Wim was late.
She sprinted down the rickety stairs and skidded into the courtyard when she saw the patch of ice formed from the sludge that had spilled off the little overhang protecting the kitchen door from the elements. She grabbed one of the columns to steady herself.
She skipped over carefully and only started running again after she was out the gate.
She had forgotten in her beanie and hairband and her unwashed hair swirled behind her, wild and in tangles.
There was a second patch of ice at the bottom of the road, bringing Wim to a complete halt so quickly the ball of rolled up socks flew off her hand onto the snow.
Her heart leapt taking her body with it when with the girliest of shrieks, Mister Ironic Figureskater pin-wheeled on the ice in his pink, rubber slippers.
Wim’s reflexes kicked in and she threw out her arms, one grazing Shou’s back but the other grabbing a handful of the jacket he was only halfway in.
His clothes bunched up to his armpits and Wimp gathered him to her by his warm stomach.
True to the spirit of figure skating he was all but insubstantial in her arms.
He had always looked small, made smaller and frail by his dazed expression and adorably, rumpled bed-head. Up close though, he was tall. Wim had the advantage of her heavy, jogging shoes and he was in batas so they stood nose to nose.
He blinked.
Twice. And then he grinned.
She let him go then, unconsciously pulling his t-shirt down over his rapidly pinking tummy.
Shou shrugged into his jacket properly, teetered in sleepy circles looking for his sports bag.
‘It’s over there,’ Wim volunteered when she realised he was still drunk with sleep. She jumped over the ice and went to get it herself.
‘Arigato ne!’ He grinned sheepishly and accepted the bag, swinging it over his thin shoulders smoothly uncanny coming from the same boy that had flailed like a flightless bird moments ago.
Wim swatted away his thanks. Her heart beat fast in both the adrenaline rush and the awkward that followed.
Should I walk away now? Or should I stay?
Should I walk with him?
She had heard Yoshikawa Coach inform the skaters colourfully the night before that they were in for some rough runs because they were fat sissies who’d embarrass him next season. Wim had been thrilled at the new cusses she had learnt.
She felt embarrassed and rather large in front of this sculpture of a boy so she let her legs propel her forward.
Shou caught up, yawning and rubbing the sleep from his eyes in such a childlike manner Wim had to turn away to hide the threat of a smile.
‘Your hair is so pretty!’
‘What?’
He was smiling. His voice had gone soft and uncertain as it did when he spoke English, as though his teacher had warned him to think before he expelled a sentence.
‘Your hair is pretty,’ he repeated pointing at her head. ‘I like your hair!’
‘Are you drunk?’
He sniggered. ‘No.’ He thought about it. ‘Maybe a little sleepy?’
Wim left it at that but he was persistent.
‘You don’t do anything to your hair no? Like that ironing thing, straightening or curling or whatever?’
‘No.’
‘Ah, that’s why!’ He ran his fingers over his own and swallowed a yawn. ‘Natural! Pretty hair! What’s your shampoo? It sm–‘
He gulped and pinked on the tips of his ears.
‘We are talking about my hair!’ Wim said, hoping that voicing the fact would show him the ridiculousness of it all.
‘Sorry,’ He surreptitiously pulled his hair over his ears and changed the subject. ‘Did you wake late? Coach is going to kill me!’
‘Mine too.’
‘No! Coach Lance is so kind! He’s not a monster like our Yoshi!’ Bakemono.
He made a face.
‘Yoshikawa Coach has always been nice to me!’
Shou muttered under his breath. Wim only caught, ‘girl.’
‘Hopefully Coach Lance will be late as usual today!’ She said breaking into a jog.
She barely noticed that they had come right in front of the gates.
In his halting English Shou said, ‘See you later!’
But she followed him in just as both coaches turned in unison to watch the pair of them run into the stadium.
‘Nakamaru!’ Bellowed Yoshikawa Coach, descending into a frightening shade of purple.
‘Twenty five rounds!’ Agreed Coach Lance laughing manically. ‘And the loser runs a hundred more!’
#
Yes! Round twenty five!
No.
Wim Fernando arrived at the finish line hundred meters ahead and still kept running.
Not twenty five then?
Shou gasped and spluttered behind her, trying to close the gap between them for the sake of his pride.
He had almost told her he liked the scent of her hair!
He shuddered.
Who says that?
Who smells other people’s hair?
Well, who besides Yusuke and Daichi, but that didn’t count because they had been together since their fathers’ changed their diapers on the same table.
She’d think he was some sort of pervert!
He laboured past the finish line and took the first bend. He couldn’t see her bounding away in front anymore.
The rest of this morning had been fantastic though.
Shou felt the blush out-redden his nose and ears over the pinch of the freezing cold.
She had held him. Her hands on his bare skin!
He could still feel the warmth, the graze of her calloused fingertips, the smell of cake…
Shou collapsed on the track, brought his knees up to his chest and squealed.
He was still exalting when Wim jogged past him, shooting him a raised eyebrow, sweat frosted in a moustache over her upper lip.
He staggered across the grounds to beg Yoshikawa for a reprieve but as far as their balding coach was concerned, losers were losers.
