Puppy Love at the Skating Rink
Her heart was a glass of haunted roses, though at thirteen, I only vaguely understood what that meant. My family carried the heavy, weatherworn memories of Ellis Island, dancing an immigrant waltz they’d learned on the shores of America upon arrival. But my personal history began and ended with Rowena.
Spring in Natchez, Mississippi, usually meant pollen blowing on a honeysuckle breeze, sweet as the nectar of Aphrodite. It scented the morning light down our dandelion-covered lane, stretching past the bird sanctuary owned by the surgeon down the road. (A somber man who used to walk Brightwood Street with his bewildered little daughter, back when cancer was still devouring the marrow of his bones.)
But my eyes were strictly reserved for Rowena, whose delta blues resided deep where the nightingale nests in her south. The heart of summer lived in the Irish wine-light of her sun-freckles. Champagne embers seemed to sizzle in her sequined skirt while I gazed on, preening clumsily like a sun-tanned lizard.
The water at the school pool was supposed to be a Bahamas aqua sea, but it was really just municipal chlorine. Still, when she rose up the metal ladder, she looked like Carmen ascending a staircase of fire in a Bizet opera. She shook the water from her hair and planted her hands on her hips, droplets catching the bright sun.
“Do you like me, John?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.
I swallowed hard, my shoulders stiffening. “As a friend.”
“I think you like me for more than a schoolboy crush, even,” she teased, taking a slow step closer.
“I am a monk,” I declared, crossing my arms defensively over my bare chest.
She laughed, a bright, ringing sound, and pointed a dripping finger at my face. “Your eyes on my legs tell of a reluctant priesthood.”
I shoved my hands into the pockets of my towel, my cheeks burning furiously. “I struggle with my monasticism.”
“Say goodbye to those St. Francis blues,” she said, giving my shoulder a playful shove. “Meet me at the skating rink this Saturday for hand-holding.”
With Jimmy Carter in the Oval Office, we newly minted sweethearts found ourselves illuminated not by the eternal flame of young love, but by the blinding glow of a harvest moon filtering through the roller rink windows. I stood by the rental counter, nervously adjusting the collar of my shirt.
Rowena skated up, wobbling slightly but smiling wide. “I’m so glad you made it here, my dear.”
Before I could formulate a witty reply, my buddy Keith rolled up. He wore a deadpan expression, clearly burdened by glorious purpose. “Let me show you two how to do a date properly,” he announced. Without warning, he grabbed our arms, forcefully lacing our fingers together until we were wrapped up as snugly as a ribbon on the birthday gifts we exchanged with one another.
Rowena giggled, her thumb tentatively stroking the back of my knuckles. “I’ve never done this with a boy before.”
I blinked, genuinely shocked. “I always took you to be more experienced than me.”
“It was all for show,” she whispered, leaning in so close her shoulder brushed mine. “I am greener than grass.”
I felt the frantic thump of her heart against my boyish ribs, beating like a runaway snare drum. Her perfume—a sweet, intoxicating scent—wafted over me, reminding me of church incense but sparking a far stranger, far more intoxicating sensation.
We clumsily made our way onto the floor. The prismed light from the disco orb fractured across her eyes, which burned like flickering Roman candles to the beat of the music. The bass washed over us, and across the perfumed shore of her cherry blossom lips—plush and pink with the promise of a bon vivant romance that was, until now, just a boyhood grail yet to be had.
“Do you want to let go?” I asked, my voice cracking slightly as my skates drifted apart.
She squeezed my fingers tightly. “Not just now. Let’s try it a while longer, just as an experiment. Oh, listen! They’re playing ‘Dancing Queen’. That’s our song. Now let’s take a whirl around this place.”
I straightened my posture, trying to look suave. “Your face looks beatific under the mirror ball light. The smile on your face is like the sun. Hold my hand, and I’ll take you on a trip.”
She rolled her eyes affectionately. “You look adorable in your geek outfit. Here we go, my wonderful freak.”
We picked up speed, our skates humming against the polished wood. “Look at you,” I marveled. “You look like a French Quarter tarot reader ready to make a prophecy with your fiery eyes.”
“Careful my eyes don’t burn you,” Rowena shot back, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
“You funny girl, I can’t help but look now,” I countered, utterly mesmerized.
“Watch out, my dizzy lover!” Rowena admonished, her free hand flailing as she briefly lost her balance. “We don’t want to bump anyone. Our skates seem to be going in different directions.”
“I am already crashed,” I confessed, steadying her waist. “You have me spellbound.”
We became skating rink swans under a mirror ball moon, riding a slow comet that swung around the Milky Way as her small, sparrow-like hand quivered in mine. Eventually, the gravity of our exertion took hold.
“Let’s sit together and have a Coke,” Rowena gasped, dramatically fanning her flushed face. “I’m out of breath.”
“I’m breathless too,” I agreed enthusiastically. “A soda sounds great.”
