“Tink-"
“Wil, in the words of Nike, just do it!” he ordered.
“Fine!” I relented, storming to my bedroom.
I am so mature.
“Oh, Wil?” my secretive fairy shouted as I disappeared from sight.
Bending my head back around the door, I answered. “Yeah?”
“Make sure you have a shave. You’re already getting a five o’clock shadow and it’s only eight-thirty!”
I slammed my door and screamed.
I dressed for warmth. Most people know that Canada gets very cold in the winter, but in reality it feels like you’re at the North friggin’ Pole and your next door neighbours are a penguin and a polar bear. We were only at the end of October and temperatures were already hovering at a delightful minus twenty degrees Celsius, and a light covering of snow and ice was adding a sparkly glow to everything.
I dressed in my pink puffa jacket, pink Nordic headband with snowflake motifs, and left my long brown hair hanging loose down my back, exhibiting its natural wave. I had on three pairs of black thermal leggings and two pairs of socks, with leg-warmers to match. My gloves and scarf were bright white to really highlight the stunning beetroot red my face would go after two minutes in the harsh wind chill. Yep, I was going to look very fetching.
I walked out of my bedroom and bam! I was suddenly front row in Tink’s live version of Olivia Newton John’s ‘Let’s Get Physical’ video. He too was dressed for the weather, and was sporting a multi-coloured neon ski suit – an outfit so bright that Joseph and his brothers would be jealous. He had teamed it with neon green mittens and a faux-fur deer-hunter hat.
Tink spotted me walking into the room whilst he was stretching out his glutes on the cow-print footrest.
“Ah-ha! You’re here. Let’s go shall we, my rasher of streaky bacon?”
“Where are we going, Tink?” I asked whilst reaching for my trainers, or ‘sneakers’, as the locals say. When in Rome and all that.
“No, Wil!” exclaimed Tink with a growl.
“What?” I quickly dropped my shoes.
“You won’t need them, pork scratching,” said Tink, pointing at my footwear choice. “At least not yet.”“What are we doing? And why won’t I need shoes in this weather?” I asked, dreading the answer.
He dashed away, and came running back seconds later with two of the most beautiful pairs of white leather, pink-wheeled roller skates I had ever seen. Not blades, but real quad boots like they use in Starlight Express.
Tearing up, I ran over to a smiling Tink and grabbed them from his hands, stroking the skates like Gollum with the shiny, all-powerful ring. My precious.
When I had composed myself, I grabbed my super-thoughtful bestie and hugged him tightly.
“They are gorgeous, just like my old beauties that that bastard bully, Stephen James, threw in a cesspool when we were fifteen.”
“I know, I saw them on eBay and just had to get them for us. You never did get over losing your pair.”
“Losing them? They were ripped from me, and with it a piece of my tender heart, and flung into the stinking, smelly depths of Spooks Woods' shit tip,” I sniffed, remembering the overwhelming hurt on that fateful autumn day.
“So? You ready to try them out?” he teased.
“OMG! Yes!”
“So, where are we going to put the speed of these babies to the test?”
“I was thinking a few laps of Stanley Park and then post-skate lattes at Starbucks?” he suggested.
“You’re on like Donkey Kong, my fabulous fairy!” and we raced out of the door.
Chapter 9
Skater-gate Scandal
Roller skating in the park was beautiful and breath-taking. The wind whipped through my hair, the snow-capped Rocky Mountains dominated the view, and my senses were heightened. A real ‘I’m alive’ moment.
In our excitement over our new kinky, kitsch boots, Tink and I were flying through the park at unnatural speeds. The only other people around that early on a cold Saturday morning were hard-core joggers and a few dog-walkers. We couldn’t tell if they were annoyed at the two of us or admired the sight of our obvious glee as we glided and soared, overjoyed at being reunited with our favourite teenage pastime. If we’d have had a bottle of cider in our right hands it would’ve been perfect.
Tink and I breezed around the path surrounding Elbow River hand in hand, pulling each other forward and swapping sides. My diva of a partner got a little bored of the mundane ‘flat’ routine and began to experiment with some Dancing on Ice moves he had recently seen on ITV One. He began humming the tune to Torville and Dean’s gold medal-winning Bolero and started spinning me around whilst picking up a dangerously high velocity.