Frozen Barriers (2 page)

2001

My mom rushed home from her part-time job to ensure I was able to make it to hockey practice at the Valley Forum just south of the New Hampshire border. We lived over the border in a small Boston suburb called Tewksbury. On a good day without traffic, it was about a half-hour drive, which meant Mom had to leave her job early on Fridays since my little sister, Courtney, needed to be picked up from school, too. My older brother, Josh, at sixteen, was considered more responsible and was allowed to take the bus home alone or go to his friend’s house after school.

My father, Travis Page, worked long, hard hours at a chemical distribution company in an industrial park. The pay was just enough to ensure we had a roof over our heads and a happy family environment to come home to. My mom, Grace, worked at the local grocery store bakery in order to pay for my hockey training. I could have chosen a less pricey sport, but once Dad gave me my first pair of skates and stick for my ninth birthday, I knew hockey was the sport for me.

Four years later, I was still going strong and moving up each year with my youth hockey team. I always guaranteed this was the right decision when I had my entire family cheering me on in the bleachers at all my games. Dad may have shown up late, but he was always there hitting me hard on my shoulder pads after every game saying, “Hell of a game, Jeremy! You keep getting better every fuckin’ game!” Yeah, that was my dad, the proud one, with a mouth like a sailor. I think he showed everyone at work my hockey stat cards at least fifteen times each year when they came out.

Practice was finished, and a tournament was scheduled against another youth hockey team in the area. I was just about to start removing my gear in the locker room when I realized I’d left my stick in the player booth by the ice. I quickly turned around and sprinted back out to the ice area. It was not easy trying to speed walk in hockey skates and full gear. I was pretty tall for my age, but I still resembled that kid from the movie
A Christmas Story
.

As I turned the square corner to the hallway, my chest face planted right into this skinny blonde girl who dropped to the wet cushioned floor like a sack of potatoes.
Shit!
She quickly glanced up at me, and I immediately went speechless. She had the most amazing blue eyes I’d ever seen. She could seriously have passed as a cross between Princess Barbie and Cinderella with that sparkly fru fru dress and makeup thing she had going on. She couldn’t have been more than ten, and yet, looked like a teenager with all that makeup. And, no, I had a little sister, so clearly I’d been forced to suffer through some Barbie playtime. That was the only reason I knew what Barbie looked like. I had a hockey image to maintain. If the guys at school found out I was forced to have Barbie playtime with Courtney on weekends, I would have never heard the end of it.

I quickly realized this girl was staring up at me scowling, no, seething at me. I reached out my gloved hand and said, “Sorry, Barbie, didn’t see you. Here, let me help you up.”

Her little nose squinted up, and she shook her head, swiftly standing on her own and boldly stating, “Eww, get your smelly glove away from me. I can help myself up, you jerk! My mother is going to be livid if you messed up my hair and dress!” Well, that was about right. I must have bumped into the Ice Queen instead of Princess Barbie. She briefly inspected her costume and hair and turned back to me. “Where do you get off calling me Barbie? Who do you think you are?!” I was completely speechless. I apologized nicely and offered to help, and yet, she was still mad at me for bumping into her. Was it really that bad? She didn’t look hurt. No sooner did I apologize again, did she storm off shouting, “Whatever!”

I turned and continued walking back to grab my stick, almost getting run over myself this time by an older woman dressed in a business suit and moving with determination. Her arms were full of costumes, and she was wheeling in a suitcase. She offered no apology or acknowledgement of her little bump into me. If I had to take one guess, I could probably guess whose mom that was.

I grabbed my stick and hurried back to the locker room to change. After packing up my gear, I made my way out through the rink area to the front doors. On the way, I saw what could only be described as a guy’s worst nightmare. Hundreds of girls of all ages dressed in sparkly spandex and God-awful glittery, sequined costumes screeching and crying. I tried to maneuver my way through all the girls waiting to take the ice, but most of them just rolled their eyes at me and started whispering. Once I saw Suzanne Dunn, I couldn’t make my way to the exit fast enough. Suzanne and I attended Tewksbury Middle School together, and she was the craziest chick I knew. It also didn’t help that she was smitten with my older brother. Once he went off to high school, she thought if she made friends with me, she would be able to hang out with me to get to him. Little did Suzanne know, my brother, Josh, thought she was certifiably nuts!

“Hey, Jeremy!” Suzanne said.

“Shit,” I mumble. “Hey, Sue. How are you?”

“Good, is your brother here?” I literally laughed. She looked at the smirk on my face, and you would have thought by the way she looked at me that I just told the teacher she cheated on her math exam, which technically she did last week, but I wasn’t going to get involved.

“No, he’s over at his friend’s house tonight,” I responded and slowly tried to move away from her when I saw out of the corner of my eye that blonde beauty with hypnotizing eyes making her way onto the ice. Suzanne turned to another girl and started talking to her, pointing to the girl on the ice. She must have known her if they were in the same skating club, but I was going to try to avoid any further conversations with her if I could.

