Meet me on the other side

The river was frozen. A blank carpet that stretched from a bank to the other, waiting to be cracked apart by skating blades. Liv’s hair undulated in the wind, around her neck and shoulders, and she stared at the immaculate carpet calling her ahead. She walked down the bank and approached it. The ice absorbed the light of the sun and the closer she bent, the more blur the river. She stretched her hand but the wind intensified and shoved her away. Something roared in the air, up above, but as she looked up, the sky was blank. As blank as the carpet. The sound amplified. Engine and propellers. She ducked in the snow, behind frozen roots, to shield herself from the wind, but it pushed her towards the river. She tried to grip the roots but her hands slid off. She rolled into the snow and the wind pushed her right into the river. The ice cracked under her. She screamed but sound came out. The cold water skinned her flesh. She tried to scream again – in vain. 

Liv clamped her duvet tight. The phosphorescent star stickers glued to the ceiling of her bedroom were lacklustre but enough to sooth her. She sighed. The flying engine was that of a helicopter, without a doubt, that of a goal present enough to tease you but inaccessible enough to smash you. She rubbed her eyes. That was all because of Paul, the stranger who had reached out to her on the forum the night before. They had last spoken fifteen years ago, and she did not remember a single thing about him. But he remembered her quite well. How ironic that she thought him reaching out would inflate her self-esteem - at last someone cared. How ironic that it had done the opposite, by reminding her that life was a race where everyone dashed ahead. Everyone but her. She felt herself sinking again and, no matter how tight she clung to her duvet, she sank deep and deeper. 

Peter was asleep on the swing of its cage. She slid the window of the balcony open and her bare feet stepped onto the snow that had found its way through the thin railing. Flakes settled into her palm and melted right away. The muscles of her tights shook instinctively, to warm her up, as the wind whipped them. She barely noticed. A thin layer of cotton hushed the street underneath her and pockets of ice covered the road that led to the riverbank further down. Had the river turned icy like in her nightmare? She wondered.

Her deerstalker and flat boots on, she walked to the riverbank, passing by brownstones buildings and greasy windows. She had picked that neighbourhood for its artsy edge and melancholic tone, but under the grim light of that winter pre-dawn, that style weighed on her more than anything.

She took the metallic stairs that spiralled down towards the bank of the river which hid behind birches, plane trees and pines. She could hear its stream. No, the river had not turned into an icy puddle as she had expected. Nothing ever turned as she expected. She strolled along the obscure path that followed the river, hands in her pockets; she knew each twist and turn of that promenade by heart. In summer, by the golden oak, they sold homemade lemonade and cherries, and by the weeping willow, people fussed around colourful stands of a makeshift market. But at 5am in winter, the area was empty. The only thing around were frosty benches. She sat on the edge of one and watched chunks of ice float down the river. Did it bring her peace? No. Did she feel better? No. She needed a drink.

She turned left and kept walking, unsure of where that new path would take her, but that did not matter. What mattered was the dark cloud expanding inside her chest. A cloud of disappointment and bitterness - nobody cared and nothing worked. With people, with journalism, with figure skating – everything failed. The list of her failures swirled in her head and looked at her straight in the eyes. She looked straight back at them and kept walking.

The lights of the grocery shop were surprisingly on. Maybe that was a sign. The neon light blinded her as she stepped in. A man in grey hat and gloves was unpacking boxes, ripping them open and arranging batches of chocolate bars and snacks in the shelves to her right. She poked his shoulder and he turned around.

"Oh, hi," he said, removing his headphones, "how is it going?"

"I'd like a hot chocolate."

He checked his watch and smiled. "That way."

The swinging of his arms, mechanical yet swift, reminded her he was the cashier who had helped her choose seeds for her bird, Peter, the day before. She remembered his name was Paul. Like the stranger from the forum. The shadow of a helicopter danced at the back of her mind again and her stomach twisted inside. She needed to stop comparing herself to him.

"Are you working today?", he asked as he stepped behind the counter and pressed a button on the modest coffee machine.

"No, not today. I lost my job yesterday."

"Ah." He stared back at the coffee machine. "Are you ok?"

"I’ve had better days. I just need a coffee.”

"I heard 5am is the best time to get coffee." He handed her her cup and hinted at one of the high tables behind her where empty stalls awaited.

"Do you always work night shifts?", she asked.

"Only today. Actually, we’re closing in 2 hours. I am running behind schedule because of the classes I'm taking, so I had to stay overnight."

