[Back on the ice] - Black Velvet
Oct. 3rd, 2010 08:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
olympicamnesiacEvery morning is the same. She wakes up feeling the excitement of wanting to compete. Knowing that she's leaving for Vancouver. Knowing, just knowing that this is her year.
The first thing she she sees is a sticky note telling her to watch a video that Stéphane has made for her. In it are clips from Vancouver, a competition long over. He talks about what he knows about her accident and when she goes storming out to demand answers, her parents are there to confirm everything she's seen so far. They give her a notebook filled with her own writing - proof that what she's being told isn't some major hoax - and she begins reading.
An hour later, it settles in - the life she had is over.
Her friends have drifted away. They remember the movies they saw last week and she can't remember what she had for dinner the night before. Making new friends is difficult because she has to write everything down and hope that they'll understand.
It all goes into a PDA now - names, numbers and she cross-references when someone swears they've talked before. It's all a pain in the ass and yet, on a normal day, Amy can't bring herself to feel self-pity. It's just not there.
She's alive. Her health is, otherwise, perfect. The doctor's can't promise that her ability to make new memories will return, but they can't say it won't.
She can still skate. It's impossible for her to learn a new routine, but she remembers her Vancouver routine. She remembers her World's routine. And she has an entire lifetime of routines that she remembers.
Tonight she finds herself at the rink an hour before it closes. Walking alone probably wasn't the safest, but what's the worst that can happen?
The owner allows her full reign, as always, and she kisses his cheek, as always.
As she searches the music, she comes across a disc of old favorites and by the time she's laced and ready, the first bars of 'Black Velvet' are playing.
Stepping onto the ice feels so natural and she turns slow and easy, her hips swaying to the sensual music. Small turns, tiny jumps and she's even humming along as she gets going.
The moves come so easily to her that, when the music stops, she feels a sense of loss.
The first thing she she sees is a sticky note telling her to watch a video that Stéphane has made for her. In it are clips from Vancouver, a competition long over. He talks about what he knows about her accident and when she goes storming out to demand answers, her parents are there to confirm everything she's seen so far. They give her a notebook filled with her own writing - proof that what she's being told isn't some major hoax - and she begins reading.
An hour later, it settles in - the life she had is over.
Her friends have drifted away. They remember the movies they saw last week and she can't remember what she had for dinner the night before. Making new friends is difficult because she has to write everything down and hope that they'll understand.
It all goes into a PDA now - names, numbers and she cross-references when someone swears they've talked before. It's all a pain in the ass and yet, on a normal day, Amy can't bring herself to feel self-pity. It's just not there.
She's alive. Her health is, otherwise, perfect. The doctor's can't promise that her ability to make new memories will return, but they can't say it won't.
She can still skate. It's impossible for her to learn a new routine, but she remembers her Vancouver routine. She remembers her World's routine. And she has an entire lifetime of routines that she remembers.
Tonight she finds herself at the rink an hour before it closes. Walking alone probably wasn't the safest, but what's the worst that can happen?
The owner allows her full reign, as always, and she kisses his cheek, as always.
As she searches the music, she comes across a disc of old favorites and by the time she's laced and ready, the first bars of 'Black Velvet' are playing.
Stepping onto the ice feels so natural and she turns slow and easy, her hips swaying to the sensual music. Small turns, tiny jumps and she's even humming along as she gets going.
The moves come so easily to her that, when the music stops, she feels a sense of loss.
