9. Mer - Déjà-vu

On Monday morning, I dropped Piper off at the airport so she could join Patrick for the next couple weeks in Montreal. Apparently they had choreography sessions booked with a pretty prominent coach and she was excited about it.

“Just don’t overdo it. Listen to your body, okay?” I warned her when she was yanking her huge designer suitcase out of my beat up, old Escape. Piper had a bad case of compartment syndrome in her legs from overtraining a couple years ago, and I didn’t want her to re-injure herself. “And if the coach is too demanding, tell him to screw off.”

“Oh, you know I will,” she said, blowing me a kiss.

I waited for her while she checked her bags outside of O’Hare, but when she finished, she didn’t run into the terminal, instead she darted back to my car and plopped in the shotgun seat. She pulled down the mirror to fix her lip gloss.

“What are you doing?” I asked, laughing at her. “You’re gonna be late.”

She took in a deep breath, then turned to face me. “I know, it’s just… Before I go, I wanted to say, we’re totally different people than we were a decade ago, ya know?”

My eyebrows drew together, trying to figure out what she was getting at. “Okay…?”

She tucked her pale blonde hair behind her ears and looked a little nervous when she said, “So maybe the guys are too.”

“Piper,” I warned.

“I just think that maybe there’s a reason the two of you were thrown back together again. Maybe this is the universe telling you that you two belong together.”

I started to argue, but she held up her hand.

“I just want you to stop jumping to conclusions and stop blaming yourself for everything that went wrong, okay?”

My shoulders fell. “Piper, it was my fault. Maybe I didn’t fully break us, but I was the one who–”

She shook her head. “You were so young, Mer. You need to forgive yourself.”

I closed my eyes, trying to steady myself, wondering how she could read me so easily. She somehow always knew what I really needed to hear. For some reason, I needed permission to forgive myself.

“And now I’m going to give you homework,” she said, sticking her chin in the air. “I want you to focus on who you are right now. I know that because you saw Colt, you’re gonna start ruminating on the past, and I get it, okay? I know how tempting that is. But don’t. Because you’ll mix up details and warp things in your mind. Leave it all behind. Stop thinking about the 21-year-old version of yourself. That’s not who you are. That girl went through so much, and it’s easy to wallow in past emotions and past hurts and to linger in all that pain, but to backslide would be dishonoring her. You are the strongest person I know, and I want you to be proud of that. And if a certain someone wanted to talk again, you don’t have to be that old version of yourself. You don’t even have to revisit what happened or what you went through at all. Be who you are today, okay? You can’t go back anyways, so just move forward. Got it?”

I rolled my now teary eyes. I was usually an expert at bottling up my emotions, but seeing him again seemed to snap that ability inside of me. “He’s not going to want to talk to me again, P. And he shouldn’t, he might be with someone else. He could be–”

She gave me a hard look. “Umm… excuse me, but what did I just say about jumping to conclusions?”

A pathetic laugh escaped me and I wiped at the corner of my eye. “Okay, I’ll try.”

“Good,” she clasped her hands together, “that is all I ask. Sorry for saying all this right before I leave, but I just wanted you to be mentally prepared in case you run into him again. Now, have a great time while I’m gone.” She pulled me in for a hug. “And make sure Natalia doesn’t roll her shoulders forward and make sure Rosie works on her twizzles– left and right. Got it?” I was taking on some of her students while she was gone.

I smiled. “Got it.”

“Perfect.” She stuck her sunglasses on, even though it was completely overcast outside, and shot me a wicked grin. “I’ll see ya soon, girl.”

She gave me one last wave before scampering off in her bright pink clothing, looking like a movie star with those sunglasses shielding her face.

I waited until she disappeared inside O’Hare before pulling away from the curb.

On my way back to the rink, I splurged for a warm latte because I was about to freeze from the inside out for the rest of the day.

As I sipped, her words replayed in my head. While a part of me wanted so badly to talk to Colt again, she wasn’t there when he saw me. She didn’t see. He blamed me for all of it, which wasn’t fair at all, but I couldn’t change that.

She was right about moving forward though.

I was a far cry from the hurt, heartbroken 21-year-old version of me. Now I was a 31-year-old coach with determination to make sure girls could enjoy figure skating and succeed in the sport without losing themselves the way I did.

That was my mission. That’s what I had to focus on.

When I finally walked into the Coliseum, Hans waved me over to the front office where he stood, shuffling flyers.

“Did you check the master schedule?” he asked quietly.

My eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “No, why?”

“You have something new this afternoon.” He gave me a knowing grin.

Hope rose in my chest over the prospect of one of the girls from last week signing up. My fingers trembled as I opened my phone to look over my schedule.

My 4:30’s were now booked out for Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, but that wasn’t even the most shocking part.

I stared at the names written there: Sophia Estera, Charlotte Englewood, and Lucy Conover.

My eyes flicked up to Hans in question.

“This is a good start,” he said encouragingly.

“Yeah,” I breathed out, wondering what had changed.

Hans gave me a wink and I immediately knew he had something to do with it. My heart was tugged in a million directions, not quite knowing what to feel, but gratefulness won out. I needed students, I needed the money. I’d have to box up any old lingering feelings I had for Colt and shove them aside so I could be the best coach possible for these girls.

I immediately hugged the old man and he let out a surprised “oof.”

“Thanks Hans,” I murmured.

He let out his familiar deep chuckle and rubbed my back. “You’re gonna make a great coach,” he said, a look of determination in his old eyes. “Don’t let anyone make you think differently.”