We shuffled to the snack bar. As she took a sip, I gazed at the way her lipstick embraced the glassy shine of the soda bottle, my teenage soul entirely on fire.
“Oh, this drink is so refreshing,” she sighed, setting the bottle down. She leaned in, her eyes softening. “In a minute, I want you to take me around the rink again. I’m sorry I can’t kiss you on the lips yet. I’m not ready for that. However…” She leaned forward and pressed a quick, warm kiss to my cheek. “I love kissing your cheek. Your skin is so soft and boyish,” she exulted.
I touched my cheek, my brain short-circuiting. “Well,” I squeaked, “that Coke went down nice. Hey, they’re playing ‘Kung Fu Fighting’. Care to take another spin with me?”
“Oh, I love that music! Let’s do it!” she rejoiced, practically bouncing on her toe stops.
“Let me take your hand, my darling one,” I offered, feeling ten feet tall.
She grabbed my hand so fast I jumped. “Leaf, I feel my youth slipping away. Hold onto me and never let go,” she pleaded with theatrical desperation.
I laughed at the new nickname. “Lovers will come and go, yet we will remember this as our golden age. One day, in some city, I’ll think of you. For now, we have disco music and each other. This moment is the real thing. Live it with me in perfect harmony, my love.”
She scrunched her nose. “Oh, Leaf, you sound like a soda advertisement.”
“I know,” I admitted, sheepishly rubbing the back of my neck. “But I meant it sincerely.”
“That is what I love about you. You are beautiful,” she said, tapping my chin. “I have a couple of questions for you before we go steady. If Farrah Fawcett wanted you for a boyfriend, would you stay with me?”
I didn’t even blink. “Of course I would. You are prettier without makeup than she is all dolled up.”
“Oh, Leaf, I am swooning,” she sighed, batting her eyelashes. “Now, if a kidnapper said, ‘It’s either you or the girl,’ what would you do?”
I puffed out my chest like a proud pigeon. “I’d do what any true gentleman would do. Does that answer your question?”
“Yes! Yes, it does!” she cheered, clapping her hands. “They’re playing ‘Love Train’. Be my Travolta. I wouldn’t leave you for him, either.”
“Let’s skate together,” I said, tugging her toward the floor. “We’re only young once. Let’s do it well.”
“This is our boogie night!” Rowena exclaimed, her arms spread wide. “We could be dancers in a discotheque in New York City!”
She picked up the pace, her wheels clicking rhythmically. “Though these skates are designed for the rink rather than roller blades for the street with these wheels, this skating rink floor feels like grapes I am mashing for fermentation! But ours is a good crop. As long as I gather my skirt, I can see my steps to keep from falling.”
The Final Spin
Suddenly, the DJ slowed the tempo. The synthesized opening notes of “Love is Like Oxygen” echoed through the cavernous room. It was the ultimate test—a song for teenagers who only kissed under the strict chaperoning of an auntie on account of having shared a root beer after midnight. Our buttery feet were a slippery start for habitual soda souses whose Cajun patois might eventually find us sharing a houseboat in the Atchafalaya.
We were gliding perfectly in sync, a flawless rhythm of young love, when disaster struck.
A rogue little kid, entirely out of control, shot across our path. Rowena gasped, her eyes going wide with terror. She yanked her hands back, her skates tangling as she pitched violently backward. Her sequined skirt flared out like a parachute failing to deploy.
“John!” she shrieked, her arms windmilling helplessly.
Time stopped. All my nervous, lizard-like preening vanished in an instant. I lunged forward, throwing my own balance to the wind. My arms wrapped firmly around her waist just as her shoulders were about to slam into the hardwood. The sheer momentum spun us in a wild, chaotic circle. My wheels skidded, screaming against the polyurethane floor, but I dug my toe stop in with the sheer, terrified willpower of a heroic knight.
We skidded to a dead halt, inches from the sideboards. I was bent backward over my skates, clutching Rowena tightly against my chest, both of us panting, miraculously unharmed. The entire rink seemed to hold its breath.
She looked up at me, her chest heaving against my boyish ribs, her eyes wide with shock and absolute awe. “John, if I ever try to grow up too fast with you will you catch me before I fall from grace?”
“I’ll never let you take that Nestea plunge before you are ready.” It was the most romantic, triumphant moment of my young life.
Then, her nose twitched.
She inhaled sharply and let out an enormous, echoing sneeze right into my shoulder.
She sniffled, pulling back slightly as a mortified blush painted her cheeks. “You know… you could catch my sinus infection,” she mumbled, awkwardly wiping her nose.
I didn’t let go of her waist. Instead, I smiled, the warmth of the evening swelling in my chest. “A dance with you would be more than worth getting the sniffles.”
Her fiery eyes softened, shining brighter than the disco ball above us. “Oh,” she whispered, a sweet, radiant smile breaking across her face. “You would get a stuffy nose for me. That is true love.”
