When they are both on the concrete again, slowly making their way across the boulevard, Michele calls, “There’s nothing fucking here! And the next bus isn’t for an hour. I didn’t realize you were suicidal. We’re gonna freeze to death!”

Judy has an advantage in distance and is keeping a steady pace. Michele keeps complaining some paces behind her, but the wind diminishes her voice. Judy has never been so determined. She heads right for the front doors of the roller rink that have been painted a sparkly purple.

Once inside, she rummages through her pockets looking for some dollars, when Michele makes it in. They are in a small lobby entirely blocked off from the rest of the rink by a set of opaque, glass doors. The thump of the music from inside the rink makes the floor shake and there’s a middle-aged woman behind a glass window with her glasses pushed down onto the bridge of her nose. Her hair makes a shape like a healthy slathering of icing on a cupcake. Michele catches her breath when Judy slides her money to the woman. The woman doesn’t move her hand to take it. She looks at Judy over her glasses like she’s just been told terrible news. The woman leans closer to the window, takes in Judy’s shape, and says through a microphone, “We don’t want any trouble or nothing here. You got a boyfriend in there or something?”

Judy locks onto the woman’s face and says, “No. I’m a paying customer. I’d just like my ticket, please.”

Judy turns and sees Michele, whose expression is similar to the woman’s, and asks her, “You want me to get you?”

Michele slowly shakes her head, and the woman asks, “Honey, you think this is a good idea? You want me to call somebody, like your Mom?”

Judy says, “No. I don’t. I just want my ticket.”

The woman pushes the glasses up on her nose and mumbles some things to herself, obviously in disagreement with what is going on. She slides the ticket under the window. Judy takes it, and then walks through the doors.

It’s blacker inside than her memories of the place. The dark walls with tiny specks of white light moving all over remind her of space, and a little of Christmas. The guy at the turnstile breaks her ticket without even looking at her, but as soon as she gets a few feet past him, clusters of girls, mostly younger than herself, view her from their social islands as if she’s a pervert, but their faces are mostly in shadow. Their bodies indicate judgment. This is a place where Judy’s had many birthday parties. She always asked for the skating rink because of the constant movement. She’d only have to endure focused attention for the length of the ‘Happy Birthday’ song.

She goes over to the skate rental counter where a middle-aged man, an appropriate companion for the woman in the front, stares at her in the same demeaning fashion. He asks her, “She let you in?”

Judy says, “Size 8, please.”

The man slowly makes his way to the shelf behind him, keeping Judy in his sights as if his eyes on her will force an epiphany. He walks back over, slaps the skates in front of her, and says, “So, I’m assuming you’re a strong skater.”

Judy nods, gets her skates and turns around. She looks out into the rink where only a few circle like no one will ever catch them. It’s been at least five years since she’s skated. She doesn’t come here anymore since she’s been a teenager. She trudges over to a bench by the side of the rink, and when she sits, she realizes she’s exhausted. Everything about her feels worn out, but she turns and throws her leg up on the bench anyway, to get her skates on. She struggles out of her coat and when she gets her shoe off and lifts the first skate to her foot, stretching her arms over her belly and squashing it, she sees Michele coming toward her.