I hoped he was right. I tried to memorize the moment so I could mentally look back on his words when I needed encouragement.

With a nod, I strode to my locker room with a newfound confidence in my step.

By the time I made it to my afternoon lesson with the three girls, my limbs were heavy with exhaustion and my knee was starting to throb, but I was excited to get started.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” I told each one of them, and I meant it.

We spent the next hour together going over stroking techniques, different edges, and the beginnings of spins and waltz jumps. We ended the lesson with a shoot-the-duck competition, which made all of them fall over at different times and crack up laughing. We were flying through the beginner elements, which was a great sign. I made a mental note to float the idea of beginner competitions to the girls and their parents.

It was a great lesson, made only slightly worse by the pain now radiating up my knee from the cold air. I wanted to soak in a hot bath, but I’d have to settle for my apartment’s tiny shower.

Right before the buzzer went off to end the session, I felt someone’s eyes on me, and my attention was tugged to the stands.

He sat there, his elbows on his knees, a hat turned backwards over his hair, watching contentedly, just like he used to.

I quickly snapped my neck away in fear that he’d catch me looking, and a sense of déjà-vu set in over the inner tug-of-war of wanting to look at him again.

After the session wrapped up, I picked up the discarded sweaters that skaters forgot on the boards and then tucked away all our different cords in the music box before leaving the ice.

By the time I swished across the lobby in my coaching sweats, all three girls were happily chatting with each other.

Colt was bent down in front of Lucy, unlacing her skates. His left hand held her skate. His ring-less left hand.

My heart pretty much stopped in my chest.

And then his head turned, and his brown eyes locked on mine.

I felt caught. My face flamed.

Lucy reached forward and patted his scruff-covered cheek to force him to look up at her. “Did you see me, Dad? Did you see my waltz jump?”

Dad.

Would the shock of that ever wear off?

My heart squeezed painfully in my chest over all the old hopes and dreams and promises we used to tell each other.

With a deep breath, I forced myself to keep moving to my locker room. I didn’t want a confrontation. I just wanted this job. I didn’t need anything more.

It didn’t matter that he didn’t have a ring, I told myself. Actually, it made it more important for me to keep my distance from him. Because I couldn’t survive another heartbreak like the last one.

I needed to focus only on what I could control: I could be professional, and I could be a great coach.

_________

The next morning, the train above my apartment rattled me awake around 5am and I couldn’t get back to sleep.

Instead of tossing around in bed and letting my thoughts consume me, I quickly changed into a matching yoga set and hoodie and grabbed my skate bag.

As soon as I pulled into the Coliseum’s empty parking lot, a bubble of giddy excitement rose up in my chest. As much as I had a love-hate relationship with figure skating, I’d never get over the thrill of having the ice all to myself.

I darted across the parking lot, hugging myself against the crisp fall morning air, then let myself in the rink with the extra key Hans gave me when I started work a couple weeks ago.

After the heavy door swung shut behind me, an eerie silence filled the rink. Only the backup generator light was on, casting a dull glow over the ice. The board’s glass was all foggy from the ice having been zammed at nighttime.

This was the sport stripped down to the basics– no coaches, no judges, no competition. Just me and my skates.

I glided onto the ice, enjoying the sound of my blades cutting into smooth surface, and I made my way to the music box to start my playlist. Sometimes I wondered if it was skating itself that I was passionate about or if I just loved the way music echoed in the empty rink, making it feel like I had to move.

As soon as the first few chords of Fade Into You by Mazzy Star floated in the cold air, I breathed deep and spun into some mindless choreography.

I extended my limbs, pushing my legs as hard as possible, but floating my arms gracefully to the music. I stretched as far as I could, marking my presence here on the ice.

Because here’s the thing about rink life… When you’re young, you take up a lot of space and time here. You power through the levels and make a name for yourself. But as time goes on, you find you can’t push quite as hard. Maybe you get hurt, maybe you just get old, but you find your body’s limits, and it’s a humbling feeling. Suddenly your body doesn’t work the way it used to. And you gradually start to shrink… Your movements, your name, your reputation.

And you continue shrinking until you can’t do much.

And then you don’t take up very much space at all.

One day, I imagine, it’ll be like I was never even here. Like I was never able to do any of this at all.

The Night We Met by Lord Heron echoed over the rink speakers next, adding to the haunted feeling the fog over the ice already created.

When I was young, I loved upbeat songs. I loved skating fast and having fun dancing around to the music. Now I loved the slower, emotional ballads that made me extend and forced me to embrace a little grace.

Now that I was warmed up, I pushed into a little made-up program. I felt the lyrics deep in my soul as I entered a spiral sequence.

I threw a couple jumps and enjoyed the powerful check-out feeling. I still had it. Even if just for a little while longer. I could still do this. Just for pure enjoyment. Just for me.

By the time the song finished and silence settled around me, I was actually crying, which was kind of embarrassing. I laughed as I wiped my eyes with my gloves.

And then the sound of clapping echoed in the dark, empty rink.

I whipped around to see only one person up in the stands.

Straining my eyes to see through the fog, I could just barely make him out. But from the way he stood and carried himself, I knew it was him.

Looking down at me, he gave me a tight nod.

Swallowing hard, I nodded back at him.

Right then, it felt like we understood each other again, even if just for a moment.

And it felt like maybe this would be okay.

Maybe we could once again live as parallel lines, peacefully sharing this place.

I should’ve known he wouldn’t let me off the hook that easily.