In early November Mama Papa Eve and I go roller-skating in the middle of the day. Ever since Mama came home Papa has made an effort to spend Fridays with us. Before his concerts in the evening. So far we’ve been to the movies. To the zoo. Out to lunch at Sweet Tomato followed by shopping at the mall. And now this week: Roller Palace!
Back in Baltimore Eve and I took ice-skating lessons for about a month. So after a few times around the Roller Palace rink we are coasting. Papa and Mama not so much. They stay at the very edges of the rink and take baby steps but still somehow end up falling on their butts every five minutes.
“Help us!” Mama screams with laughter as she tries to untangle Papa’s legs from hers. I zoom up and stop in front of them. I try pulling Mama up but she flails and falls again. Papa rolls onto the rug next to the rink and then stands up by getting on his knees first and crawling for a bit like a baby.
“Well. I guess you two should stick to playing music then.” Eve has zoomed up behind me. She is smiling as well. “You guys suck at this.”
And as she says that Mama rolls off the rink onto the rug. And crawls like a baby toward the benches. She is laughing so hard that her whole body shakes.
“That’s it!” She says. “I’m calling it. I give up.”
Papa who has managed to stand baby scoots over to her. He is red in the face. His smile crooked and loose. “Me too!”
“Girls!” Mama says then. “Show us what you got. I think we’re gonna stay here and get some food.” She unlaces her skates and then helps Papa with his.
Eve and I zip and dip and twirl and zoom. And it is almost like flying. When the lights come up for an “under 8 only skate” we look for Mama and Papa in the food court but they are nowhere to be found. My hands get sweaty.
“Did they leave us?” I choke.
“No. They wouldn’t do that. There they are.” Eve points toward the arcade. Mama and Papa are in their socked feet. Playing a heated game of air hockey. Every time Papa makes a goal Mama screams: “DANIEL NOT SO HARD!” and then breaks into a fit of laughter.
And Papa is giggling as well. Making faces at her. And joking about how slow she is. Even though he too flinches every time Mama slams the puck back to his side.
“And that” Eve jokes motioning toward our parents “is why we don’t play sports in this family.”
“For real.” I say.
But instead of going back to the rink. The two of us join in. Mama and me against Papa and Eve. And we play so many games before we know it it’s closing time and we’re getting kicked out. And we’re laughing so hard we don’t even care.