Adam Fieled (editor, Plymouth Meeting, Pa, USA): Chimes: New Visions: Ice Skating Rink

The weekend nights we went ice skating at the Old York Road Ice Skating Rink, semi-adjacent to Elkins Park Square, also on Old York Road, weren’t much for Ted and I: just something to do. Neither of us could ice skate that much. But there was a DJ playing good music over the PA, and taking requests, and a lot of Cheltenham kids hung out at the rink on weekends, so it was a chance to see and be seen. One uneventful ice skating night, I tumbled onto my ass as usual, and rose to see a girl, sitting in a clump of kids, on the bleachers, staring fixedly at me. My next pass, I got in a good look at her, and saw the spell was holding: she was still staring. She was a dirty blonde, thick-set build, with very full lips, a wide mouth, and wearing a dark green winter hat. I made up my mind: my next pass, I was going to stare as fixedly at her as she was at me. Ted was floating in the environs somewhere, and didn’t know what was going on. So, here I came, looking at the girl in the green winter hat I’d never seen before, who seemed to want a piece of my action. I was close enough to make my presence known to her; we locked eyes; and what I saw in the delicate blue eyes was a sense of being startled, shocked into awareness somehow. Only, there was something so raw, so frank in them that I had to look away. My next, and final pass for the time being, the same thing happened. My eyes were startled, in an animal way, by how startled, how riveted her own eyes were, and I found myself unable to prolong contact. As Ted and I hung in the changing room, which had picnic tables and benches in it and doubled as a hang out space, I relayed to Ted, not without pride, what had happened. Ted was a reasonable, rather than a jealous type, but shy. So, the mysterious dirty blonde sat with her friends still, unmolested by us. Edward, our close acquaintance, a year older than us but kind, and conversant with almost everyone at the rink, was someone I could consult, so I did. I pointed her out, and he said, “Oh, that’s Nicole. Do you know her?” “No, I was just curious. Thanks, Eddie.” He chuckled, and left us alone, close acquaintanceship not guaranteeing me any more than that. I had wild hopes that Nicole would burst dramatically into the hang-out room with her friends, and perhaps propose marriage to me. When the gaggle of kids including Nicole, who had all been bleacher-hounding, left, they walked past us, down the steps and out. Nicole did not venture a final glance. For several months after that, I hoped Ted and I would see Nicole at the rink, but we did not. It was a lesson in the live-wire nature of desire, as it lives between people— how flames both begin to burn and are extinguished, out of nowhere, at the behest of forces no one really understands. Ted, that night, did his rounds, building a solid structure which would enable him to become a popular kid at CHS. I lit somebody on fire, but in such a way that all that could come from it was subsumed beneath implacable surfaces. Somewhere, I felt instinctively, was the key to the mystery I was looking for. Even if finding that key meant riding confusing, misleading, and/or agonizing waves.

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What the matrix structure of the Old York Road Ice Skating Rink held for us kiddies— as has been said, a place to see and be seen. Ted and I were sad to watch on the ice. But quirks emerged during our time there— the appearance of strange kids, and strange situations, from other places. Like Nicole. It wasn’t long after Nicole that a new, mini-epoch began at the rink, based on the manifestation of another figurehead, (they said) from Abington. Josie was a pretty, lank-haired blonde with a semi-mottled complexion. Like Nicole, she liked to sit on the bleachers with her Abington buddies. Word reached us that, unlike Nicole, Josie was loose. If you could get her down the stairs, into the parking lot, over past the big misshapen rock which was rather uselessly placed between the rink and the back of Elkins Park Square, into the no-man’s-land area where older kids liked to hang, anything might happen. I wanted a shot at Josie, too. As was de rigueur, Edward was our go-between. I had faith that he could power-broker anything. I called to him, on a night in March getting slightly too warm to still be at the rink, “Eddie, can I talk to you for a minute?” “What’s up, Foley?” “Is this thing about that Josie girl from Abington really true?” “I don’t know. I don’t know her that well.” “You know what people are saying.” “Sure I do, but there’s nothing too definite about what I’ve been told.” I was losing him. I had already semi-crossed a line Edward had set in place about what you (whoever you were, and however he ranked you) were allowed to extort, as precious data, from him. I had to act fast. “I want to meet Josie, Eddie. Can you help me?” “C’mon, Foley. That stuff doesn’t come cheap. Remember, I don’t know you too well, either.” Next gambit: “Alright, listen, Eddie. Didn’t you say earlier that you have a paper to write for Langhorne?” He nodded. “I’ll write it for you. If you’ll introduce me to Josie, I’ll write your Langhorne paper. You know I can.” “Really, Foley?” “That’s right, Eddie.” “Alright, give me half an hour. I’ll see what I can do.” The half hour wait was an itchy one. Ted was on an unstoppable roll. He’d lined up an impressive array of conquests. Mostly guys, mostly about how he was going to be situated. I was neglecting to do that task, because it just wasn’t in me to do it. Whatever was going to happen at CHS, I was ready to wing it. After ending the half hour with ten minutes of stumble-across-the-ice, I walked into the changing room to find Edward sitting there with Josie. “Josie, this is Adam Foley. Foley, call me tomorrow night, I’ll give you the assignment.” “You got it, Eddie.” I got terrible stomach butterflies; I thought I might vomit. I thought meeting Josie would be an ebullient, light-on-it’s-feet kind of production. Josie’s vibe up close was very heavy. I mumbled a few random pleasantries. Josie said, “Are you OK? You seem a little tense.” I was extremely tense. “No, just recovering from falling on my ass out there.” “Do you want to go for a walk?” “OK.” Down the stairs we went, out into the lot. “Here’s what I’m going to help you with, Adam Foley. Here’s what you need. You think you know who girls are— you think you know what girls want. This is not about us being friends or not friends. You sought me out, here I am, but I’m going to give you my diagnosis.” We were behind the big stupid rock— none of the older kids was around. “Here— you get to kiss me one time, no tongue.” As was incredible to me, I found myself momentarily lip-locked with Josie. A group of older kids, twenty yards away, behind Elkins Park Square, were moving towards us. The thing had to end very fast. The kiss was over. “Now, here’s who you are. You’re the guy who always sticks out like a sore thumb wherever you go. You’re the one who wants to do everything your way. You think you’re special. What I have to tell you is this— you are special, Adam, but in this world not everyone likes that. Your friend goes out of his way to make himself not special. You need to learn from us— you can’t always be exactly who you want. Eddie said, you’re a year younger than us. When you get to where we are, you better understand that the more you stick out, the more you’re a target. So, here’s how you pay me back.” We went over to Hillary’s in the Square; I bought her an ice cream cone. She ate it quickly, standing in the Square. Then, she took my hand, led me back to the rink. Even before the top of the stairs, she disappeared into a group of Abington kids. Had I learned my lesson? Sort of. I associated being special with the magic of words and music. I wasn’t a target yet, except maybe with Dad. Who knew? Now, I had an extra paper to write. I would try, for Eddie and Langhorne, to make it a special one. 

 

© Adam Fieled 2023-2024