Forty Eight

Forty-eight.

Just a two digit number, but something that means so much to me, all of a sudden. Ice-skating. I know nothing about it, except what I saw yesterday. On channel no. forty eight. They have named it –now-. Somehow, it made so much sense.

Two bodies clinging to each other, her right foot planted on his knee as he skated around the rink, her left leg raised up behind her, her face bending in to stare into his eyes. Such a perfect display of trust, of putting your life into someone else’s hands and capabilities; if he slipped, or lost his balance, she might survive with only minor injuries, but would lose something unredeemable, her dignity. The poise with which he lowered her onto the ice, letting her feet test the ground before he loosened his grip on her body, slipping his hands gracefully from her waist to her hands, holding her fingers firmly and assuredly, letting her trail after him and then swinging his arm into her legs and turning her around his body, holding her chest against his waist, letting her hair fly behind her as he raced around the rink with her entire body suspended on the strength of his fore arms.

A four minute sequence, and yet her eyes never left his and his eyes couldn’t focus on anything else. Utter concentration, faith, belief, coordination. Feet skidding at just the right moment, ice shards flying into various directions, legs and arms moving in sync with the music, and in sync with each other; his arms around her waist, her hands on his shoulders. Perfect figure eights, turns, circles, swings; bodies aligned with each other, an expression of bliss on both faces, the world left behind in an array of stranger eyes that gaze on. Adrenaline rush, moonlight flooding the rink, the music picking up, legs moving faster, cheeks getting redder, hands getting stronger, bodies moving closer, trust rising to its peak as he picked her up in one swift motion and held her above his head by balancing her on the palm of his right hand. And then he swung, and he swung, and he cut across the ice and for all the coldness, their bodies were warm with the feeling of togetherness.

Forty-eight.
Just a two digit number.

But yesterday, it taught me what real love is.