Immediately, I smile. She narrows her eyes.
“You’re already laughing.”
“I’m smiling. It doesn’t count.”
When she stands up on the skates, she freezes immediately. Not dramatically. Not visibly to anyone else. But I see it.
The stillness in her shoulders. The shift in her breathing. The way her weight stays too centered instead of settling naturally.
“Hey,” I say softly.
“I remember this part,” she whispers.
“Good memory or bad memory?”
“Both.”
I step onto the ice beside her slowly, keeping enough distance that she doesn’t feel crowded but close enough that she knows I’m there if she needs me.
“Hold the boards,” I tell her.
She does. Immediately.
“Now,” I continue gently,“just stand.”
“I am standing.”
“Stand without thinking about falling.”
“That’s not how standing works.”
“It is today.”
She takes one breath. Then another. And slowly, almost without realizing she’s doing it, her shoulders relax.
“There,” I say quietly.“That’s it.”
“That’s what?”
“That’s you standing.”
After a minute, she looks at me.
“You tricked me.”
“I helped you.”
“You tricked me into helping myself.”
“That’s my specialty.”
“Now what?” she asks.
“Now we move.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
