For my 22nd birthday, I asked for and recieved a pair of roller skates.
Not blades, mind you, skates.
Upon opening the package, I pulled out my skates, shook my head sadly at their sheer ugliness (if I had known what size I was in men’s footwear I would have gotten the spiffier, black skates, but alas, as a female I was regulated to white, or white with pink wheels), resolved to decorate them thoroughly, and then took them out for a test drive.
I learned several things in doing so, firstly, that Floridian August is not good skate weather. I also discovered that going through puberty had shifted my center of balance significantly, and that my ability to feel shame is still alive and kicking.
Never attempt to roller skate on a crowded apartment complex parking lot.
My first obstacle was getting down from our front stairs, where I had foolishly laced up. There is about a forty degree slope from the bottom of the stairs to the parking lot. It goes on for a good ten feet. It’s hardly noticeable when one is wearing regular old shoes, but in a pair of new roller skates, it was Mt. Everest. My first idea was to let myself coast down the driveway.
When I was ten, our neighbors had a driveway a lot like the one I have today. It was one of my favorite places to skate. I would crouch down over my skates at the top of the driveway and push off, rising to my feet as I descended to both speed myself up and maintain my balance. It was easy, it was great fun, and it gave you terrific momentum for pulling trick turns in the Bubar’s driveway across the street.
I remembered those days well. I also remembered that I was indestructable back then.
I considered taking the skates off and putting them back on when I was more suitably positioned at the bottom of the hill.
Instead, I sidled down the grass, carefully placing each foot so as not to a) start rolling in spite of the added traction or b) stick my skates into a fire ant hill. It took approximately ten minutes, and three near-twists of my ankles.
Once at the curb, I bravely stepped off, and started rolling, completely forgetting that yes, the parking lot was STILL slanting downwards. I caught myself on my roommate’s side mirror. Then I had to let go again because black anything gets extremely hot.
Then I sat down quickly, and decided it was time to reevaluate my plan.
I was facing several problems, most of which had to do with the fact that I had been silly enough to willingly strap wheels to my feet. I was also facing a group of small children who were staring at me from across the parking lot.
There was no way I was giving up now.
After several attempts and a few minor scrapes and bruises, I was once again settled on my feet, and positioned to move ACROSS the hill, rather than down it. I started off.
Left foot, good. That went well.
Right foot. Pretty good, keeping the ride side a little short, it seems.
Left foot. Yeah, we like the left foot. Must be that symbol of power I tattooed onto my left ankle.
Right foo–
The pavement went away.
Right then, try it again. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot, right foo–
Drat.
Right foot, left, right–get back up. Left, right, left, stop before I can fall down, gather myself, begin again. Left, right, left, stop, begin again. Left, right....
And so I made my way along the lot, and slowly up sloped road to my right, passing the mailman and two cute guys with no shirts on playing catch. Pause. Pose. Look cool. Panic, as I roll slowly down the hill backwards, pretend that Mailman is not laughing at me but at some amusing postcard. Or bill.
Curse, start again.
I made it all the way up to the parking lot behind my building, then turned around to make the trip back.
Left, right, left, right, left, starting to get the rhythm back now... make sure not to over balance... and I suddenly remember that the little rubber stopper thingy at the front of the skate does ABSOLUTELY NOTHING, and that the tried, true, and patented way to stop is to roll into a car.
Cars are hot.
I will NOT fall.
And with a dull thud, I hit the trunk of a random car, just in time to be seen by the woman driving a pick up into the lot. Pause, balance on the car/braking system, try to look calm, and sporty, and not like the metal of the car’s trunk is burning through the back of my shirt. Start again.
I make it back to the street without further incident, and find myself looking back down the hill.
With speed bumps.
It’s at this point that I make the most intelligent decision I had made all day, weighing my fond memories of skating adventures and the speeding sensation that makes you think you’re flying against the multiple bruises I’ve acquired on my knees, butt, and ego, and take off the skates at the top of the hill, and walk calmly back down the street in my socks.
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