Loretta Ellsworth - In a Heartbeat

EAGAN

Im not hungry or tired or sore. But theres more to this mist than grayness. I feel as if Im being watched. Maybe Im in a coma. I mean, Im surrounded by gray fog instead of standing in front of the pearly gates of heaven. And no one is here to greet me, not even Grandma. That should probably tell me something. But worst of all, I dont even care. Because if I really am dead, then I was cheated. I wasnt supposed to die this young. And if Im in a coma I could be trapped here for the rest of my life, and thats not fair, either.

I wonder about the moment my skull crashed against that edge. I wonder if there was a lot of blood, if it stained the ice red until the Zamboni scraped off the layer of ice. Or did I have internal injuries and look like I was sleeping? Did Mom and Dad want to reach out and shake me, as though that would help me wake up?

Grandmas funeral was the only one I ever attended. If Im dead, I dont want to see mine. I couldnt bear to see the grief I caused.

I turn and twist and move through the fog. I call out. My voice echoes in the gray distance, as though Im shouting off the top of a tall cliff. No one answers. Im completely alone, except for the flashbacks from my life, which play out in front of me no matter where I move.

I tell myself to stop looking back at my past. Its not like my life was so fascinating or anything. There were only sixteen years of it. But I cant help myself, just as I was drawn to those end-of-the-world books even as I was laying out perfect plans for my own Olympic future. Its ironic that when I was alive, all I thought about was death. And now all I can think about is my life.

I remember those last hours. The last hours of my life.

Kelly had her own car, a red Pontiac Grand Am with a tea green interior that looked black unless light was shining on it.

Even though Kelly was the worst driver I knew, everything about her car felt safe. Not to mention cool. Bucket seats. Leopard fabric covered steering wheel. WMYX blaring out the latest hits. The smell of lavender, Kellys scent. Or maybe the cool part was Kelly herself, and the fact that she was willing to be friends with a sophomore.

What? she asked when I slammed the car door.

My mom.

Kelly tapped my skull. Put her out of your head. Just think about the competition.

I never let her get into my head.

Silence. Kelly was thinking.

Shes in your head a lot. And why are you working overtime to make senior level?

Not for her.

Right. Kelly peeled out of the driveway. Youre taking ballet lessons and you do office conditioning besides skating practice five times a week. And thats fine because youre good enough to have that Olympic dream. But only if youre doing it for yourself.

Kelly paused. Her voice was low. Sometimes I wonder if youre doing all this for her.

God, shes such a head case, I said. Nothing I do pleases her anyway.

At least your mom makes it to all your competitions. My mom is going to my sisters soccer tournament today.

Yeah, but you want your mom to come.

Kelly handed me a purple lollipop, my usual precompetition snack. Look at it this way. You have a bigger cheering section.

I unwrapped the lollipop and took a long lick. She needs therapy.

Dont all moms?

Believe me, she needs it more than most.

I have an aunt who takes antidepressants. Maybe you can slip some in your moms drink.

Thats a great idea.

I was joking!

I wasnt.

Youre bad. Kelly laughed as she made a quick right turn. She snorted when she laughed and never cared who heard it. Im going to miss this next year. You ragging about your mom. Im even going to miss skating every day. Its stuck in my system. Wish I was as good as you, though.

Kelly had weak ankles from repetitive strains. She skated because she loved it, nothing more.

Wont you miss competing? I asked.

No. Im not into fame and glory like you.

Come on. Its not just that. I love the costumes and the music and being able to land a triple salchow and do things that other people cant do.

Kellys hair wove tightly around her head and gathered into a braided bun on top. She scratched at her braids. Thats the difference between us. I get too scared. Youre not afraid of anything.

I pulled my fingers through my ponytail. I wouldnt put my hair up until just before competition. Fussing with my hair and makeup was a ritual that helped with precompetition nerves. I thought of telling Kelly how afraid I was that there wasnt much time left, how I felt an eerie sense of urgency. But this wasnt the time for pessimism. Not true. I get butterflies just like you before competing. But once the music starts, Im in my zone on the ice.

Cold ice. Thats one thing I wont miss at six in the morning.

Kelly had it all planned out. She was going to Florida State to study physical therapy. The only plan Id ever had was skating.

Mom kept a scrapbook of my skating career. Whenever I looked at it, I was amazed at how much time Id spent skating, at how much it had consumed my life. I tried to figure it out once. Id spent 14,560 hours skating. Six hundred days, adding up to 1.7 years straight. And I spent at least another 14,000 hours doing skating-related stuff, like picking out my costumes and buying new skates and traveling to competitions.

Recently Id been questioning the whole dream. But I wasnt sure I could let it go. And even if I wanted to, how would I ever tell Mom? Id grown up with Moms voice in my head. How could I hear my own voice beneath the roar of hers?

I sighed. It wont be as fun next year without you.

Ill be back over Christmas break. Besides, we still have this year. She put out her fist and we bumped knuckles, our good-luck sign. Tonight were gonna kick some ass.

Im doing my triple lutz tonight.

Youll stick it too, Dynamo, Kelly said with certainty. You make that in competition and youll blow the judges away.

I stuck out a purple tongue. Call me Purple Dynamo.

She pulled into the parking lot of the ice arena, a brown brick building with a slanted roof and floor-to-ceiling windows. Id grown up learning to skate here, fighting for ice time with the hockey teams. I put my hand up to my ear and fingered the edge of my sapphire earring. Like Michelle Kwans gold dragon necklace, I have my own good-luck symbol. The earrings had belonged to my grandma and had passed down to me when she died.

We hurried inside, past the refreshment counter and the odor of hot dogs and popcorn. We made our way down to the level of the ice, where the refrigerant smell eased my butterflies. My coach was talking to another coach, and my warm-up group was already there. As we passed by, I waved at Jasmine, one of the younger skaters, who would be competing in the level below me. She just turned ten last week. I changed into my skating dress and did my makeup and hair. Then I laced up my boots for the practice session.

Whenever I get on the ice at a rink, the first thing I do is bend down and feel the ice. Most people would laugh at this. Ice is ice, right? But each rink has its own touch, its own heartbeat. I knew how this one felt, but I still bent down and touched it out of habit. Tonight the ice was strangely absent of feeling. It was just cold. I stood and shook off a shiver.

During warm-ups, I attempted my triple lutz twice. I fell the first time, then landed it after that. I ended up close to the boards.

Watch for the boards, my coach, Brian, said. Theyre behind you on the jump and they come up fast.