My Ankles Hurt

What do you get when you add together one depressed emo bitch, a stomach full of Darvocet, Xanax, Cherry Coke Zero and nothing else, roller skates and a 6 year old?

Some reflection on life, that's what.

So, I'm sad. I think you might have picked up on that by now. However, with everything that I've pumped into my body, it's almost like having that epidural when I was in labor. I remember looking over at the monitor and dreamily remarking, "Hey, I'm having a contraction!" and yet not feeling any pain. Right now I know that I'm sad and that most likely by the time that I'm done writing this out I'll be crying, but it's all in this hallucinogenic haze.

However, being sad when you have a 6 year old daughter is a little difficult to pull off. Especially on Wednesday night, "Cheap Skate" night at the local roller rink. I recently introduced Midget to Roller Derby Girls and we attended a match on Friday that she got a huge kick out of. So I picked up the schedule from the local rink and found out that for the low, low price of $5 we could skate for 3 hours, rental skates included in that price.

My mom used to take me to roller skate all the time when I was little. From the time that I was 4, I'd been on skates at least twice a week, my mom being friends with a woman whose in-laws owned the roller rink in Pismo Beach. I picked up on it quickly according to my mom, and for many years after that, even when we moved to Oxnard, my mom would take me to the rink every weekend. Up until I entered high school and transitioned into skateboarding instead of roller skating.

I had birthday parties there, did my first chasing of boys there, snuck into the corner and tested the limits of what a 12 year old could get away with. (Although looking back on it, it was so innocent.) I was always on the move and skates were a perfect fit. I could glide along, my hair being blown back the faster that I skated, maneuvering my body fluidly around people. I felt removed from all the shit around me. Like I managed to get my body caught up with my head. Sometimes my eyes would glaze over and I'd get those streaks of light in my vision like the lights in Times Square show up in pictures sometimes.

I bought a pair of those shoes with wheels in them for Midget as an Easter gift. She's been practicing on the patio in the backyard, bumping about. I honestly just used that time to get e-mails answered and other online business bullshit. I haven't been paying attention to her during those times.

Tonight was her first time on real skates. She grabbed the edge of the side barrier and pulled out onto the hardwood. I slowly made my way out behind her, unsure if I could catch her if she fell because it had been a good 8 years since I'd last been on quads myself. Plus all of the medication in my body making me loopy and (I can't think of the word right now, but basically "not-give-a-shittal" works) wasn't helping.

I offered my hand to her and she shook her head. She pumped her legs back and forth like how a locomotive seems to shift. She veered a good 4 feet away from the wall. She had no intention of holding onto me or anything else. She was unsteady, but she was moving.

After taking a few minutes to regain that whole "riding a bike" feeling and being denied my opportunity to "mommy" my kid, I just started skating. There weren't many people there when we first arrived, having gotten there when they first opened. The other parents sat on the sides, watching and yelling at their kids. A couple even brought laptops with them and were watching DVDs and noncommittally nodding in the general direction of their spawn.

Midget just struggled along, refusing help and laughing at me when I lapped her. One seasoned vet, a crusty looking mom with that no-nonsense butch haircut and two show-off teenagers stared at Midget and commented to me. "She's damn brave," she said, watching as Midget moved to the center of the rink and attempted a figure 8 that another kid was doing.

Dammit, she is. My kid had never skated before and yet wanted to participate in the limbo. She fell down and stated loudly, "Damn, my ass!" then got back up again, all without a hand up from me.

In fact, the only time she cried was when she couldn't convince one of the other pussy little kids her age to partner up with her in the race. The 10 year old boys avoided her and the other girls her age shook their heads defiantly and looked at her like she was insane. Bawling, Midget asked me why no one would partner up with her.

"They're pussies," I said loudly. Too loudly. Medicated to the gills loudly. I hugged my red-faced redhead and stroked her hair out of her teared up eyes.

"Excuse me?" A dad sitting in front of a laptop questioned, looking at me with anger.

"Go back to your shit and shut up," I responded. In my experience, (even in my drug addled haze, I knew this) men never expect you to answer back. Answering back usually doesn't garner you anything more than a, "BITCH!" as a response.

I cuddled my brave little kid and continued to try and soothe her. "You know the only kids who never fall down and never get hurt?" She nodded. "They're the pussies who never TRY."

"I'm not a pussy," Midget answered, wriggling out of my grip and dropping down onto her clunky skate-clad feet. She defiantly swiped the tears off her cheeks and looked up at me. "Wanna race me?" she asked.

I did. So we did. I beat her. She decided that I sucked and was a cheater.

One day my kid is going to fall in love. She's going to fall hard. She's going to love someone with intensity, four feet away from the grip of safety. She's going to love with abandon. She's going to have some pussy-ass little boy break her heart. Then she's going to get back on her clunky feet and start all over again. Because she's no pussy. Because she understands that the key isn't in winning the race, getting the lowest limbo or even staying upright the entire time.

It's about fucking trying.

I have a lot to learn from my kid.

I once told Brandon that I was sure Midget was an extrovert. He balked at my claim, telling me that you couldn't determine that from a little kid. But Midget came out an extrovert. She's been smiles and sociability from day one. She fears nothing. She makes me look like a pussy extrovert by comparison.

Shaman once called me the most extroverted introvert she'd met. She's right.

My heart hurts. My brain keeps telling me all kinds of shit. I just want to not feel anything anymore. But if I did, I'd miss that feeling of gliding along, hair blowing back, my body finally catching up with my head. I forgot how much that feeling trumps everything.

We're going back next Wednesday.