#
Wim focused on her splits almost feverishly, long after everyone else had left the stadium.
She wasn’t alone, as the loser of the morning trudged past her on his eighty ninth round, gulping and gasping like one of those rusty, old public buses back home, wheezing up a hill road.
Coach Lance had dropped a bomb on her earlier.
‘Fifty five seven.’ He’d declared, pressing down on his stopwatch as Wim coasted to a stop.
Her heart missed a beat. ‘What? It was–‘
Coach Lance nodded carefully, ‘It was the same last week, yes.’ He finished for her.
No, no, no!
‘What can I do? What do I need to do?’
‘Not take it like it’s the end of the world.’
‘No! I need to bring it down.’ Wim cried desperation colouring her tone. ‘The qualifying time is fifty one! I need to go below! I need it! At least get there!’
‘You can’t get there by panicking girl! You–‘
‘What do I need to do?’
‘I told you–‘
‘WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO?’
Coach Lance sighed and clucked, infuriating Wim. She wanted to pound his nose into his face.
How had she ever dared to think this bastard was anything like Daddy? Daddy would never look at her like that.
‘Splits.’ Coach said after a longer sigh than before. ‘Twenty five, fifty, seventy five, hundred. No breaks in between and–‘
Wim was already walking away.
She hadn’t counted how many splits she had done. Coach had told her when to stop but she hadn’t bothered to hear him.
She was walking back after a seventy five when she saw Daddy shimmer into view through the haze to stand over the hundred meter line.
‘What are you doing? You’ll burn yourself up!’
Wim pointed at the gunmetal sky. ‘It’s winter!’ She said between gasps. ‘Can’t burn.’
‘Sweetie, Daddy’s not expecting you to do anything you don’t want to do!’
‘I’m doing this because I want to! I’m going to show them all!’
He squatted down to her eye level as she went on her knees over the starting blocks. ‘Who cares what they think!’
‘I do, Dad, I do!’ She sat up and blinked, trying to dislodge the thin film of exhaustion from her eyes. ‘They are your family, your relatives, they are supposed to be on your side! Do you know what they think? About all this?’ She looked at him then and saw that he hadn’t shaved. A two-day stubble dotted his face, salt and pepper against the wind and work-worn, brown skin.
His eyes crinkled sadly. ‘I know.’
‘They think you forced me to become a runner! They think I had no choice, that you hitlered me into it to satisfy your unfulfilled dreams!’
‘You aren’t helping, by insisting on going off to the Olympics.’ He smiled.
‘I’m going to win. I’m going to win and I’m going to show them all whose daughter I am!’ She lowered her gaze and released a slow, measured breath.
‘You’re my daughter.’
She flew off the ground like an arrow, her body hunched forward, fighting the cold front wind.
The finish line started dancing, mocking her, running away from her, denying her.
She saw the world tip and her face connected with the cold, slightly damp rubber track.
A shadow fell over her.
‘You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.’ Her father told her. ‘You’re my little girl and I am very, very proud of you!’ He reached out and she felt a warm hand on her forehead, brushing hair out of her face.
‘Wim-san, Wim-san, are you okay?’ Shou’s breath whitened the blurred world she could barely see.
‘You’re okay.’ Daddy confirmed, peeking from behind Shou’s windblown hair.
‘I am.’ Wim agreed. ‘I’m okay.’
‘No you’re not! You just fainted! Come on!’
‘Don’t go! Don’t leave me!’
Daddy nodded and mouthed an affirmative.
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Shou said, and his voice broke as he struggled to raise her. ‘I’m right here. Let’s get you up now!’
She allowed him to sit her up and then drag her weight onto his back. He stood slowly, she could feel him wobble underneath her.
His hands were cold as they fastened hers around his neck and then tucked his fingers under her knees.
He tottered again but rallied. ‘Hospital!’ He breathed.
‘No! Can’t. I can’t. Hate hospitals. Home.’
‘You can’t just go home and sleep it off.’ He’d switched to Japanese and Wim didn’t have the energy to listen and translate. ‘You need a juice.’
‘Orange juice.’
‘What?’ He was panting with each step, she could feel him tiring. ‘No! Not that kind of juice! IV! An IV!’
‘Have at home.’
Shou started to protest but cut himself off. ‘Yeah Coach has an emergency stash. I suppose it’ll be okay. We can ask. Besides, you hate hospitals.’
Wim would have been overcome with grief if she wasn’t already half conscious.
‘I understand.’
She didn’t know if it had been Daddy or Shou who spoke.
‘I’m such a loser!’
‘No you’re not.’ Shou countered.
‘No you’re not.’ Agreed Daddy, walking beside them. He was wearing his favourite brown sarong and frayed maroon shirt.
‘You’ll catch a cold.’ Wim told him.
‘I’m okay.’ Shou replied in English. ‘We’re home!’
She felt the warm softness of her pillow under her head and half opened her eyes to Shou’s face inches above.
‘I lost!’ She whispered. ‘I lost!’
‘Not yet.’ said Daddy.
Smooth fingers wiped the moisture from her cheeks and fluttered over her lips.
‘Not yet.’ Said Shou.
… … …