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Harvey was not what one would call an athletic child. Much to his father’s disappointment, he showed no promise for any pursuit that involved the hand-eye coordination necessary to move a ball. Soccer, baseball, tennis, golf… Harvey’s lack of skill was rivaled only by his lack of interest.
But when he strapped on a pair of skates, all of that changed.
He couldn’t remember the first time he skated. His mother said it was on a pond near his grandmother’s house, and he had no reason not to believe her. All he knew was that the way it felt to glide across the ice made sense to him in a way no other movement did.
He remembered his father’s excitement when Harvey had shown promise on the rink. A tiny hockey stick, a helmet, and a deluge of exasperated sighs nearly killed his interest in the ice by age five, but then a miracle arrived. A small figure skating class was scheduled directly after the open skate slot his father preferred. Harvey knew who to ask, and within a week his mother had him signed up.
Harvey was good, for his age and his area. Though he was normally clumsy and awkward, something between his body and his mind aligned once there was an inch of steel between him and the ground. Movements that would be impossible under normal circumstances became instinctive. A lean. A jump. A swirl. Tension in the torso and the thighs, arms reaching, music swelling, the speed intoxicating, the centrifugal force adding a strength that he never had on dry land.
There was a lot to be learned from figure skating. How to control the body. How to control the mind. How to follow directions. How to practice, again and again, skidding and falling and reddened hands and aching knees but always, always, getting right back up again. How to keep quiet about what you loved, because the scorn from your father and the other boys at school hurt worse than your body colliding with the ice. How to throw off suspicion, to evade and deflect, to lie, if needed, if pressed.
It was a secret he kept close, the love he had for skating. He bundled it near himself, bringing it in with his arms as he spun faster and faster, swirling in space as everything else fell away, the voices and the expectations and the sense that there was something about him that wasn’t quite right, until all that was left was him and the clear, clean way his skates would cut into the ice.
—
Of course, being good for your age and area is not the same thing as being talented enough to compete on a larger stage. As puberty bloomed and life’s other pressures loomed in, it became clear that skating would never be more than a pastime for Harvey. It stung, watching his peers move on to greater things, but this pain was also a lesson. It was better not to expect too much from life. Far better to accept the limits you’ve been given.
So Harvey accepted it. He let the skating go, much as he let go of his other dreams too. Pragmatism took their place, as did a relentless desire to please. The world, which seemed so jagged and unclear most of the time, seemed to relax and release when he was clear in his purpose. Medicine felt like putting on those skates all those years ago, like his mind had escaped the friction that dogged him, and as long as he kept his balance he could glide forward in a way that looked effortless.
So glide he did, and when life grew bumpy he swerved and spun, and finally he found himself in a place where he could breathe again. And slowly, over time, as he relaxed into his life in the valley he felt it again: the desire to lace up his skates.
A few years after moving to Pelican Town Harvey found himself with a perfect winter. Bone cold and windless, the pond freezing up all sweet and smooth. He’d seen the ice on his walks: solid, pristine, inviting him in. Part of him balked - it felt disrespectful to want to mar something so untouched. But such thoughts were silly, he knew, and of course skating was excellent exercise, so why shouldn’t he dig out his skates, ask Clint to sharpen them, and make his way out onto the ice?
It’d been years since he’d skated, but the body remembers. There was a stiffness to his movements as he pushed off the shoreline, but there was no hesitation. Core tight, shoulders straight, blades digging in with just the right amount of pressure to propel him into the center of the pond, to where the sun shone the brightest and the ice was so clear he could see the water underneath.
His body was different now. Bigger. Heavier. He wasn’t dressed to skate, not really, his long blue coat better suited for walks to the store than floating across the pond. But as much as had changed since he’d skated last, enough had stayed the same that it felt worth the risk to raise his foot and glide forward on a single blade.
Sometimes, when he was young, he’d lose track of time on the ice. A part of his psyche would fall asleep, leaving him alone with his body, all thoughts outside of him forgotten. He’d tried to recreate that feeling from time to time, with books and model planes, with movies and walks, but it was never the same. But on that winter afternoon, three days after his 39th birthday, he found a peace he hadn’t felt since he was twelve.
“Looking good, doc!”
Harvey didn’t know how long he’d been on the ice before he was interrupted. He’d been lost in lazy, looping figure eights, but the shout from the shore snapped him from his reverie. There, strapping on a pair of hockey skates, was Alex. Harvey knew the young man well enough. He’d seen him dozens of times in his office as he accompanied his grandparents to their endless appointments. Alex was everything Harvey had not been in his youth: strong, athletic, and driven. And yet as he watched Alex move out on the ice he saw how little difference there was between the two of them. Both were subject to physics, to momentum and friction. Both could make one wrong move and end up on their knees.
“Didn’t know you could skate.” Alex had crossed the pond with powerful strides, stopping with a great cascade of ice. His cheeks were pink with the cold and exertion, a broader smile than Harvey was used to seeing on his face.
“I don’t, really,” said Harvey. His hands had found his pockets without him realizing it. “At least, I haven’t in a while.”
“Coulda fooled me.” Alex seemed to struggle to stay still. He skated around Harvey as he spoke, blades digging into the ice with an aggression Harvey remembered from the hockey players he’d often shared the rink with. “You play hockey?”
And there it was. The counterpoint to the thrill. Because yes, when he skated he was fast, he was precise, he was strong and he was controlled. But he was also ashamed, because in so many ways he failed to meet expectations. So many of the things he wanted out of life simply failed to align with what he was called to be. Just as his body remembered how to skate, his mind remembered what it felt like to evade, to conceal. The lie lined itself up behind his teeth without a thought. Hockey? Yeah. I played as a kid.
It almost slipped out, but then it didn’t.
Harvey was different now. Life was different. He could feel it now, finally, on his skates under the sunny sky. Just because you were a person who learned to accept what life gave you, who followed the ebb and flow of the tides around you, it didn’t mean you had to live in secret.
“Figure skating,” Harvey said.
Alex grinned. “No shit. Well, I got an extra stick, so if you ever want to switch it up let me know.”
And that was that. Alex rocketed off to another end of the pond, clearly reveling in the power afforded by his skates. Harvey watched his back and the shards of ice that exploded in his wake.
The sun was getting low. Probably should head home soon.
But still, the ice beckoned.
Just a little more.
Harvey found a new spot on the pond. The ice was still clear there, still smooth and unmarred. He pushed forward on one blade, his body finding the balance. It was still in him, the fluidity, the speed. He shifted his weight, building up momentum, finding the right alignment of shoulders and torso and hips. And then a push, a leap, a turn, both skates in the air as he spun and landed on the opposite leg. He let the momentum take him into a spin, pulling his arms close to build up speed.
The ice in front of him was unmarked, but as Harvey turned he saw the path of his jump etched into the ice. The single line of his approach, the slight deepening as he readied himself, then the blank space when he was in the air.
They showed where he’d been, the grooves in the ice. Like vapor trails. Like scars. Like something you couldn’t hide, no matter how much you tried. You could try to be different, try to be who you weren’t, but the evidence lay behind you all the same.
Harvey took a deep breath in as the world revolved around him, then stopped his turn the way he had a thousand times before. Head spinning. One skate behind the other. Hands spread out. Lungs heaving, heart pounding, chest unprotected, arms open to the world, bright and compelling and unspeakably, unfathomably wide.