Back on Eight Wheels

I roller skated every Friday night at the rink when I was thirteen. Then I grew up, and my skates went into a box. This spring, I bought a new pair of roller skates off the internet: white, with pink wheels. I'm fifty-two.

The first time I put them on, in my driveway, I nearly broke my wrist. I clung to the car. My teenage daughter filmed it and laughed so hard she cried.

But I practiced every evening, rolling slowly up and down our quiet street. My body remembered more than I expected. By July, I could skate forward, skate backward and do a little spin. By August, I was skating to the park and back with music in my ears, my hair blowing in the wind.

My daughter bought skates too. Now we skate together every evening after dinner. Some of the neighbors bring out lawn chairs to watch us. One older man calls us "the Roller Girls." He's not wrong.