GO!

Last night I attended Brooke’s skating, drinking, chocolate cake havin’, 80’s birthday bonanza.

I strap on roller skates, like the other kids, and take my first awkward steps believing at any moment the floor and the ceiling will decide to trade places (or the fact that only people <22 have the healing abilities to recover from the resulting catastrophes). I tentatively shrug off my panic and take the three heart attacks per minute on wheels out to the dim, strobe-lit rink for a test drive. My brain and feet have a showdown, but no one wins. They each begin negotiating space and time with their own free will as all three host their independently themed cocktail parties. The Bee Gees come on and I hear Barry Gibb’s falsetto over the shrill of my hysteria. It lulls me but gives me speed. I question the quality of my brakes. How to use them if I have to? Falling works. Gradually, I notice I moved without really moving at all, so I go faster. Kirsten, Eric and Libby fly by with their toothy smiles offering me their hands and sagely advice. I grab on awkwardly laughing, feeling like a kid again, and certainly no more graceful than one.