“he’s gonna save my life like superman”—Hide Away by Daya
Lily
“Step on the ice, Lilybug,” Colin says, never breaking his gaze from my eyes. His voice is strict. No, he is strict, demanding.
I don’t think he will stop demanding me to start skating until I finally do.
As much as I want to, I just can’t. So I tell him. Again. “I can’t,” I whisper through gritted teeth.
He is aware that skating has played a huge role in my life, he doesn’t know how big, but I guess he has an idea. However, I put skating to ice when my motivation froze. There is no way I can get back out there without drawing a panic attack out of me for it.
It’s not that skating scares me. It’s merely the fact that I am afraid I won’t like it anymore or that I might like it too much.
I’m afraid skating will come back into my life like I’ve never put it in the freezer to rot there until I die.
“I can’t force you,” he says softly. “Do it for yourself, Lilybug. For the little girl that used to love standing on the ice, feeling like she’s floating, jumping from cloud to cloud. I know that’s what skating used to feel like for you. Freeing. Like you’re floating through the sky, above the clouds, reaching for the stars. Do it for the little girl that had big dreams, dreams she shared with her favorite person in the universe. The dream that had you on the ice between hockey halves to show the audience—with a huge smile—that skating doesn’t require a puck and sticks, goals and massive guys that try their hardest not to send their opponent into a long-lasting sleep. Think about the little girl that couldn’t wait to get back on the ice the second she stepped off of it. The same little girl that would hate herself right about now if she knew her older self put her dreams to rest, burying it under tons of layers of regret, blood and tears. Make her happy, just this one last time.”
I hate him. I do. Why does he have to say smart things when I need him to be stupid?
I’m sure Colin knows this would somehow get to me.
I bet Aaron told him all about the dreams I used to have. There is no way he knew that much from the little information I provided for him. Then again, Colin is smarter than he shows to be, and he certainly knows the feeling of skating over ice.
Damn him. And he doesn’t even stay for me to yell at him. No, Colin is running away, skating over the ice right to his sister.
The same girl that would hate herself right about now if she knew her older self put her dreams to rest.
He is not wrong.
I hate that he’s not wrong. If I were ten and learned I would stop skating at the age of nineteen, never starting again either…I would have thrown a tantrum. Never would I have believed it for a second.
Skating was my life. It was what breathed air into my lungs. What would let me forget pain, let me forget that my family wasn’t one anymore. It would make me happy, make me smile, laugh.
Apart from bringing out the competitive side in me, skating has taught me how to release frustration. Maybe my coach caused most of the frustration by pushing me, but that doesn’t matter right now.
I’m standing right in front of the ice. It takes one tiny step, and I would be on it. I would feel my feet slip, the blades of my skates gliding over the ice in a smooth motion like I know they would.
Is it possible to forget how to do what you once loved to do?
What if I forgot how to skate?
That’s unlikely, right? My muscles must remember how to do it. They have to. It’s all I have left.
Eira is laughing, causing my head to jerk up, my eyes following Colin and Eira as he pulls her after him, skating over the ice so effortlessly.
She screams something in Spanish while laughing. And when a cough follows, Colin immediately halts and turns to her, putting his hands on her shoulders, analyzing her face.
I still don’t understand what all this is about, but I no longer think this is just a flu. It has to be something more, otherwise neither Colin nor their mother would react the way they do. Parents and siblings don’t usually get so worried about skating, unless there is a serious reason behind all of it.
As much as I want to know the real reason, I won’t push Colin to tell me. If he wants me to know, he will enlighten me.
Then Colin’s word come back into my head. Make her happy, just this one last time.
Something is seriously wrong with Eira, and I’m here whining about my passion possibly no longer being my passion.
Even if it’s not, what do I have to lose? Nothing. And it sure would make child-me a whole lot happier, knowing I died and still did what I loved at least one last time before my death.
Taking a deep breath and clenching my hands into firsts, I carefully set one foot onto the slippery ice. My breath is shaky, my heart pounding like I’ve been running a whole marathon. I can feel the thump-thump through my entire body, being awfully aware of every inch of myself.
I know better than to step on the ice without doing a little push before coming to a stop, but I can’t help it right now. I need to do this slowly, ignoring that I might fall right away.
Inhaling one more deep breath and exhaling it once it’s been inside of my lungs long enough, my brain turns off, muscle memories activate themselves. And before I even realize it, my left foot—the one that’s not on the ice—is pushing me away from solid, non-slippery ground, causing both of my feet to glide over the ice.
I don’t trip, don’t fall. I just glide over the ice. I don’t move though, just letting this one push, the one my body did without me realizing, come to a natural stop.
And when I do stop, my eyes open slowly, my breathing still shaky, still weak.
I can’t feel Colin’s eyes on me, but he must have noticed me stepping on here. I’m glad he knows better than to approach me and make a comment. He always knows better for some unknown reasons.
When the feeling of me being back on the ice finally settles within me, it’s like the sunrise I’ve watched with Colin on day one—or more like day two.