Even the cashier from the grocery shop downstairs was on to something glorious. The cloud reappeared in her chest.

"What kind of classes?"

"Nothing special, driving license." He had observed her face carefully before answering and she wondered why. But at least, he was not taking fancy classes – she smiled internally.

"What brings you here at 5am?", he asked.

She looked at the snowy night outside. She had never noticed that on that side of the town, there were no decorations for Christmas.

"I lost my job yesterday and a friend of mine recontacted me. I mean not a real friend. Someone I met online years ago. I was happy someone thought of me at that time of the year but -"

"You're not celebrating with your family?"

"I hate them.”

"Ah -"

"They are weak souls." She took a sip from her hot drink. "I thought I'd be better off celebrating on my own but then my neighbours dumped their crazy bird on my doormat, so I had to take care of it. Then there was that deadline at work that I missed, and my boss told me they had found a replacement for me already so... not my best Christmas."

"Sometimes things are not as bad as we think. Maybe that stranger contacting you was not a coincidence?" He gave her a discreet smile.

"Doubt so. He is doing his thing, becoming a helicopter pilot - people became fancy with the years." The cashier's face tensed up as she pronounced those words. If she could not open up and speak her mind what was the point of him sitting there with her? 

"Maybe that person remembered you and wanted to share something they are happy about with you. It means they trust you."

"He doesn't even know me. He was just showing off."

The cashier frowned. "What made you so bitter?"

"I've always been."

"You seemed happy when you mentioned figure skating yesterday."

"Spare me those violins, will you. I injured my ankle, and even that I can't do anymore."

"Remind me your name again?"

"Olivia."

"Yeah, Olivia. Get over yourself."

He stood up and walked back to his cart. Liv's cheeks fired up - how dare he? She jumped off the stall and followed him.

"Who are you to tell me that?"

"I've got to work to do, Olivia. Listen, if you're so envious of that guy online, what don't you do the same? Find what's your -"

"Envious? Me? Who do you think I am?"

He rolled his eyes.

"I don't know who you are, and I don't care. I was just trying to help. Now, if you can’t appreciate that, the door is that way." He turned around towards the shelves, pushing his headphones back on.

Liv stared at his back for a minute, shaking. She walked back to their table and smashed her cup, spilling around the remaining of hot chocolate that was inside. People were all the same.

The snow had grown into a storm outside and the wind skinned her face as she rushed back to her flat. Tears, from the cold, sadness or frustration - she could not say - were running down her cheeks, no matter how much she wiped her eyes.

Peter the bird was screaming already - it was hungry. She stuck the cage outside on the balcony, under the snowstorm. Stupid bird. She curved into a ball to drain the cloud that had broken loose inside her. As tears fell, she remembered she had promised the bird to never leave it outside in the snow again. Had she become like those parents that beat their kids to death? She pushed the curtain open and looked at the bird on the other side of the window - it was shaking with cold. What was she doing? She opened the door and pulled the cage back in. She didn't apologize for her words, she now realized, were worthless. She caressed the top of the cage instead and sliced candy cane for the bird. The bird ignored her treat and looked away as she approached her face from the cage. She gave up.

Liv paced across the kitchen, replaying the scene with the cashier in her head. How could he think she was envious? She had nothing to envy other people. She had she and all she needed was luck. She closed her eyes and, in the dark, paraded the faces of all the people who had belittled and judged her without hearing her story. All the people who had hurt her. She squeezed her fists while a silent rage, inside, infused each cell of her body. She would prove them wrong. All of them.

Two exhibitions were on in town on that day, 30th of December - she picked the one on David Bowie. She would write the best article Fred had ever read, show up to his office and smash her article right into his face. She would then vanish and leave him, there, bemused. She would drive far away to Bowies' Heroes and start a new life for herself – with self-esteem. Here was her plan for the rest of the year. She had 30 hours left.

She tucked her hat on and marched to the bus station, determined. “No bus today” – a sign read. Damn. The music museum was forty minutes away and, walking through the muddy snow that had piled up around, she would certainly need twice as long to reach it. Fine.

“Keep clear.” A construction worker called her from afar.

She crossed the street to reach the bridge. 

“It’s closed down there. If you want to go to the other side of the town, you have to take a bus.”

He was right, no more walking after that point. Damn. But buses weren't circulating on that day either. How would she cross the river? 

“Watch out…” a voice screamed from behind.

“Do you know if there’s another bus stop somewhere?”

“Why would you take the bus today?”

