Skatie

“I found you
skates. Only
Seven dollars.

But I
left them
on the

thrift store
shelf.”

Two days
later he returns.

A pair of blue
and gray roller
blades. They
say

“Chicago” on
the fabric,

look brand new.

My Husband tells
me all of the
stories about

being mad enough
to free skate
through London

for miles at rush
hour for decades
of his old wild

life. I tell him how
my Dads favorite

memory of me is
of when I would
rollerblade, age

9, on the 4th of
July with a bunch of
colored sparklers

in each hand. Tonight
we skated together
for the first time.

“I know.. my Dad..
sent those.. skates..”

I say, out of
breath, more stepping
in the skates than
skating at

this point.

Under a street
light, we kiss.

He doesn’t
let me

fall.

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