I continued walking alongside the rink walls, noticing the perfectly put together woman who knocked into me before watching the girl on the ice. She was either her mom or coach; that was for sure. Either way, she looked like she meant business. Most skating moms sat and talked in the bleachers while their daughters trained on the ice. Not this woman, something told me she was different than the rest of them. I kept walking farther away, still studying the girl on the ice as the music flowed over the speakers and she effortlessly floated across the ice. She glided over to the end of the rink where I was walking, noting me watching her. She must have lost her train of thought, because at that moment, she caught an edge and slid right into the boards. Definitely embarrassed, she got up, brushed off the ice shavings, and skated away. The music stopped, and then I heard from the players’ bench. “Emily Beth Cameron!! What was that?! Do you have any idea how careless that fall was?!”

Emily
. My Barbie had a name. She spun around, and I saw genuine fear in her eyes. All the moms behind me started whispering, and I glanced over at Suzanne, who for the first time since I met her, did not say a word, but stared at Emily with sadness written all over her face.
What the hell?!
This was just figure skating, right? Hockey was full of fights, yelling, and sticks to the face. This was figure skating. It was supposed to be fun and happy, full of flair and beauty. What I was witnessing was clearly not that.

My mom appeared from the outside doors, and I started walking away, but briefly glanced back. Suzanne gave me a wave goodbye, and then Emily took her place at the end of the ice nearest me as her mom screamed, “Again, Emily!”

Emily turned and faced the glass, looking at me as I smiled at her. Immediately, she rolled her eyes, and our connection was gone. Her hand came up and visibly wiped away a stray tear from her eye. She shook her head as if clearing her thoughts, and then she struck a starting pose, letting out a long breath and planting a huge fake smile across her face as the music started and Gwen Stefani’s voice singing “Just a Girl” echoed through the arena. Just like that, she turned and skated away.

It was then I heard my mom by my side ask, “Jeremy, do you know that girl?”

“No, Mom, not really, we kind of just bumped into each other earlier.” I laughed a little.

“Poor girl looks years beyond her actual age. It’s a shame.” I saw my mom watching her skate across the ice some more and realized she noticed the difference between Emily and me. Emily was forced to skate, and I skated because I loved the game. In my game, it was as though she was in the penalty box and never coming out.

2013

My earliest memory in life involves figure skating. Every memory since is only of figure skating. I wake up, train, and sleep. I believe I might actually be permitted to eat and shower somewhere in there, too. I have no other friends outside of the rink walls, and I’m not allowed. For over fifteen years, this has been my life. This was never my choice; it was what Mother told me to do growing up. I’m apparently never going to be allowed anything else until the day I retire. Ha! That’s not going to happen. She’ll never allow me to retire from this life. Some days I wish for that one fall that ends my career altogether, so my life can finally change. Then, what happens with my life? I haven’t lived a normal life growing up. I don’t have friends to support me, and it’s not as though I’m hiring material for a job. I mean, seriously, I may have a college degree, which I’m pretty sure my father bought off because I spent the majority of my college years competing for the coveted gold medal. I live this nightmare every single day.

I thought on my eighteenth birthday that I would have the final say and be able to move on from the competitions and from the daily trips to the rink for training with my overpriced coach. I wanted to begin living my life; I’d already lost my childhood and teenage years to my mother’s insane addiction to my skating career. Eighteen came and went, and I thought I had a chance when I graduated from high school and cornered my parents in Daddy’s office, explaining how I wanted to learn what it was like to be in the real world and see what other options I had outside of the skating world.

My father sat there silent, sitting is his oversized chair, staring at me without any emotion. His eyes turned to my mother, who looked right back at me and said without waver, “Emily, your father and I have spent a fortune on your skating career, in which you have made a name for yourself on the national level. How would it look if you were to just walk away now? You have to consider how this affects your family name. It’s not a wise decision when there is so much more for you to accomplish, or should we remind you how you failed to make it on the podium to get to the World Championships last year?”

There it was. Me against the world. I was never going to win, for fear my parents’ precious name would be tarnished by my sudden retirement in order to live my own life. Heaven forbid I ruin their appearances by moving on in the world.

Since I didn’t make it to the World Championships that year, my mother felt I needed to have a better path. That better path involved me enrolling in college in Boston, which I never saw a classroom, and then losing my only friends I had at my old rink. I had a new coach, Suzy Stacy, a former coach to Olympic medalist Nancy Kerrigan. My mother wanted to spare no expense. Being a medalist and on an Olympic team meant more to her than it did to me.

I had hoped my training would slow down, as I grew older, when in fact, it has become just the opposite. I make the drive into Boston four days a week for hours of training sessions with Suzy. Then, in between that, I have ballet, strength, and yoga classes amidst a strict diet plan and regular visits to the salon and spa. All of this just to keep my mother happy. At least at night, once I’ve made it home from unbearable traffic for an hour on Route 93, I can still relax in my room, open my e-reader, or turn on the television or radio and escape before I fall asleep.

The only day of the week where I find inner peace and happiness now is when I drive here to my old rink and have early morning ice time all to myself. My mother isn’t here to critique my skating, and with solitude and my iPod blasting through my little Bose speakers, I just skate and feel the music. Sometimes I run laps around the rink. Other times, I choreograph my own routine and just free skate. There are no judges or appearances; it’s just me. It also keeps my mother happy, as she finds no problem paying the rental fee for my own ice time. She said, and I quote, “How wonderful, dear. You’ll be able to work on all the errors you made with Suzy during the week.” Yeah, that’s my mother. Thanks for the support!