Wayne was in a jovial mood as he bounded on ahead of Christopher and could not help teasing his more serious comrade, “Slowing down in your old age, huh?”
“Not likely, Wayne” Chris laughed, stomping through the snow in a rather cheerful mood himself. “I’ve been waiting all week to go skating. In fact,” he added more emphatically, “I’ve been waiting since
last winter to go skating. Don’t you worry, I’ll speed up once we hit the ice.”
“I’m sure you will,” Wayne quipped, “especially if Kathy is there.”
“Now what’s that supposed to mean?” the high school senior asked, both eyebrows raised.
Kathy Lincoln was perhaps the best skater that had ever graced Tracy’s pond. She was a slender, five-foot-three inch high-school junior who could cut a figure eight with ease. She would occasionally jump
or pirouette on the pond when she thought no one was watching, her short brown hair flying out from under her pink hat as her slender fingers cut small ballet-like circles in the air. Then, she would
glide across the ice, her eyes waxing toward heaven, as she quietly dreamed of being an Olympic medalist. When a gentle smile crossed her unadorned lips, high cheekbones and tiny dimples made her face
effervescent in the afternoon sunshine. Kathy had poise, form, and technique. And yet, even with such gracefulness, she could race across the ice faster than anyone else in the neighborhood, a fact that
was undisputed even by Wayne, who dreamed of one day becoming a speed skater. For all that, Kathy was very modest and incredibly shy, blushing easily when any special attention was given to her.
“Listen to him,” Wayne continued, as he climbed the old stone wall which had once marked property divisions some two hundred years ago. “You don’t think I see the way you act when she’s around?”
Christopher was not beyond a little jabbing himself. “And what about Mr. Innocent over there?” he asked, as they walked across the wooden bridge and sat down on a large rock to put on their skates. “I
suppose the name Nancy Rowland means nothing to you.”
Unlike the more reserved Christopher, Wayne was not one to hide his feelings. “Nancy’s cute. I like her. Yep. I like her. She’s quite a catch.”
“That’s because,” Chris noted, as he fastened his laces, “she’s easy to catch.”
“That’s because,” Wayne added, “she can’t skate to save her life.” The two of them laughed. They knew it was true.
Nancy Rowland was a five-and-a-half foot firecracker. Her affection for things sweet helped her develop a figure that was slightly more rounded than she would have liked, yet was anything but plump. Nancy
had cheeks that were naturally red, especially when a December wind blew, and long thick brown hair that fell down over her back and across her shoulders. She dressed for skating as if for an Arctic
expedition, her heavy coat with a collar of white fur unbuttoned at the very top to reveal at least two sweaters beneath, brown gloves with white fur peaking out from each wrist, and a white fur hat
pressed down upon her head. Yet, while the young lass’s physical charms spoke richly of womanhood, her demeanor was more that of an unbroken colt just released from its stall. Nancy was the antithesis of
skill and agility: Nancy didn’t skate, she attacked the ice. The fifteen year old sophomore was too impetuous and impatient to master the practiced art of skating. To make matters worse, Nancy could not
keep her composure if she were even mildly excited or distracted. This fact was well known, and certain teenagers, of which Wayne was the guiltiest, couldn’t help but agitate the girl. As a result, Nancy
skated more often than not on her stomach or her rump, but seldom, it seemed, on her skates. Poetry in motion she was not, unless it was the poetry perhaps of Ogden Nash.
“Skating is not one of Nancy’s redeeming characteristics,” Wayne admitted. “In fact, she’s too easy to catch. Now Kathy, on the other hand ---”
“Kathy’s an excellent skater,” Chris said with marked reflection, “the best. It’s a challenge to try to catch her.”
“A challenge you’re not quite up to speed on, my dear friend,” Wayne said, as he fastened the last of his laces, and bounded across the ice.
“Now what’s that supposed to mean?” Chris shouted as he followed him in hot pursuit.
Christopher was a good skater, but he was no match for Wayne. Wayne spun around, stopped suddenly just out of reach of Christopher, spun around again, and raced in a different direction. Christopher knew
that he couldn’t stop that quickly without landing on something other than his skates, so he sliced the ice in a large circle and stood with his hands on his hips. He then spied Nancy toward the middle of
the pond and called to her as he skated toward her. She spun around to see who it was and lost her footing. Down she went.
“I thought you guys would never get here,” she said, dusting the snow off her backside as Christopher helped her to her feet. “What took you so long?”
“I had to wait for the old man here,” Wayne replied, pointing to Chris, as he cut a swath on the ice and showered the two of them with ice crystals.
“Hey, cut that out!” Kathy shouted, as she joined the trio.
“Whatsamatter, kid,” Wayne said in a very poor Brando imitation, “can’t ya take it?”
In a sudden burst of inspiration, Kathy whispered something to Nancy, who beckoned to Wayne to come near. “You know, Wayne,” she whispered as she bent close to him and put her arm around his shoulders,
“It is said that a wish made in one’s reflection on the ice is a dream come true.”
“Is that so?” Wayne asked with great anticipation. “What are you wishing for?”
