The seasons of the year in New England are distinct, demarcating almost exactly at the three-month mark. Each asserts its strong identity, worthy of poetry. In New Jersey, spring comes earlier, fall arrives later, playing games with the calendar.
Tonight, cozy in front of a crackling fire, I muse at the moonlit winter scene outside my window. Memory transports me to another winter, sixty years ago, on a bitterly cold afternoon in Linden.
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McGillvary’s Pond near the high school was frozen over hard. Kids in town went there to ice-skate all day, ignoring their frostbitten toes.
I was fourteen so applied a touch of lipstick and chose a bright pink scarf before I walked the mile up Orchard Terrace with some neighborhood friends. I felt my eyes tearing in the chilly air.
The little kids skated near the edges in their double runners. The older kids formed “whips” that gained momentum as they spun around the entire pond, the ones at the end going the fastest and inevitably crashing and falling at high speeds. Skulls could crack but no one stopped us.
I found myself near the end and landed in a pile of classmates, including a high school kid I didn’t know. But I did know his name, Billy.
I was in college prep. He was a year older, in the general education class. Billy lived on the older side of town, with apartment buildings, businesses, two-family houses on streets lined with elm trees. I lived in the newly named Sunnyside section, where split-level and ranch developments displaced the farms and fields. Contractors named the streets after their wives, daughters, or themselves. Thelma Terrace. Caroline Street. Arthur Court.
I picked myself up from the pile of kids thrown together when the whip fell apart. As I brushed off the ice from my knees, I felt a tug on my scarf. “Want to skate to the other end of the pond?”
Billy and I skated together for the next hour, until it began to get dark and I told him I had to be home by five. He walked me the mile to my house, holding my hand. Just as he had done in the whip.
When we reached my block, Billy stopped and looked at me, his face close to mine. I felt fresh and beautiful, my cheeks flushed from the cold and my pink wool scarf wrapped twice around my jacket collar.
I just knew he wanted to kiss me. It would have been my first. But something scared me. The look in his eyes, so focused into mine. He looked very sweet and very serious at the same time. He looked so sure of himself….more like a man than a boy.
If I kissed him, what would happen next? We would have to get to know each other, right? A real boyfriend in my life? Then, more than kisses, like I heard about from some other girls who seemed so sure of what they wanted. The possibilities filled my head and overwhelmed me. I shut down at the magnitude of it all.
And before he could move closer, I said, “No Billy, No.”
After that, I noticed him in the hallways between classes. He never looked straight at me, although I knew for sure that he saw me. It felt weird, knowing what I knew. I immersed myself in my studies, an easy out for me.
And in my fourteen-year-old heart, I knew that a first moment between a boy and a girl had come and gone. So this is how it happens. At least I understood that, a discovery.
I thought about Billy for months, until the school year ended. Not that I loved him or anything like that.
But I remembered the fleeting seconds between us in winter dusk, face to face with each other, then turning away to face our futures. I told myself over and over that it had to happen exactly as it did, a prelude to the awakening I could not delay for much longer.
And I would be ready, when it was my time, to put away childish things.
Barrie, I loved this sharing of skating outside. My brothers and I skated in ponds and lakes throughout our childhood. I did not have a boy friend or even a flirtatious moment. I was just in love with the experience of skating on ice
Yes, the icy fresh air, so pristine and energizing. A beautiful part of growing up.
Oh such memories I share with you! Thank you so much for bringing them back to present life! I read it wanting more and more and i, too, loved skating there! Next time we get together we will share our memories. I so love reading yours.
Thank you Betsy, we’ll share for sure in the spring!
Two comments: The seasons do unfold differently here in New England than in New Jersey. Skating scenes reminded me of Ali McGraw/Ryan O’Neil in “A Love Story, which will be shown at the Beverly Senior Center next month. Wonder how that classic has weathered.
I’ve heard that the movie might not have held up as fine drama but has value as a period piece. Opinions to be issued upon viewing….
Enjoyable reading, as always. You must have been mature for your age to make such a responsible decision. Most fourteen year old girls would probably be more impulsive.
Haha, I found my inner bad girl before I finished high school, don’t tell!
Sweet beautiful story of a girl on a winter afternoon. Ice skating was a huge part of my young life in Canada and when I lived in Connecticut we had a pond behind our house that froze every winter. My favorite skate was at night, under a full moon with my daughters.
Thank you Carol. I remember your pond but not sure I saw it frozen.
Beautiful Barrie, so young and fragile. Your words gliding effortlessly, taking us with you to that watershed moment. The first moment between a boy and a girl. Pristine, fresh and sacred. You chose to savour the moment and save it. So precious. Barrie you, the young blossoming spring rose.
Thank you for your poetic comment, affirming to me the significance that even a split second can have to define a time in life.
I loved this piece of writing, It touched a very familiar chord. Love how you transitioned from present to past. Keep writing, Barrie.
Thank you Lisa, your appreciation encourages me to write.
This piece is written beautifully as always. I loved ice skating on MCGillvary’s pond but I was never fortunate to meet any nice young men there.
I wonder what it’s like there now. It was a nice park in the summer too.
I remember that pond in Linden. I hadn’t remembered the name but the pond appears in some of my dreams, spring months because in the dream there are trees and the pond water it clear. I was one of the kids who liked to skated by the edges, being about 8. Thanks for the memories, Barrie, as well as your heart-warming portrait of first awareness of boy/girl and what it meant. It all rang true.
Thank you Carol for sharing your own Linden memories. You and your family were def a part of my growing up years there. I’m still amazed that we have reconnected and live somewhat near each other, even now!
Barrie,
I finally got around to reading your January contribution. What a surprise to see the St. Louis Art Museum bringing back memories of childhood and the easy walk to the museum. Our outdoor skating had to wait for the times that the streets froze. With no cars to worry about and the freedom to roam all the streets in the neighborhood, it was pure delight.
Thanks Jean for reading my piece. I appreciate that you are a fan! These childhood memories go a long way to bring us a bit of pleasure.