ChapterNineteen
Morgan
Oh god.What was I thinking, agreeing to this?I stand in the hallway at the threshold, looking out at the freshly zambonied ice.The crowd is eager and excited, a noisy hubbub of voices.It's a packed house today, and then some.Younger kids are on laps, older kids are roaming the rink in packs, and adults are jammed in cheek by jowl with more standing wherever there's room.
There's a cameraman on skates waiting just off the ice, ready to film my abbreviated short program.
Shit, shit, shit.
I'm shaking all over, nauseous from nerves like I've not felt since pretty much ever.I never really got nervous when I was younger—butterflies of anticipation, sure.Fear and nervousness like this?No.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaand now…" comes the booming voice of the announcer, "please put your hands together for Tomlin Falls' very own…MORGAAAAAAAAN….WHEELER!"
The applause and cheering are deafening, shaking the rafters and quite literally making the floor under my skates buzz.Holy shit.Okay.
I mentally go through each element in my program one more time, visualizing each turn with proper spotting and balance, and visualize each leap with a crisp, picture-perfect landing.
And then I have to go.I slip off the blade guards and toss them aside—one of my skaters' moms grabs them.I suck in a deep, bracing breath and hold it as I step out onto the ice and push away toward the center.The noise becomes a white wall of sound that slowly fades to a muffled din as I arrange myself into the starting position—something like Fourth Position in ballet.The music starts—a pop song from the early two thousands—and I contort my body into the first movements.A slow sweep of my right arm, left leg lifted and extended, balancing on my right blade, turning on the balance point.Bring the arm and leg in to force the slow spin and shift to my left skate, pushing off with my right.My eyes track my position on the ice, but my mind is laser-focused on the program as it exists in my head—as I skated it to qualify for nationals, all those years ago.
When I first started trying to recall the program, it felt rusty and unfamiliar.But then, the more I ran through what I could recall, the more I remembered, and then I was finally able to go through the whole thing.It was far from flawless at first.But then yesterday, I spent three hours on the ice while Noah was working, going through it until it felt like muscle memory again.
I barely hear the music, barely register the faces beyond the glass.A turn to coast backward as I near the boards, crouch to balance on my right skate while extending my left outward, grabbing my skate by the blade—I had to do a lot of stretching to get that hold again.I shift the hold into a spin, rotating with increasing speed until the world is twisting around me madly.I slow the spin and track the boards to find my center again, push off to coast toward center, and pick up speed, furiously blinking away residual dizziness—that part I'm still out of practice with.
Now comes the hardest part—the jump.A single to a single to a double.I round the opposite end of the rink and rocket toward center, and flip around, heart crashing in my chest as I coast backward.Crouch, prepare.
Leap.
For a split second, I'm airborne, soaring.Crack—my skate hits the ice with a knee-jarring jolt.Sprint back up to speed, launch into the second single, land perfectly…my heart is in my throat as I coast backward for a second or two, catching my breath, and then I'm building speed once again, carving around the curve of the boards, skates crossing over—chantingdon't trip don't trip don't tripto myself.I visualize the last big leap, rotate backward and prepare, and then there's nothing for it but to just go for it.
The arena is flying by in a blur, and my adrenaline is coursing in my veins.I wind up, suck in a deep breath, and launch myself airborne with a soft, sharp grunt of exertion—spot the Tomlin Falls Community Credit Union logo on the boards for one rotation, two rotations, feeling like I'm floating and weightless…
My skate slams onto the ice, making my teeth click together and my knee protest, but I stick the landing without a wobble.I coast, then, grinning triumphantly.
I did it; I'm back.
Only another graceful turn, a spin, a switch leap, a couple other minor elements…and then I'm hunched over near a faceoff circle, arms outstretched like wings, and the crowd is shaking the glass with applause and whistles and cheers.
Before I know it, I'm surrounded by my girls, their excited chatter an overlapping chorus of praise.Flowers hit the ice.A stuffed teddy bear.
Tearfully, I break away from my girls and skate in a slow circle, waving as I scoop up the flowers.
It was a two-and-a-half-minute program for a charity game—it's not like I won Olympic gold or anything.But my goodness, it does feel amazing.
I make my way off the ice, still panting and grinning ear to ear.
Noah, in full gear, wraps me in a crushing hug the moment my skates hit solid ground.His pads are hard under his jersey, and his shoulders are broader than ever."You are fucking incredible, Morgan.That wassogood!I'm so proud of you!"
Mal slams into us both, her arms going around us as she sobs like I won a medal."Mom!You rocked it!"
"It felt good," I admit."Although all this," I gesture at the rink, "seems like too much."
"They're proud of you, Morgan," Noah says, gloved hands around my shoulders."Enjoy it for a moment."He gently turns me back to the ice."Get back out there for a second."
"I don’t really think that's necessary, Noah," I protest."It was just a little thing."
He sweeps a pointed gaze at the stands, where the crowd doesn’t seem especially interested in calming down."One lap, honey.Just get out there, take the win, and bask in it for a second.You worked your ass off, this is just the fruit of that labor."
Clearing my throat, I let out a sigh."Fine.You might be right."I turn and look at my gaggle of younger skaters in their little tutus, unitards, and Elsa costumes—I told the parents to let their girls pick their own outfits for today's performance, since this is meant to be fun rather than a competition or recital."Alright, girls, are you ready?I'm gonna go do a lap on the ice, and when I get back, it's your turn.Everybody visualizing their moves?"I get a bunch of small, nervous, excited nodding heads."Good!Now, focus on your breathing and picture each element of what you're about to do.I'll be right back."
