Cold Hearted

Back to the Grind

       It was a grey and gloomy morning, and I was sitting in my room, listening to music so loud it shook the house. I should have been at school, but my mom didn't come home last night from her buisness trip, so I didn't have any real reason to go. I get dressed, picking up random clothes off my floor. I skip breakfast, like always, and walk outside.                                                                                           The streets are busier than usual, so I pull up my hoodie. I don't need my mom finding out that I not only skipped school, but I skipped to go to somewhere I shouldn't be... the ice rink.                      I hurt myself badly a couple of years ago, and the doctor said I wouldn't phsyically be able to skate for at least a year, and even after that, he didn't recommend me ever skating again because my ankle was so weak.  Even though I can't skate, I love just watching skaters glide and dance on the ice.                                                                                                                                                                             Today when I walk through the doors, the sudden wave of cold air washed over me, tingling my senses. I sit in the arena, staring at the ice. A boy put on some music and skates out onto the rink. He's good. I watch, completely mezmerized. As the music crescendos, he attempts to hit a triple lutz.... and he falls. Groaning he gets up and turns off the music. He skates around for a bit, shaking off the injury. I watch as his eyes finally fall on me, seeing me for the first time.                                 "Hey!", he shouts, "What do you think you're doing? Are you spying on me? Did Jackson send you?                                                                                                                                                                                              "Woah, slow down. I'm not spying. I don't even know who Jackson is, and why are you being so hostile?" Seriously, what is this guy's problem? He looks at me, the scrutiny clear in his eyes.                                                                                                                                                                                                        " Oh, well then. Sorry about that. My name is Ezra. Umm, why are you watching me again?", he asks, walking up to sit next to me.

           "I'm not watching you, I just like coming here that's all." He looks at me, and I can tell he doesn't believe me. "Anyway, nice to meet you Ezra, I'm Adrian."

          " Well, Adrian, do you skate?" The air is gets heavier as I look away. " I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

          "No, it's fine. You couldn't possibly have known." We just sit there for a second, not knowing what to say.                                                                                                                                                                                           "So... if you don't mind me asking... what happened?"                                                                                          " I hurt my ankle in the semi-final qualifing round for the Junior World Grand Prix, 3 years ago,     and it was, it was, well, bad. I landed a jump wrong and my entire ankle just... shattered. I probably won't ever skate again."  He just looks at me. "I mean, yeah, I can walk... and run... and jump, but I don't think I'll ever get back on the ice. " We sit there, niether of us speaking. Finally, he breaks the silence.                                                                                                                                                                          "Why not? If you can do all those things out of the rink, why can't you do them inside of the rink?"                                                                                                                                                                                                   " I-I just... can't!", I stutter, getting angry.                                                                                                                          " Can't, or won't", he turns away, giving me such a look of pity that I can't stand it anymore.                                                                                                                                                                                                           " What size skate are you?", I ask, looking him dead in the eyes.                                                                       " Umm... 8. Why?" Good. They'll fit.                                                                                                                              "Give them to me", I demand. He complies. I put them on and teeter out to the edge of the ice, Ezra staring at me the whole time. I look down, gazing into the shiny, white surface. Well, here goes nothing.