Who can know from the word goodbye what kind of
parting is in store for us?
Arundhati Roy
Sometimes, Clary wondered if it was all worth it. If staying in this wretched city was a boon or a curse. She drew in a breath and smelled nicotine and gasoline. What was New York but a place to fulfill your dreams? She padded along the sidewalk and took a drag of her cigarette. She shouldn't be smoking; she was constantly reminded of it. But now, in the dead of the night, she couldn't care less.
Around her, the city buzzed with zooming vehicles and flashing, neon lights. She took a turn and found herself staring at the old arena. It didn't look like much. A building about to collapse. Yet it held memories she'd never let go of. Clary wondered if anyone was in there. She doubted it. Only two people held keys to this place. She shook her head and tugged out the string around her neck. Unlocking the metal doors, she slipped inside.
There were some places you knew by heart. They were maps to your soul. The rink Clary stared at was one of those places. She stared at the sleekness of the ice. The worn, black seats. The pieces of equipment that still littered the walkway. The benches where the junior hockey players cursed and laughed and loved. She wondered if anyone remembered this arena or if they had forgotten its remnants as they did everything else. She didn't have to go to the locker room to change. The whole structure was there for her. She might as well be the owner. She stripped out of her sweatshirt and dragged her jeans off. She was left in black tights and a tank top, the type of clothing needed to feel the rush of the air as she skated.
She tied her skates. Clary had had them for two years. She still couldn't outgrow them. When she stepped onto the ice, her heart started to race. This always happened. Who thought that frozen water could give her a rush of adrenaline? She started with slow circles and laps, trying to get her legs warmed up. The atmosphere around her disappeared and all that she could see was ice and a silent audience. Her breathing was even. She listened to the sound of metal crashing onto ice. Marks appeared where she had been previously and Clary lowered her pace, lifting one leg into the air.
The other was on the ice, spinning her in small circles. The camel, it was called. The move was easy enough, but she challenged herself, her auburn hair whipping across her face. She propelled herself at a reckless speed, gaining momentum, and leapt into the air for a single. For a moment, she was suspended in the air and before she could situate her legs correctly, she fell against the ice with a sickening thwack.
She grimaced and rose up again, ignoring the pain in her legs and tried to skate it off. After a few more attempts, Clary gave up, throwing her skates into her bag with a harsh cry that echoed back to her. She didn't bother with her clothing and locked the arena as she was leaving. The cold air brought salvation to her sweaty body and she sighed softly, thankful for anything she could get.
Bringing out her phone from her satchel, she watched as the screen lit up with an unread message. The number was unknown. She speculated it was a random dick pic but clicked on it anyway. Narrowing her eyes, she read:
I wonder if you're looking at the same stars as me.
Her phone clattered noisily on the cement.
x