It is Thursday evening, on December 21, 1961. The US president, a democrat, is beloved John F. Kennedy. Harold Macmillan (Conservative) is the Prime Minister of the UK. Pope John XXIII leads the Catholic Church. And all hope that a bright new year is directly ahead ...
I, being a high school senior, have just turned eighteen to Will’s nineteen. He’s a college sophomore, who my grandma adores at first sight upon hearing that he’s a pre-med,
It’s winter break, and we’re enjoying our first date. Has Will asked me to see a movie? Are we bowling? Or sharing thin crust sausage pizza sliced into squares? Not by a long shot!
Will and I are ice skating! In a park! On a starlit night! Romantic, right? Right!
And though I, owning my own skates adorned with pink pom-poms, can make it around the ice rink, Will is skating circles around me while I’m laughing, hopeful of not losing my balance, Will is actually circling me, skating backward so gracefully that I’m supremely impressed when, suddenly, I’m swept into his arms, gliding backward in dance formation as if I have a clue as to how to do this—while staying upright—which I most certainly do not! In fact, I’m lucky to slide backwards on the ice without humiliating myself by flailing my arms around while my skates, floundering this way and that, see me land on my keester, pulling Will down, as well. And the only reason that doesn’t happen is because Will’s hold around my waist feels so closely secured that my legs can’t help but follow his self confident lead, suggesting why, as we swirl round and round the starlit frozen pond— magically, two skate as gracefully as one.
Have I mentioned that we aren’t alone?
🙋🏻♀️Annie
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