Hand-to-Hand

Tearing up the ice from underneath the ring they were inseparable. Flying across the whole circle, clouds of snow off left and right. She was a graceful, black dress with “diamonds” glistening along with the snow, he was her shadow lifting her up for the whole invisible audience to see. 

Companions in skating are viewed as a couple by most, with the exception being athletes themselves and trainers. They glided across. Jane was dancing, Tim – running. 

“Lift! Lift!” – yelled coach, his commanding voice echoing through the hangar-like stadium.

Tim took her in his arms yet again, spinning and showing her like a gentle bird or a trophy. Turn, twist, took her off, swaying from a slight imbalance, she descended back down. Passionate, imperfect landing, peeling off the ice. 

“Redo!” once again, yelled the echo. “Again! Again! Again!” it stammered, the word lost its meaning at this point. There was no reason it wouldn’t. Tim heard this too many times, from his childhood to adolescence. “Agains” till perfection. Cold precision finally gave way. She few off as a bird with cut wings would, and Tim tore his hand. Red ice.

“That’s it! We’re taking a break. 15 minutes.” Under the breath, dictated coach. 

Lifting up, quick patch up, Tim was ready to sharpen the precision yet again. Jane protested. With the “don’ts” and “calm downs”, 15 minutes turned into 24 hours. 

“You have a minute?” stammered Coach, scratching his grey moustache and barely grown goatee. “Going for a drink, so let’s talk. Just- just a catch-up so to speak.”

It was already dark, late evening at best. Yellow street lights led them to a small hole-in-the-wall shop on the corner. The place sold fried rice for most of the day, in the evenings – at half price. They sat outside of white plastic. 2 beers in, the conversation was reanimated.

“Look, Tim, you don’t just have a gift. You are the gift, ‘aight?” coach gulped down the ale, getting an even white moustache. “A jewel, a… doll or something, the ones you have in these small music boxes. You are perfect. I get you like Jane and all but face it.”

“So that’s what this is all about. Jane stays. You know I don’t do solo.” Tim, flushed red, his blond eyebrows getting whiter by the minute. 

“Never said anything like it. Pipe down.” Coach put his rough palm on Tim’s shoulder, “All that I ask, is to try a change. Competitions are coming up and they want to see something-“

“Perfect…” 

“See? You get it. This gal of yours is passionate but sloppy. Just try the other girl out for training tomorrow morning. God knows, Jane won’t let you anywhere near the skates till the evening.”

Silence. Uncomfortable kind, stretching minutes. Coach tossed a card on the desk, along with a couple of notes and stood up with a grunt.

“Sleep on it. She’ll be here from 9 to… well… whenever she’s done.”

It only took an hour and a few persuasive videos from her archive. 

Melissa was the name of his new partner.

It wasn’t long till Jane faded away. Ice skating is ruthless in finding partners. It would be impossible for a lady her age (20) to go back to anywhere near where she was before. Either go solo or spend weeks looking for a replacement. Farewell major leagues.

That night, after their last flight across the rink, an easygoing silence fell over both of them. No “agains” or push-backs, for a second it was as if the coach fell asleep. She was flying into a tango, desperately pushing away from the stiff precision. But it cut her like a razor. He was too smooth and calm.

Summer night, around August, was so dry, everything felt itchy, hands felt like paper. They walked in silence underneath the agitating yellow lights, on the corner they split.

“That’s the rules of the game” were the cold words she heard last from Tim. His eyes like glass pearls, reflecting each movement. Numb reaction, befitting the perfectionist.  He didn’t get anything back, not a tear or a protest. 

He was her partner, she was his colleague, after all.

Melissa was, indeed, a colleague. Precision in every movement every pirouette. Calm demeanour and eyes so magically blue, it would be hard not to fall in love with them. So they flew. Gracious, clean and by all means correct. Although, the only lights were of gold from then on. 

A few contests unearthed the guilt. Tim couldn’t look at himself, couldn’t sleep. However, as it often happens wealth and recognition soon numbed the effects. The glass-like sight turned to pearls, completely absorbing any chance at seeing himself for what he is—tinted white.

Olympics. One word to instil fear and awe in just about anyone who dabbled in sports. The closer to the sun, the more fear there is, rather than awe. High competition and stakes offered him another deal, this time it wasn’t someone he would know or rather the opposite. 

The smoke-filled inside of the ride was with walls of dark wood and leather. It wasn’t screaming, but calming stating: “Objection is not an option”.

“Tim Light, it has come to our attention, how incredibly you have demonstrated yourself. No doubt, you have had some success in the recent contests. Now. We would like to offer you an opportunity to perform in the biggest competition you’ve ever been in and I have no doubt you’ll succeed in.”

“Thank you, sir-“ Tim, or rather Mr. Light in this instance was immediately cut off with a slight raise of a hand from the man.

“On one condition. Absolute. Victory. 100% percent. Perform as you will, the effort for that rides on you – the remainder is up to us. Now… we shake on it, sign on it and deliver.” He extended his hand and gave a rough handshake. As if he was trying to break Tim’s hand. 

A few blocks down, they drop him off back home, even though he never even introduced himself.

Weeks turn to months, months into moments of clarity, to the point, where all you might remember is just a few moments. Visits with sponsors, press and so on. The whole thing became a job and a routine. 

In fact, the only night Tim remembered was one of the “ice shows”. An occasion to meet other athletes, celebrities and sponsors, naturally. Run of the mill dealing get-together. Show face, drink for free and out! 

The final act was no other than Jane. It wasn’t a careful act of diligence or even cold revenge. It was fury. Red lights, red dress. Circling the whole rink, almost cutting the edges off the border stands.  Rage, unconquered wild and clear. 

“I’m alive!” was the message, or rather… “I’m surviving.”  

Come the end she was exhausted, not from the eyes laid on her or the performance. It was but one of the jobs now. End of shift, as well.

The day of the competition was finally there. Chants, fans, jeers, stands, anthems, press, loud, anxious, yell and cry. Cold head, is what they were told and so they were on the surface. 

Two teams didn’t show. Technical issues.

One fell, another slipped. 

Two more had a dispute over doping, both guilty of set-up.

The last two, were performing.

Mere seconds before they went up, something cracked in Tim’s skates. They went on ice, smooth and clean. All routine, precision of the essence. Tim took her up again, and slipped on a slight angle, Melissa fixed it. He slipped again, she fixed it. She corrected each and every move, but like auto-tune – bluntly. 

Crack again. Sharp pain and so Melissa fell and Tim collapsed.

Tomorrow’s news was all the same. “Glass sabotage”, blood in skates and so on. Although it was never his legs that were injured, the hand healed much worse than they thought.