Act Two

II

"Oh, Yasha! You did so well! I am so proud of you, (1) *мое солнышко!" Yakov's mother exclaimed and wrapped her arms around her son. "Mama, you don't have to hug me so tight!" Yakov laughed and gently hugged his mother back. "I'm sorry, Yasha, I'm just happy for you... I know you'll win gold." She smiled up at the younger man. Yakov's father approached the two to pat his son on the back. "Good job out there, my boy. You make a father proud." He grinned. Yakov thanked his parents and waved afterward to join his coach in the kiss and cry.

Yakov settled on the white bench alongside his coach, Grigory-Ruslanovich. "Representing Moscow, the score for Yakov Feltsman..." Yakov looked up, hands clasped together as he waited for his final score. "122.53. The total score is 234.86, putting Feltsman in second place." The score was not what Yakov wanted but he smiled anyway, glad to make it to the podium in the end. "Congratulations, Yasha. I'm proud of you." His coach put an arm around his shoulder. "Thank you, Coach Grigory." Yakov nodded, still feeling disappointed he had missed gold again.

The two got up and returned to their seats along with the young man's parents. "Sorry I'm not bringing home a gold medal, mama." Yakov apologized to his mother the second he saw her again. "Yasha, do not worry about what place you end up in. As long as you do your best and are happy. That is all that matters." Yakov nodded to his mother, thankful to have her here. "Thank you, mama." He whispered. His senior debut did not go the way he anticipated but that only meant he would come back next season even stronger. There's no giving up now.

Skating is like breathing to him.

It's late in the evening and Yakov is driving himself through town, watching the pale yellow beams from the street lamps pass by. Yakov and his father were able to get his battery replaced and working again. His parents still in town for another night until they leave tomorrow afternoon. The young man gently presses the brake as he approaches a red light, listening to the engine hum as he waits for green. It has only been a day since he came across the young woman in the convenience store. The quick interaction plays in his mind every waking moment of the day. Nothing is ringing a bell, frustrating him beyond the norm. Yakov was searching through his yearbooks after returning home from lunch.

Absolutely nothing. No one resembled the woman.

The light switches green, the car in front of him accelerating. Yakov follows behind, distancing himself. A few turns here and a few more turns there, the man winds up in a small parking lot between two short buildings in the outskirts of town. The long man climbs out of the little car, shutting the door and locking. He wanders around the corner and enters the run-down looking building, waving to a man in a separate room. "Yasha, you're the first to arrive. Come in, settle down." The brunette grins, standing up. "How are you?" Yakov asks as he takes a seat on one of the foldable metal chairs. "All right. The others should be here shortly. We can do a quick warmup while we wait?" Yakov agrees and the two men go through the Russian alphabet in sign language.

The movement is fluent to his body.

Other classmates arrive within the next five minutes and the short evening class officially begins. Yakov's been attending a beginner's sign language course for the past three weeks every Tuesday. Their homework is always practicing in front of a mirror and even using it while they talk in general. Yakov took up the class to obtain proper communication with his student Yaletha. The man felt bad not being able to understand her on his own. Let alone the young girl herself. She can read lips but only to a certain degree. She's been deaf for almost her entire life, losing it by the time she turned four. Yakov also felt guilty for her mother. Having to take time off work to accompany her to practice for many hours a week just to transcribe for the duo.