Daylight

1

amelie

"Hey, did you get the last of the notes, I missed a couple of points..."

For the 100th time this semester, I ignored the girl sitting next to me in my quantum mechanics lecture. While I store my belongings in my backpack, I wonder why she doesn't understand that the presence of headphones is society's universal language for "I don't want to talk."

Sighing quietly, I leave the room last and rush through the halls, weaving swiftly between clusters of bodies. I don't look up until I get into my dorm room, and quickly close the door.

Eye contact means openness. Possibility for interaction.

So, I rarely look at people.

Including myself.

The only things I'm better at than being socially inept are figure skating and ignoring my problems. I would rank the latter at #1 on the list. Some things come naturally, and for me, denial is one of those things.

I refill my water bottle, toss a granola bar into my bag and change into my work clothes. Black leggings, dark blue athletic zip up, and white Nike socks with matching Air Force 1s. Right after I tie my hair into a semi-decent ponytail, I hear my phone vibrate on my bed. Glancing at the screen, I barely let out a smile as I answered.

"Hey Mom. Just getting ready for work."

"I figured so. How has today been going?" She says, her soothing tone drawing out a relaxed breath from me.

Kat Moreau has technically been my mother for only 5 years, but she makes me feel as if she's loved me my entire life. Marrying into the family a year after my dad divorced my biological mom, Kat didn't skip a beat in trying to bond with me.

Skating really helped with that. As a former Team USA figure skater herself, she understood the trials and tribulations that the sport came with. I suddenly had a parental figure that related to the mental pain I felt from weekly weigh-ins, the anxiety I experienced before competitions, and the ecstasy that consumed me when I medaled.

At first, I used to feel guilty that I became closer to her than Dad. That guilt faded as I saw how happy he was with Kat too, and when he told me he's never seen me this connected with someone.

Mom and I talked for another 10 minutes on my walk to work. I filled her in on the usual: classes, work, skating, my weekly forest hike. She told me about what her students were doing during training, her Pilates classes (that's always filled with gossip) and that Dad is away for business in Portland.

"He should only be gone for two weeks, but you know how it goes, Mellie."

I do know how it goes. Dad will say his trip is for two weeks in Portland, then wind up coming back in three weeks, miraculously flying in from LA instead. Dad's an architectural consultant, and while his job mainly consists of looking at buildings, he also gets his fair share of partying done. Mom and I tend to ignore that part, since we're both too busy to stress about it anyway.

"Mom, I'm almost at the rink. Je t'aime." I say, nearing my destination.

"I love you too, Mellie. Have a good skate tonight."

The call ends, and I'm nearing the entrance to Yost Ice Arena, better known as the Barn to any University of Michigan student. There are two sports most people care about here: football and hockey.

The Barn is equivalent to a church, and the fans are God's worshippers. Which makes the UMichigan men's hockey team a collective representation of God himself.

I work my way over to the concessions area, which I help manage 5x a week. Mom is good friends with Joe Platmann, owner and head of staff at the Barn. Their relationship stems from her pre-Team USA days. Back when she was just an ambitious skater too poor to join a skating club, and begged for ice time after rink hours. Her persistence led to her grabbing the attention of media all around Ann Arbor, eventually catching the eyes of coaches nationwide as videos of her practices circled the Internet.