Passion

Chapter 12

"Excited?" Ally asked, chuckling at my restlessness.

"Obviously," I quipped back, my right leg bouncing up and down. "I just want this damn public skate to start already, is that too much to ask?" She rolled her eyes at me--obviously she didn't understand my pain, or she'd be joining my suffering. She did seem fairly excited for me though, judging by the extra shine in her eyes, so I let her abominable behavior slide just this once.

"Chill, Alex, there's only like, two more minutes until it starts. Be a big boy and wait, will you?" I grinned; I saw a chance, yelling in mock-anger.

"I've done my waiting! Twelve years of it! In Azkaban!" She groaned at the reference, bringing her hand up to push at my cheek, causing me to stumble a bit.

My leg was much better, almost at its strength prior to the accident, since I waited an extra week to build up a bit more muscle. I made sure that I was capable of running and jumping before even letting myself near the rink, in hopes of making the recovery go by a bit faster. I also practiced single and double jumps on ground beforehand, making sure my leg could take the pressure of jumping before trying it on ice, which helped speed it up even more. I was ecstatic to get back on the ice.

Ever since I'd decided that I'd compete, I was determined to work harder than I ever had before. I guess that caused something inside me, because I felt less pain when going to physical therapy, and I could make my own decisions with much more confidence than before. Setting a goal I didn't think I could achieve before possibly made me even stronger than I ever thought I could be--both physically and mentally.

Within seconds of the employees closing the zamboni gates, I was gone.

I was on the ice. I was skating. I was home.

Not deeming it necessary to heed my friend's surprise or concern, I skated around the rink once, twice, letting out a loud whoop as I switched to skating backwards. The wind. I missed the wind; the way it dries my throat and eyes and chaps my lips. The way it whips my hair about my face. The way my blades cut so easily through it: I missed it all.

I never want to let this go.

Feeling daring, I carefully brought my left leg in, turning my body to face outside of the invisible curve I was skating on. I stepped out with the same leg, letting my right leg hover behind me freely. I jumped every so slightly off the ice, swinging my right leg through, landing on it smoothly after a half turn.

It was a simple waltz, but it guaranteed my whole future.

I didn't feel an ounce of pain when jumping--not on the singles, nor on the doubles. I wouldn't try triples just yet, as I was still getting used to the sudden burst of exertion, but I didn't need to. I didn't feel pain while jumping. My leg was healed. That was all I needed right then. I didn't need to do a triple axel to feel satisfied, I didn't need to attempt the quad toe again. All I needed was to know that I could finally, finally, go home.

As soon as it started, it stopped.

The public skate came to an end immediately as it felt, not giving me enough time to bask in the euphoria of feeling the ice under my skates. I stepped off the ice, still in a slight daze of skating. My mind didn't fully come back to me until I was in my small room, lying down on a tattered mattress, with worn blankets wrinkled under me that had old blood stains in splotches on the right, and even then I didn't try thinking about other things. I thought about how soon I had done double jumps, how soon I could to triples. Then I thought about how soon I could do quads; it was so close, but so far away. I thought about how I kept reaching and reaching and reaching until I tripped on my feet, stumbling down and down, but never falling to my knees in defeat.