Skate

CW: Mental health, physical violence

The ice was a barrier. Literally and figuratively.

I spent the better part of most summers out here on and in the lake.

Winters were just as frequent, but for different reasons. Nine before you, thirteen or fourteen with you, depending on whether you count this one.

I got to know the changing of the seasons very well. I could tell you exactly when the lake would freeze over. Where the first ice crystals would begin to form in the top layer of the freezing lake water. It was along the eastern shore where the peaks of the Crescent Mountains cast their heavy shadows that touched the lake, dropping the temperature just ever so slightly. Enough to invite juvenile crystallization.

And more importantly, I knew when it would thaw.

My uncle bought me my first pair of ice skates at the marina shack on the north shore, which carried them year-round, along with wake boards and contraception. Those ice skates afforded me my first kiss ever, which led me to you, and more recently, away from you.

We met out on this very lake, fourteen years ago. Your heart cold to me at first, much like it is now. But eventually I was able to thaw it. I worked my way in, nestled into a far corner like a clot, next to the pulmonary valve, and called it home. Many nights, after you’d fall asleep prematurely during a movie that you picked, I would rest my head on your chest. Listen to your heart pump. The slow, rhythmic intake and exhale of air lulled me. I began counting the time between breaths as you’d fall into an apnea episode, wondering how long the gaps between breaths would go. Would you ever not take in a breath? Could your body actually kill you through the denial of oxygen without your conscious consent? I remembered wondering what your internal organs looked like and whether they were as beautiful as your exterior. As I traced the curves of your cheeks, I’d imagine it as the soft, rounded skin of your kidney.

Now, I stand alone on the shores, looking out over the expanse of ice, thinly veiled by the soft, silent fall of snow. Looking for you, or at least signs of you.

This would be the last snowfall of the season. And soon, very soon, the ice would begin to splinter, like the ropes of a net to catch what the ice could no longer hold.

The cool air crept into my jacket pockets, icing my fingers. My breath solidified before me, obscuring my view. I wondered how deep the cold could be felt. If I stayed out here long enough, if I shed some layers of clothing, would I begin to feel it beneath the skin? Could I sense the cooling sensation of my pancreas? Would an icing crust begin to form on the surface of my lungs? How long would it take for the blood to run cold? To stop flowing, dammed up by the solidifying water?

“Soon,” I whisper. “We will be together again. I’ll find you. ”

I remember the first time you told me you loved me. It was after a fight we had. I don’t remember what about. What I do remember is how I punched the wall, believing I’d go right through the drywall. I was wrong. My knuckles crunched against the corner edge of a stud, and a chunk of my hand split off from the rest in a spray of blood.

You held me, wrapping the injury in rags. You sighed, said, “Why do you insist on hurting yourself, huh? Don’t you realize how much I love you, you jackass?”

We made love, and the sheets were covered in blood.

I kick loose a rock buried beneath the snow. Pull my freezing hand out and pick it up. I grip the rock with my numb fingers, turning it over. Then, I toss it out onto the lake and watch as it skips along and eventually out of sight. You were always impressed with my throwing abilities. The form I developed through the years of playing baseball was something you admired. I looked so natural in your eyes. Someone who really knew how to play. How to throw a ball. How to use my body in perfect collaboration.

A couple more weeks til the thaw. Enough time for me to get affairs in order.

Your mom cried more than I would have anticipated when the news broke of your disappearance. Breaking local news picked up the case, and vigils were held in your honor. Your favorite restaurant catered the event for free, and the candle shop down the street from our apartment donated 3 dozen unscented candles.

I didn’t cry. Possibly because I can’t. I don’t know. Something was broken deep inside of me. A sprinkler head crunched under the back tires of my subconscious and no longer worked properly. It wasn’t that I didn’t miss you--I did, greatly. I just wasn’t able to cry. I was defective. I envied those who could. At your vigil, I gazed out on the many watery eyes, and I tried to summon tears. I think it gave me indigestion. That, or it was the chimichangas being served from the parked food truck.

She hasn’t spoken to me since—your mom. I asked your dad why, and he could only shrug his shoulders. He didn’t have the same brokenness in him. He cried too. A sight that made your mom cry even harder. I couldn’t tell whether it was out of an increase in emotions or a competitive need to cry the most tears. Like mourning you placed people on a tiered list. I was bottom tier.

Sometimes I wonder if this is all just a dream from the time you tried to teach me to lucid dream. Remember? I told you how I didn’t dream. Ever. And you thought that was very strange. We spent the rest of the night trying to be in a meditative state. We tried to usher in a shared dream where you and I met up at the shores of this very lake. Maybe it worked. Maybe I’m dreaming. Maybe you will show up. Meet me here and end this devastation.

But then the night it happened cuts through me like the blade of an ice skate.

I didn’t mean to throw it. It slipped. I couldn’t have done anything like what happened that night by choice any more than I could choose to cry over your absence.

You told me I’d be in control of the dream. This doesn’t feel like control. But you wouldn’t lie to me. You never did.

This must be real.

A flash of light caught the corner of my eye. I turn and find a heavily clothed man leaning against a nearby tree, about thirty yards away.

Dateline. They would be the only ones desperate enough to follow me out here in the snow to get an exclusive.

My foot knocks another rock loose. I bend, pick it up, pull back my arm, and release. I hit my intended target, which wasn’t the camera or the man holding it, but the tree he half-leaned into, half-hid behind.

A warning shot, which was more than I gave you.

A gloved middle finger, and then the man disappeared.

I shouldn’t be here. It’s too early. The lake wasn’t ready. You weren’t ready.

Our reunion would have to wait. For the cold to loosen its grip. For the lake to let go of the breath it had been holding all winter. I needed to make sure that I was the first to hear the whispers it had to share. The secrets it kept. No one understood the lake like I did--except maybe you. Maybe even more so now. I was always jealous of the way you could make friends with just about anyone. That was a strength of yours. But even as strong as you were, it didn’t save you. I was stronger. My will was brute force against your soft, delicate presence. Our relationship was a fire juggler in a pool of gasoline. Quite the spectacle from the outside, a spectacle, but always destined to go up in flames.

You always said you were drawn to the fiery side of me. Like a gentle moth to a wild flame. Said it reflected passion, drive, ambition. I believed you and learned to embrace the unembracable. To love the unlovable parts of me. But should I have? Could it be possible that you were wrong? Wrong to ever believe in me? Did you fuel the wrong flame in me? Getting too close, abandoning your own safety to recognize the beauty in my flaws.

You were the lion tamer who let her guard down one too many times. Now you have been forever tamed by the lion you loved most of all.

A sudden urge to go out on the ice, one last time before the thaw took it away, came over me. I imagine the lone ice skate sitting just inside the mud room of the cabin. Useless without the other. Some things only function as a pair.

For now, I am pairless. Useless. Alone. But after the thaw, that won’t be the case anymore. After the thaw, we will be united once again.