Herb walked to the skating rink by the streetcar tracks, but it was closed. It was Christmas morning and most things were closed. Then he went to a movie and watched something about John Dillinger. There was a whole lot of shooting and running, but the thing that stood out to him was how much Dillinger really seemed to love the movies. He died outside a theatre.
After, Herb went back to the rink and hopped the fence. The ice was hard and clear and if it was a lake, he thought, he would be able to see a school of fish, but it was artificial. He skated and played games with himself. At one point he imagined his neighbour and him skating hand in hand. His neighbour was a man, but it was just imaginary. Then he would skate hard and then glide. He would do laps and chase after other skaters that weren’t there.
The sun was going down when a man stopped him and told him the rink was closed.
“Can I do a few more laps?” Herb asked.
“You’re not even supposed to be here,” the man said.
The man was chubby and old and probably the only one patrolling the city rinks on Christmas Day, Herb thought.
“I’m just going to do a few more laps,” he said.
“Don’t make me come in after you,” the man answered.
Herb held onto the fence and pushed his skates back and forth and back and forth.
“Come on, it’s Christmas,” he pleaded.
The man looked at him and smiled, “Doesn’t mean a thing to me.”
