Would You Like to Swing on a Star (Part 2)

My skates had marks and creases all over them and were well-worn.  I would have to wait until I outgrew my current pair before my parents would agree to new ones.

A young woman with long blond hair approached us as Shelley’s father entered the building.  We got in the back of the station wagon in the very back where there was a seat that faced backwards.  Darci and I were invited to spend the night at Shelley’s house.  We had to return to the arena the following morning anyway.  The three of us went down to the basement to watch television.  On the shag carpeting on the floor record albums were scattered about.  Shelley had an older brother and two older sisters who were in high school.  Darci picked up an album cover and took the vinyl record and placed it on the turntable.  The needle automatically set down on the outer edge of the disc as Simon and Garfunkle began to sing about bridges and troubled waters.  We sat on the floor, mesmerised by the music.  That was the turning point for our taste in music.  It was not the Partridge Family or Bobby Sherman, it was something much deeper.That night we placed  sleeping bags in front of the television and watched the tube until we fell asleep.

The next morning just as Saturday morning cartoons were beginning, we piled back into the car after having a large breakfast of pancakes, and made our way back to the ice arena.  This was our routine between the ages of 5-9.  Our group lessons were much more difficult now.  As we stood on the ice waiting for our instructor, she showed up with a clipboard and a pile of papers in her hand.  She took the stack of sheets and handed us each one.  It was explained to us that the ice arena was going to put on a large ice show and our group was toing to be performing in it.  I glanced at the paper and saw that it listed two weeks worth of performance dates and times.  The young girls were all a buzz with excitement.  We were told we would be in costumes and people would lbe applying makeup each night we performed.  We all placed our papers on the bench behind the wall and returned to the ice.  We began learning new spins, jumps and twirls that we would be doing during the show.

My mother picked us up and we piled into the giant yellow and white 1956 Ford.  We were exhausted from practice and sat in silence.  The news cam on the radio; Patty Hearst had been kidnapped and someone named Ted had murdered another woman.  The hippies had done another sit-in and Nixon was sending more troops to Viet Nam.


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I am a freelance writer and artist living in southern California.

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