Cold Shoulder

EXIT LAUGHING

 

The story went:

 

At the age of twelve, with my birthday still six months away, I began asking, begging, my father to get me a pair of ice skates. He closed his ears and told me if I asked again, I would 'nt get anything at all. Of course, I asked again. He went immediately to his closet and brought out the old barber strop he kept for emergency, gave it a big crack and I ran for my life.

 

There were reasons I wanted ice skates so badly that I couldn't tell him about. The first, but not the most important, reason was my good friend Theresa and I had seen movies of Sonia Henie that made skating look so beautiful and easy, AND, Theresa, one year and three months older than I, had white high top ice skates and  a boyfriend, in fact, more than one. I had zero.

 

Some nights I thought about her, her skates and boyfriends and barely got any sleep. Why did she have all the luck? OK, she was taller than I, had long, blondish curls that reached her shoulders, and small breasts starting to show thru her clothes. On top of that, her father had a black Buick that he kept in the garage behind their house and paraded himself, wife, Theresa and her two brothers up and down the street on Sundays, keeping the windows open so they could wave to everyone.
My father told me never to wave back because the Waltons were big show-offs. I'd watch for Theresa and just wave to her, then go back in the house.

 

Early in December, 1947, my mom used a thumb tack to put a 1948 calendar on our kitchen wall. With my soft lead pencil I made a tiny dot under Saturday October 1, because that would be opening day at  Kennison's Skatedome and I wanted my ice skates ready to go.
Theresa showed me her brand new ones because her feet grew and her shoes no longer fit. I actually was glad about that but not her breasts. They showed a lot. My blouses still were flat. Before I asked her the question that came immediately in my mind, I went home, asked my mom if she could possibly buy Theresa's skates for me, if Theresa's mom will sell them. 'Mom, Mom, can I, can I, ask?' A shrug of her shoulders only told me she would have to ask my father. 'Ask him, ask him, Momma,' I begged.

 

We were having fried sole for dinner and I never liked it, always left my spinach on my plate, but I ate everything, and waited for Mom to mention the skates to my father. I gave her a little kick under the table and nodded towards my father to wake her up, make her ask him.
Being ignored put me on the spot. If there was something I wanted badly enough, and there certainly was, I'd have to plead, make promises to my father I might not keep. A little fairy inside of me, pushed and whispered in my ear, 'Now, now or never. Go.'

 

Dad sat still, heard me, but paid no attention, walked into the living room to listen to Jack Benny on the radio. I didn't help Mom clean up but followed him, sat on the floor next to his favorite big chair. When he turned off the radio, I asked again and got his answer. 'Why do you want to ice skate? You might break a leg. You'll never be good at it and how often do you think I am going to give you fifty cents to skate for an hour?'  He went on and on about the dangers, the long walk to the rink, night before I would get home. I felt so low, sad. He was turning me down. 

 

'Bring me a cup of coffee. Don't spill it on the rug or burn yourself. Then we'll talk.' Did I walk to the kitchen? I don't remember but think I flew. 'Daddy, I didn't spill it and have a Mary Sue cookie for you, too.'
Then my personal little fairy must have talked to him. 'How much does Theresa want for her shoes? Did you try them on with heavy socks? Could you stand up?' 'Her mother told me nine dollars but, Daddy, maybe if you offer her seven or eight, she'll be happy to take it.'
He needed time to think it over.

 

Neither he nor my mom told me they had bought (or hadn't bought)
my heart's desire. September was just a few days away. Not a peep from them, or from Theresa. Ten a.m, August 28th our door bell rang. 'Answer the door, Child., my father grumbled. On our door step was a big box, tied with a white satin ribbon. A white card dangled from it,  addressed to Sonia Henie. Oh, my god. Daddy must have bought Theresa's shoes for me. Overjoyed I raced inside, up the stairs, jumped on my dad who was still in his p.j.s I hugged him almost to death and then got to my mother. They we re very quiet. ' Dad told me to try on the ice skates and I realized these were brand new, not Theresa's at all. Two pairs of new high socks were also in the box. I put on the red ones, wiggled my feet into the skate and clomped around the room. 'Take them off. You might be tearing our carpet,' Mom said.

 

Saturday is just a day away. Theresa and her latest boyfriend take me with them to the rink. She helps me, ties the strings so tight, I have to loosen them a little. Holding my hand, she helps me go down the two wooden steps onto the rink. Swoosh, down I go before I take a single step on the ice. They laugh at me, pull me up, let me hold the rink railing just to get used to everything. I am sure every skater is laughing at me. Half a turn around the rink, holding on for dear life, I chance it and let go. A few steps out and my ankles turn over. I'm soaked thru and thru. Theresa and Tony are hysterically laughing at me. 'You thought this was easy, didn't you?' she asks. 'When Sonia did it, I knew it took a lot of practice. When I saw you skate, it all looked so simple. Theresa, I'm wet right thru my underwear. What should I do?' Pointing to other beginners near the outside wall, she tells me to be careful, go where they are and stand in front of the heater. 'You'll warm up.' I think about that, doubt it but go. She goes spinning, twirling around doing what she told me was an axle. I watch her for a while, have a bit more confidence, go out on the ice by myself. It gets easier and easier. Two laps and I have had enough for a while. The tops of my new white skates are wet, grey, very uncomfortable. I hobble to the steps, manage to loosen the strings, put on dry socks and my regular shoes.

 

Through the noise, the music, I hear Theresa above all others.
She is laughing so hard I think tears are running down her face. 'To Tony she says, 'That little dummy, thought this was a cinch. She'll never be a Henie. Neither will I. Let's take her home where she can check her bruises, let her shoes dry.'