The Rink

The small town MisterKidd and I grew up in had one form of entertainment, one venue that brought the kids of the community together and kept them off the streets. You know, Main Street gets busy around 5.

The last remaining sentiment from the 80's was a mediocre skating rink near the edge of town. It was run by the same person who opened it when it was "all the rage" in the decades before, Mr. Carl.

Oh, how the butterflies would swarm as my mom and dad dropped me off at the door of the orange-and-yellow-striped building with $5 for entry, skates, and a coke. The excitement of seeing my friends away from school, the way my flare leg jeans draped over my roller skates, and the thrill of zooming across the black-lit floor as Britney Spears played overhead was almost too much for a 10 year old on a Friday night. The only things that could cap that feeling were winning a slap bracelet in "musical skates" and holding hands with that bushy haired boy during the couples skate.

Cloud Nine. That's the only way to describe the feeling of my sweaty hand in his, maneuvering around the rink to Savage Garden on one of the last skates of the night. This beautiful boy in the KISS t-shirt was sweeping me off my feet as we dodged and weaved. There were other couples, but we were alone on the floor as we rounded each corner, hoping the song would play forever.

But alas, Mr. Carl would break our euphoria over the loudspeaker with these words: "All Skate, Everybody Skate, All Skate." With this, those who hadn't been blessed with a deep and lasting middle school romance were allowed to join us. After a few more loops, the lights were turned on, the music was turned off. We handed in our skates and were ushered into the night.