Yesterday, I went roller skating, and while I was dodging six-year-olds, I thought about when I was little, and Mom used to drop me off at the roller rink every single Saturday with my "chaperone," Chrissy Tulip (name changed). Now, Chrissy was only a few years older than me, and she wasn't much of a chaperone at all, because she was absolutely wild, and the boys loved her. Of course, Chrissy was a knockout. And then some. With long, black, feathered hair (held back by sparkly combs), Chrissy was tall, thin, and as graceful as any bird.
At the time, I had puffy, furry, fuzzy, static-ridden brown hair, and I was short and squat. My favorite Velva Sheen T-shirt was ironed with Smurfette on the front. Chrissy had cat-like blue eyes, and she had those special speed skates with pom poms, bells, and supersonic lasers or some shit. My skates were white, cheap hand-me-downs, and they were so scuffed, they nearly appeared gray. Chrissy wore dark, tight Chic jeans with a gold belt, and the clasp was an actual tiny, gold roller skate. I wore Levis that were too long, so I'd taken a scissors to the bottom of them. Let's put it this way -- my every lumbering duck move made Chrissy look more and more like a gentle, artistic swan.
So every Saturday, all damn day long, I was doomed to skate in the shadow of Chrissy. I was fast on my skates, but I was never smooth at all. With me, it was just muscle and boyish moves. Chrissy could backwards skate, side skate, do ridiculous circles, beam to Saturn and back, you name it. She was one of the girls who did demos in the middle when there was a break in the action. And she was always slow-skating with a boy here and there (undoubtedly the star boy skater in the rink). While Chrissy Tulip skated around the rink, first, one boy would start following her. Then two. Then ten or so, all amazed by her slick, black hair, long scissor legs, and her razor sharp roller moves.
And there I was next to her, trooping along like her funny sidekick, the princess' hilarious troll. I tried and tried, but I could never live up to Chrissy Tulip's presence. She was my friend in the neighborhood, but once we got to the roller rink, she turned into a disco demon on wheels.
Well, not long after, a group of neighborhood kids were playing Red Rover in the backyard. Holding hands, there were about five kids on each end of the yard. I was on one end, and Chrissy was in the group on the other. Of course, the object of Red Rover was about one side daring the other, and then the other side ran across to try and break any hand-holds. Well, in that sweetly perfect voice, Chrissy yelled, "Red Rover, Red Rover, I dare you to come over!" Without hesitation, I started running. And running. Faster and faster, I headed straight for Chrissy, who was holding the hand of Timmy Bolter (name changed). Man, how I pumped my short, stock legs, and I suddenly realized that since Chrissy had been spending most of her time slow-skating with boys, and I had spent most of my time trying to keep up with her, I had magically become super strong and fast as hell. So I aimed straight for that hand-lock she had on Timmy, and not only did I barrel through their hands, but I knocked them both over.
All three of us -- Timmy, Chrissy, and me -- fell into the grass, cracking up. All in the neighborhood were stunned by my sheer Red Rover power. Usually, I just kind of loped along at the game. Not anymore. Suddenly, I was in it for blood. And I realized that roller queen Chrissy might've been butter-smooth, but I had become faster and stronger, and I made them all laugh, and I thought I might challenge her to a race the next time Mom dropped us off at the roller rink.
After that, Timmy asked me if I wanted to play football with the boys in the front yard, which was indeed a great honor. Anything in the front yard was an honor. With a great gesture of approval, Chrissy Tulip nodded, turned her perfect Chic-jean-clad hips, and followed me.
C.A. MacConnell
