Page 61 of False Start

My grandmother didn’t say a word, just followed me and waited for me to skate it out.

We had a shared demon to fight now.

Regret.

I saw it every time I looked into her eyes, and in the mirror each morning.

Eventually she put up obstacles: orange cones, buckets, stools, whatever she could find. Pushing me until the tears dried and all that was left was sweat.

Drowning in my own torment, I didn’t recognize what she was doing, I just kept trying to outrun ghosts.

And when I didn’t believe in myself anymore, she believed enough for both of us and cracked open the door to a family legacy which until then had only belonged to women.

She trusted me to honor the generations before me.

And she taught me banked track derby.

Every day we worked.

Covered in bruises from head to toe from laying my every emotion on the track, and still she pushed harder, faster, stronger.

Over and over she’d challenge me, bet me I couldn’t get through. Hungry for absolution and hell-bent on proving her wrong, I’d swerve, jump, spin, and navigate my way through until I slayed every single challenge stationary objects could bring.

Leave it to my grandmother to up the ante.

Obstacles flew in from the left, from the right, foam padding in a variety of shapes and weights. Forcing me to learn how to be good on my toes, literally, and mastering speed recovery after getting through the pack or past a pileup.

My grandmother taught me how to coach.

Lilith started to wander in after a while. She never got on the track herself. She wasn't into roller-skating, the way we were, but she loved to watch, to play music, and God could the girl cheer.

“You want some company?” Lilith called from the open doorway.

I dropped a rusted bolt into the bucket at my feet and turned to her. For just a second, I saw that young girl. The one who’d been hurt over and over by my mistakes.

The one who learned to laugh and cheer again despite them.

I wonder what she saw when she looked at me.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead with my sleeve. “Sure.”

She dragged her hands along the snaps for the skirting we’d never once put on the track. “How’s it going?”

I slid a new bolt into the hole and worked on finger-tightening the nut. “It would have been better if I hadn’t left it sitting here for ten years. I’ll be replacing bolts for a few hours. Might need to take a run to Dawson’s and grab some more.”

She yanked on one of the braces going into the corner, her lips twitching. “You’re really going to do this, huh?”

“Looks that way.”My ratchet clicked with every rotation, a sound I’d always loved for some reason.

“And there’s nothing I can do to change your mind?” she asked, crossing her arms and propping her shoulder against the track.

I glanced down at her stomach, spotted the twitch of cotton under her shirt, and grinned. “He’s active today.”

She laughed. “He’s active every day. Now answer the question.”

Ahhh, so this was the part where she picked me apart. Might as well get it over with. “There are kids involved.”

“And a woman from what I hear.”

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