“I have an idea," he says, pulling me in toward Boston Common. “Have you been ice skating before?"
Here I thought he needs comfort and we're suddenly onto the next subject. I laugh at him because the memory of the last time I went skating was a bad day. “I'm a hazard to the ice," I tell him.
“So I take it you have been skating?"
“If that's what you want to call it …"
“I won't let you get hurt, okay? I used to sneak out to a pond a mile behind my house and skate with an old pair of skates a buddy gave me. My mother wouldn't let me take up hockey because I could hurt my face. She didn't want me to be a boy, pretty much, but I found my ways. This is what I need right now. It'll cheer me up."
When he puts it that way, how can I say no? Though, this could kill me. I have to weigh my desire to make him feel better versus my desire to walk tomorrow. “I don't know," I tell him. “I don't want to end up with a broken bone right now."
“I won't let you fall. I promise. What's the worst that could happen?" He laughs, ensuring the curse of the ‘worst.'
