Fall Down Go Boom

There's a certain kind of thought process that occurs when one faces the reality of being back up on a pair of roller skates after twenty fiv . . . . one hell of a long time. That thought process could correctly be named "ridiculous sense of false confidence", or the "It's Like Riding a Bike" disease. Cause trust me. Getting back up on slick-as-shit-through-a-goose roller skates after any length of time is the folly of fools or old people who think they're still in some kind of decent shape. Or people like me who think that once ya got it, ya always got it. What I got was hardly attractive.

Daughter invited to friend's birthday party at a roller rink that we had to drive over 45 minutes just to find. Once there, we were asked if the "adults" would like to skate as well. ??? Well, SHIT yeah!!! Of course, at this point, the good natured ribbing and poking between husband and wife, the ribbing that usually starts out with "Watch me kick your ass" begins. The only thing that kicked my ass was the floor.

Skate counter: Young man with knowing smile on his face asks if we would like regular skates or "blades". Blank stare from me. Light bulb blinks on and I blurt "regular skates for God's sake." Subtle, huh? Now me, coming from the era when men's skates were always black and women's skates were always grey, pretending to be white, pinched the puke green skates that were handed to me between my fingers and confidently trotted over to the seating area to don said skates. My husband, having measurably more good sense than me, took his fire engine red ones in hand and schlumped despondently over to sit next to me and spend the next couple of minutes cussing mildly under his breath. Not me. I was perky! I was anticipating the air blowing through my hair as I glided effortlessly around the rink as in days of old. Old. Are you hearing me? Old is the operative word throughout here. OLD.

And stupid.

And the thought proess started:

"OK. Get up. Stand up. Quit bein' a weinie, people are watching you so stand the hell up. OK. Up. Put your arms down. It's carpet and anybody can stay upright ***whoops*** on carpet. Shuffle step, pause. Shuffle step, pause. Grab rail. Look for opening on the floor ok ok ok ok GO no wait. Wait. Wait for it. OK GO!!!! Oh Christ! OK. Don't move your feet yet. Glide. Shit. Put yer arms up! Balance balance. OK. okokokokokokokok. Move the right foot a little. Move the left foot a little and gliiiiiide. Arms up, arms down, wave arms. Circle arms. SHIT! OK. Got it. Fuck. A corner. How the hell do you turn these things. Move right foot move right foot move right foot damdamdamdam move right foot move right foot. Wheeeewww! OK. Push off with right. Push off with left. HEY! I'm getting it bac . . . . JESUS kid! . . . . OK. Dam. Another corner. OK. Around again. Around around around. Good good good. OK. Let's pick up a little speed, shall we? (let's have a lobotomy, shall we?) Good so far. Feelin' a little air there. OK. Arms down. Swing arms gently and push off push off, corner. OK Corner and aroooooound the corner and head back toward your friends. They're right up there standing at the rail and watching you in awe, admiring how quickly it all came back to you . . . . fuck. Kid. Tiny kid coming my way. Gotta stop. STOP! How the hell do you STOP. Toe thingy. Big rubber toe thingy on front. OK. Balance on left and drag rubber thingy with right. Shit. He's coming too damned fast. Slow down MORE.

Toe thingy catches. Hard. Hard enough to cause other foot to tilt forward that THAT rubber toe thingy catches and my entire weight comes crashing down on to my right knee. All of it. And of course there's that little thing we like to call momentum that continues to carry me forward, skidding across a hard rubber rink on my knee, arms out, right leg trailing gracefully behind me. Came to a stop in this lovely position directly in front of my now cheering and clapping friends.

I missed the kid.

And we rolled up my pants leg, the knee of which was surprisingly undamaged as I thought I might have BURNED the friggin thing right off my knee, to find a gorgeous red and purple floor burn covering the entire surface of my knee.

"That doesn't hurt" and off I went, made a few more circles, actually DID get some of the old rhythm back, got cocky, fell on my ass, nobody saw me, got back up again. And when the call for CAKE! went up, I hustled my bleeding and broken ass off the floor.

But. I missed the kid.