip on my hand, but his shoulders aren’t around his ears anymore.
An hour later, I call it quits. “Thank you for being such a good sport and for having the first skate of the season with me.” We take off the skates and walk to the rental tent to return them.