Something inside of me rises, shines and glows, bringing warmth to my heart in the way only Colin ever managed to. It’s this kind of warmth that screams comfort, passion, love. It’s as though my body knows this is what I was supposed to do, where I’m supposed to be: on the ice.
The feeling of something missing I felt in my heart just a few moments ago is completely vanished. I know I’ve missed skating. Ever since I gave up on it, I knew I would miss it more than anything. And now that I’m standing back on it, I realize just how much I actually missed it.
I’m wondering how I ever thought that giving up what I love would help getting through dark times?
How could my body, my own mind betray me like this?
How could my own thoughts tell me I didn’t want this anymore? That I didn’t want to skate anymore, didn’t want to pursue my dreams when clearly it’s still a part of me?
How could my own mind betray me, when all I ever did was listen and act in its favor? Not once have I done something my head told me not to do.
We were in for a long run with skating, until my brain wasn’t anymore.
My heart kept yelling for me to go back, put those skates on and do what I love, but my brain tuned those cries down, left me thinking I didn’t want it.
When did I stop listening to what my heart wanted? When did I allow awful thoughts, an illness, to come between me and my passion?
I know this is temporary thinking. I know by the time tomorrow arrives, hell, maybe even in an hour, my depression will get to me again. It will rip me to piece, again. Throw me under the bus like it always has.
But until then…I will—have to—make this time count.
With a smile on my face, I allow myself to skate, skate as though I’ve never once stopped. As though I haven’t laid my dreams to ice and let it rot together with my will to live.
It gets even more magical when I remember that I used to be a figure skater, being able to ace jumps and spins. I’m not quite sure I could still pull them off, especially without any warm-ups, but I can try.
Of course I wouldn’t be me if I’d choose the easiest jump I knew, or just normal jumping up and seeing if I could even still catch myself doing that. No, instead I decide to go for the Lutz. Skating backwards has always been my favorite—it’s more exciting, at least to me.
Like the Lutz isn’t one of the hardest jumps for a lot of skaters, and yet I choose to go with it for my first jump after years.
Best believe I will break some bones.
Taking off from the back outside edge, I do as I’m supposed to; performing a long glide in a long arc right into the corner of the rink, doing everything to get ready to shoot up into the air. I’ve never been one to take the easy way out—apart from my plan to end my life in a couple of days—so counterrotation it is. I mean, otherwise it would be more of a Flutz and not a Lutz, anyway.
The jump actually works out better than I expected. I thought I’d end up with broken bones, but I land pretty safely, a bit wobbly maybe, and definitely not as professional-looking as it used to, but hell does that feel good.
The sad thing to realize in life, you only ever start missing something when you no longer have it. Eventually that can turn into your new “normal.” A life without that one thing, but it’s never going to be the same again. You start to forget what it was like, what it felt like with your passion still being in your life. You learn to live without it, and it becomes natural. And then you get it back—if you’re lucky enough, that is—and only then do you realize how much you’ve missed it.
I never want to let skating go ever again. Dammit.
That’s what I was afraid of. Loving skating again. Having skating to hold on to. Having skating become a life-savor, again.
Well, at least until my depression makes a reappearance.
It will return. Depression doesn’t just leave because you actually do what you used to love for once.
If it was that easy…there’s no use talking about it, it’s not nor will ever be this easy.
Overcoming depression will never be easy, if overcoming is even a thing. Lord knows, it might stay forever.
Turning around, I find Colin and Eira watching me. Eira has a huge grin on her face. So does Colin.
I’m sure they’re for two whole different reasons.
Eira’s smile looks more like an amazed smile. Kind of as if she is fascinated by my jump. Colin on the contrary, he looks proud. He has this I’m-oh-so-proud-of-you dad-smile plastered on his face.
I’m proud of myself. Colin might have given me the push, but I did it. I stepped on the ice because I wanted to.
Hell does that feel good.
“¡Dios mío!” Eira shrieks as I skate over, approaching her and her brother. “I’ve never seen someone pull that off in person!”
“I didn’t think I could still do it…” I reply in all honesty.
As much as I will hate myself for doing this afterward, I fall into Colin’s arms, being in desperate need for a hug. Not because I sort of pulled off this jump, but because I am skating.
My eyes want to tear up, but I suppress the urge to cry.
His arms wrap around me immediately. “I’m so proud of you, mi sol.” I can feel him plant an ever so soft kiss on top of my head. So soft and gentle, it tightens my chest.
“What did you call her?” Eira asks Colin.
I turn my head so I can look at her, seeing that her eyes are widened and something that I can’t put a label on is sparkling in her eyes.
“Mi sol,” answers Colin with a rather shy but happy smile, cheeks slightly flushed. Those reddened cheeks must come from the cold.
“I still have no idea what it means,” I tell her. “Care to enlighten me?”
Eira shakes her head. As soon as Colin’s words seem to settle in, her jaw drops and only a second later, the corners of her mouth tug into a wide and joyful smile. “Oh, Aiden would love that! He has to be so damn pleased with himself right now. And he’d be proud of you, obviously.”
“I suppose.”
“Colin, if Aiden were here and he would have heard you say that, he would be flashing a smile as bright as the Eiffel Tower when it’s doing this sparkly shining thing.”