She didn’t bother to reply and turned around. As she walked past the metallic stairs that she had climbed before dawn on that morning, she heard kids laugh and scream further down. Dressed in vivid woollen hats, they were skating on the ice. She leaned on the railing and watch them play; how lucky they were. Wait, was the river frozen?

She rushed down the staircase to the spot where the kids were playing, by the weeping willow. Parents and children queued in front of a stand with blue garlands where a man handed and collected skates. The man looked at her and she stepped back instinctively, she didn’t want him to offer her to try ice skating. The warmth of the sunlights that hit the frozen river ahead tickled her cheeks. How nice would it be to skate under that light, though. She approached the edge of the river - maybe she could cross that river. The other side seemed far away. And the ice seemed thin. Yet, children skated and laughed carelessly. Perhaps, their lightness made it easier for them to slide on that thin layer. Right, but to the left adults were also skating. Perhaps their laughter made them lighter. She would sink deep if the stepped onto the ice, just like in her nightmare that night. She looked down at her flat boots. Could her ankle even handle it? She rolled her ankle to test it. It rolled smoothly, but perhaps it did not mean a thing, perhaps it was still fragile. 

“Hey.” The long-haired guy was looking at her from behind his stand. “Want to try?”

“I don’t have cash.” She said, although that was not true. 

He smiled under his blue sunglasses and grabbed a pair of shoes from the racks behind him. He put them on the stand in front of him.

“Just make sure to bring them back. Sometime.”

She looked at the white skates on the stand as he helped a kid untie his laces. Their leather was fine, and their blade lured under the morning sun. She wanted to try them. But what if she fell? What if she injured herself again? She touched her ankle, perhaps she could still skate fine. Perhaps she could impress a couple of people.

“What’s blocking you?”

“I just… I’m fine. Thanks.” 

“I can come with you if you’re afraid.”

“Me? Afraid? No. I used to be semi-professional. I just haven’t skated in a while.”

“Then, I’ll come with you.”

He took her by the hands and as he stepped backwards towards the river she kept advancing. She felt the crisp of the ice under the blades of her skates and let out a small cry. Out of surprise. Or excitement. Or fear. Out of something. He lifted her hands gently, like with kids, to help her watch her feet progress on the ice. She started to laugh, and he laughed too. She kept advancing, one foot after the other. She felt light on her knees and her ankle was no matter anymore. 

“You want to skate to the other side?”, he asked still holding her hands as they slid in sync on the empty river. The children’s voices and laughter resonated from afar. Only the blow of the wind and their blades carving the ice surrounded them.

“I have an appointment. At the museum. I wanted to see the exhibition on David Bowie.” She said, panting between each sentence.

“Today? Aren’t museums closed on the 31^st?”

“Are we the 31^st?” She halted and he tried to catch her, but her parking was well controlled. Now it made sense – the town did close down on the 31^st, it made sense now why the construction workers were questioning her and why the cashier said he had to finish work before dawn. But it also meant that she wouldn’t visit the exhibition and that her opportunity to reveal herself to her bosses was gone. What do you have to lose? You’re fired anyway, a voice said in her head. But she wasn’t doing it for them, she was doing it for herself – if she couldn’t prove to herself that she was worth it, no one would believe it on the outside either. And she needed that self-validation before the end of the day, that was the condition for starting anew the next year.

“What’s going on up there?” His mittens pointed at the center of her forehead. 

“Nothing.” 

“Shall we continue?”

“I’ll continue. I want to go to the other side by myself.”

“Means I won’t be there to catch you.”

She let go of his hands and stepped back. She slid around him, drawing increasingly larger circles.

“I’ll bring the skates back in three hours.”, she screamed from afar.

“I won’t be there.”

“I can leave them at the stand?”

“You can keep them.”

“What if the ice breaks and I drown? You’ll have lost them.”, she said as she approached back. She liked that he thought of himself as necessary and she liked that he had given her the opportunity to realise and prove she was fine by herself.

“Then you’ll have lost more than me because you'll have lost face." He pulled the top of her deerstalker down to her nose. "And I'm fine with it."

She watched him slide back towards the bank where the stand was, without looking back at her. Slowly, the sound of his skates faded and slowly he became a tiny colorful point. Only the light breeze on her cheeks and the shadow of a cloud on the ice surrounded her now. She turned around; the other side waited for her. She spotted a birch on the bank and decided to target it. That tree would become her only and final goal to reach for the year. One for herself and no one else. She looked straight at it and pushed her right foot forward. And her left foot. Smoothly, she slid. Smoothly, she kept going.