By Emma Gray
His coat was scabbed from torn-up skating passes.
He was at the rink every day. As a kid, I thought nothing could be more impressive. I talked at him for hours on ice, resuming every year without pause. I never learned his name, but I watched him disappear into the crowd at each day’s end, unknowable.
When I returned from college, I hoped to reunite, but he never showed. At the edge of the rink, I watched a boy with a chatty eight year old at his side: I couldn’t stop looking. So many people in this world have familiar faces.
The one that got away – we all have them. (Or the one that never took the hook…)
A hint of spooky mystery. Cool.