Kiss and Cry
I launched off my toe pick. Landed fully rotated, my free leg extending as adrenaline soared through me, soothing the lactic acid building in my legs. One more jumping pass—no, listen to the music, don’t skip ahead!
Approaching my triple Axel combination, pressure intensified, everything on the line—forward into three and a half revolutions, reaching back to add the second jump—and a clean flow out on the running edge.
The crowd erupted. I felt even more than heard their cheers and applause. I could barely hear Beethoven, but the music filled my mind, every note etched in my memory.
I flew into my footwork sequence, the edited music building from meditative to the flourish of the third movement to finish my program. The arena was on its feet already as I hit the final pose down on one knee with my back arched and arm raised.
I’d done it. A haze muffled my mind as I took my bows, waving to the audience, not having to force my smile even a bit.
Theo skated by the rink’s periphery as I made my way to the Kiss and Cry, his red shirt bright—V-neck still dipping low. My knees were jelly and my breath shallow. Flower girls and boys scrambled to clean the ice. Manon was crying.
She yanked me into a fierce hug, the Canadian skating federation president at her elbow. I couldn’t understand what either of them were saying. It was all a buzzing blur as I put on my skate guards and took my seat on the bench. I remembered to wave to the camera after watching the replays of my performance.
I’d done it.
Already, my brain rewound to point out the tiny mistakes that most people wouldn’t notice. Despite those imperfections, I’d done it. Now it was up to the judges.
“The scores please for Henry Sakaguchi.” The arena announcer’s calm voice cut through the buzzing as she read the scores.
The crowd screamed.
“He is currently in first place.”
Manon hugged me from the side, practically shouting in my ear as she bounced up and down on the bench. I could only stare at the scoreboard. I was still breathing hard from the skate, the hair at the base of my skull wet with sweat and my forehead damp. I realized I was gaping and snapped my mouth shut.
“Enjoy this! Be proud of yourself!” Manon added something in French I didn’t catch.
The audience was still cheering, and I stood, waving to them and bowing in thanks. I could barely feel my legs at all, and I walked from the Kiss and Cry as though I was levitating.
Theo was announced, and “Sympathy for the Devil” was soon playing. Part of me wanted to run back to the boards and watch him. The other part wanted to run into the bathroom and turn on all the taps.
In all likelihood, I’d have the silver. I’d done my best in the moment, though my sit spin had slowed down too much at the end, and I’d have to review the protocols for my second quad combination since I’d landed slightly off balance—
“Stop critiquing yourself! Enjoy this!” Manon gave me an affectionate shake before returning to the boards to stand with Bill to watch Theo’s performance.
In a daze, I nodded to well-wishers and submitted to hugs before taking my spot in the middle chair in the contenders’ waiting area. Kuznetzov gave me a half-hug before taking the chair to my right. Massimo moved over to my left, bumping the Japanese skater, who’d now likely finish fifth.
There were three cameras ready to cut to us for reactions after Theo’s skate and a monitor showing his program. Mick Jagger’s voice filled the arena. Now all I could do was sit and wait and be a good sport no matter what happened. Top rivals in skating had to put on fake smiles now more than ever with cameras in our faces constantly.
My top rival.
It didn’t seem a remotely adequate way to describe Theodore Sullivan. Who was he now? A friend? My lover? Just thinking that word sent a thrill down my spine.
He had been my lover. And now he knew how gullible and foolish I’d been. That shame lingered. But how long could I let that poison stay in my system?
It was only when Theo put a hand down on his quad Sal that I realized I’d been watching him on the TV screen without truly paying attention.
The audience’s gasping “oh!” of surprise was loud, followed by a flurry of applause to cheer him on for the next element, which was the quad Lutz combo in the second half of the program.
He rushed the takeoff.
Without enough height, he under-rotated the Lutz and could barely tack on a weak double toe. It was the kind of mistake he’d have made before going to Mr. Webber: lack of concentration. Sometimes we all slipped back into old habits under stress. I knew the feeling, and my heart hurt for him.