Blessed

Skateland (2)

"I'm going to have one hell of a blister," Malcolm remarked as we walked out into the cool night. The ground was slick with stale rain and the sky was a swirling dark void of heavy clouds. It smelled of October. My eyes burned from the drop in temperature and I wondered if it was going to rain again.

"Me too," I agreed, the cold air refreshing on my hot hot skin. Phantom skates were on my feet and I tried my best to walk normally. "But, it could be worse. When I was a kid, I would leave the skate rink with new bruises and scrapes every time we went."

"I can definitely see that happening," Malcolm teased and I rolled my eyes as he nudged me with his shoulder.

"How'd you get into ice skating?" I asked, the question shooting out of me before I could think it through. I always think about everything I say before I open my mouth, but with Malcolm, my mouth didn't seem to mind moving without consulting my brain first.

Malcolm sighed, fog curling around his cheeks, red with October wind. "It was my mother. She was an ice skater bound for a professional career, but she'd sprained her ankle during a performance and never got on the ice again. She'd wanted a daughter and when she had me instead, I became the personification of her ruined dream. Never worked out though. I quit as soon as I hit fourteen."

I nodded. A horrible image surfaced in my brain; Malcolm's mother watching him on the bleachers as he skated, her gaze cold as the ice her son stood on, watery with the alcohol residue in the empty bottle shoved in her purse. The thought saddened me despite the reassuring smile on Malcolm's face.

We made it to the car. Malcolm paused at the door. The ebony hood stretched between us, droplets of fallen rain splattered across the surface. "Did your mother ever teach you anything?" he asked.

My hand grew still on the passenger side door handle. I thought of the mother I left behind, the freckles on her wrinkled hands, the gray wisps of hair on the sides of her face. I hesitated, my mouth waiting impatiently as I thought through my answer carefully, lest I said something I would regret.

"My mother taught me how to make chili," I considered. "And how to recite verses from the Bible with conviction."

The door clicked softly as Malcolm opened it. "I don't think our mothers would get along."

I copied him, stepping into the vehicle. "It's probably best that we left them behind."

"Hallelujah!" Malcolm exclaimed, his hands in the air, a crooked smile on his face. He pulled the door shut, the air muffled now that the outside world was closed off. He shoved the keys in the ignition, the engine roaring to life under the expensive hood. He peeled out of the parking lot, the red-green of the traffic lights creating colored streams on the wet asphalt as he drove in the direction of home.

Sometime during the ride, Malcolm got lost in a rather dark secluded neighborhood. No other cars roamed the street, only large pieces of land stretching from house to isolated house. I asked multiple times if he wanted me to pull up the directions, but he relented, determined to find the way on his own. I pointed out that while he was many things, a navigator was not one of them. He promptly told me to shut the hell up and look for exit signs.

I scanned the dreary roads as a crack sounded in the sky, the rumble of hungry thunder following soon after. Malcolm careened to the side of the road, putting the trembling car in park just as fat rain droplets began to smash onto the windshield. They started few, sparse, until thousands of them were tumbling from the sky, exploding onto the car so fast and plenty that it was impossible to see anything, the fervent swiping of the windshield wipers useless against the downpour kicking up clouds of mist where it landed. I leaned back in my seat.