knocked off my feet.

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dateline: front lines

16 august 1996 11:57 p.m.

Now I know why in-line skates are so popular. And Jen lost the bet (I kissed him first). Derek drove today. We bought my skates at the first store we went to: "Play It Again Sports" in Aina Haina. Only knew the store was there 'cause of their charmingly amateur, somewhat annoying commercials on Radio Free. I had no idea that in-line skating was so serious. I guess progress has completely erased traditional skates from the cultural landscape (we haven't had a roller rink since I was a kid, when they closed the small, spooky one in Chinatown). I just want to put wheels on my feet, and suddenly there are all these questions about classes (recreation? sport? hockey?), axles, bearings and upgrades. Point out one pair and they rattle off specs like its a sports car... or a computer. Sheesh. Does anyone remember generic, blue-suede, red-wheeled skates? (Look at me. Just turned twenty-two and talking like I'm Bob Dole already.) (Damn, that was almost a reference to the Republican National Infomercial, which I promised myself I wouldn't mention.) I settled on a pair of RollerbladeTM Lightnings (according to this fancy, gilled box), probably the Honda Civic of in-line skates. I stuck with the Rollerblade name, though. I imagine there are better brands out there, but they don't feel right. If they sell it at K-Mart, forget it. It's weird, but I'm particular about things like that (every piece of electronics I own is made by Sony). Even after I finally bought them -- somewhat annoyed to find the salesman talking more to Derek than me -- they were pushing gloves and pads and helmets and other fancy velcro neon-colored accessories. No thanks. But if I get offered a pro sidewalk-wobbling contract, I'll be back. Now to try them out. We went to Kakaako Waterfront Park, a fancy patch of "greenspace" hidden behind warehouses, gravel lots and mechanics' shops in our flat 'n' dusty industrial district. I think half the island's skate-owning population was there. Derek pulled out his skates, and suddenly I felt inadequate. They were slick, sleek things, right out of Star Trek. I don't remember the brand, "CCM" I think, but he was in love with them. The wheels actually snap off the boots, so you can pop in and out of classes or buildings without taking five minutes each way to put them on or take them off. You should have heard him go on and on about 'em. Came with this, I changed that... Generation X meets Tim Allen. He laced me in (I only kicked him twice), and we were off. Not. Frankly, it was humiliating. Flailing, bending, lurching. There were a couple of flops that -- if captured on video -- would have easily won me $10,000 from Bob Saget. Whoever told me it's "just like ice skating" is gonna get it. Concrete is a lot less friendly to exposed skin than ice. I was shrieking like an extra in a teen-exploitation film. If I was anyone else in that park, and had a rifle... Thankfully, it was also fun. Lots of fun. Just being there, next to the ocean on an awesome postcard day, was great. Getting sunburnt, and burning a few hundred calories too. I might want to look into knee-pads after all, but no serious injuries (lots of grass stains, though). And by the time the sun was going down, I had almost gotten the hang of things. The way I'm "skating" at this point, though, could probably be better described as "stilted waddling." I discovered, more importantly, that being balanced-impaired has its benefits. I spent a good portion of the day falling on Derek. Or being pulled around by him. Or clinging to (and almost tearing) assorted items of clothing. I'll be the first to admit this is behavior hardly becoming of a regal Leo such as myself, but quite honestly I was that terrified that I was going to die. By cracking my skull open, or by some freak collarbone injury. What if I rolled right into the water, pulled under by the skates' weight? What would my friends say? It was totally embarassing at first, but after a while it was simply hilarious. In my panic, I brought Derek down at least a handful of times, but otherwise it was him chuckling while I tried to clamber up his body like he was a tree. When you have no control over where your feet are going, some of the poses you end up in are downright obscene. Now, my bestest-bestest friend Jen wagered that Derek was going to try to kiss me within the week. It had been gnawing at a corner of my brain since I first saw Derek today. Almost dreading (for the bet's sake) that Jen was right. I won't say I haven't suspected it's crossed his mind. And I don't like to lose bets. Still, it wasn't like I planned how I'd eventually win. After one particularly gymnastic stumble, I strugged to right myself, gripping Derek's shoulders and glad to death I didn't have any nails. All of a sudden I realized I was right there, hanging like we could've almost ended up kissing by accident anyway. So, I just hopped up (practically falling all over again) and pecked him on the chin. (I was aiming elsewhere but there were these wheels on my feet, you see...) "Thanks," I said. I was still out of breath. "You're a dear." Then I screamed, deafening him briefly, as I lost my balance again. The day then continued as I described. So, there you go. It's a victory by a technicality, I know. And stepping back, I guess it really wasn't a capital-k "kiss," either. But, I can't stop thinking about it. Come to think of it, Jen and I didn't really set a wager. "Betcha money" was about the most official it got, cemented by a pinky pull (it feels like we've known eachother since we were five sometimes). Well, this is all her fault. She was going to pay eventually.