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front that Aunt Sophie had made for me when I was born. The blanket had a rip in one corner and frayed edges, but I’d had it with me during every hospital stay.
    Mom came back with a nurse pushing a wheelchair. I sat down on the gray seat, hugged my suitcase close like a shield, and took one last look at the sky. I waved at the geese and wished them well.

9
    EAGAN
    These aren’t just memories. I’m actually there, living it all over again. I can smell the pipe tobacco on Dad’s shirt. It makes me feel warm inside. I can feel the soft carpet beneath my toes and the cold linoleum that makes my feet freeze. I can hear the creak of the stairs and the ticking of the clock on the mantel.
    But the one thing I can’t do is change anything. No matter how hard I try, it plays out as it did before. I say the same words, have the same reactions, do the same things that I did before. It’s like being stuck in a rerun.
    If I can’t get back to my life, I might as well revisit it the only way I’m able to now. Anything is better than this dismal grayness. I search my heart for some warm memories. When they wash over me, the fog begins to lighten.

    The first time I tried on a pair of skates I was hooked. It was a pair of white figure skates with pink laces that I got for Christmas when I was three years old. I tried them out on the pond behind our house that same day. Dad had to drag me off the ice when my cheeks turned as pink as my laces and my nose was nearly frozen. I cried because I didn’t want to stop skating.
    Mom had been at church. When she got back, she was furious.
    “What’s the matter with you, Richard? Those aren’t pond skates. She’ll ruin them out there.”
    “Sorry, Cheryl. I didn’t know.”
    “That’s the problem. You don’t know anything about skating. She’ll get proper training with the learn-to-skate program at the local rink. The indoor rink.”
    “I’m sorry, Mommy,” I cried, because she was mad. “Please don’t take away my skates.”
    Mom bent down and gave me a hug. “I’m not mad at you, Eagan. I’m glad you love skating. And I won’t take them away. Not ever. Okay?”
    “Okay,” I whimpered.
    “These are special skates for indoors only,” she explained. “We’ll get you a different pair of skates for the pond. But once you skate on indoor ice, I promise you won’t want to skate on the pond again.”
    She was partly right. Pond ice was uneven and unpredictable. Even on indoor ice, one degree could change the conditions of the rink. It could change how your skates gripped the ice or how you landed your jumps.
    But nothing beat skating on a pond, eating snowflakes on your tongue as you glided across the ice with your dad holding your hand, watching as a border of fresh snow decorated the pine trees. Dad made sure the ice was kept smooth and clean, and he even put two lawn chairs on the edge so we could take breaks.
    One day, Dad wasn’t home from work, and I was skating alone on the pond. It was snowing lightly, but not enough to clog the rink with snow. I looked up to see Mom across from me on the ice, skating toward me. I wasn’t supposed to skate outdoors alone. I thought I was in trouble. Plus, I’d never seen Mom on the ice before. I didn’t even know she owned a pair of skates. I searched her face for signs of anger but saw something else. I wasn’t sure what.
    Mom’s dark hair was sprinkled with falling snowflakes. She looked so pretty. She didn’t even have a coat on, just a down vest over a turtleneck shirt and blue spandex pants. She lifted her foot and glided on one skate toward me. Then she turned at the last minute, put her arms in a circle, and arched her back; her hands went up and her head relaxed back and she spun around on one skate, going faster as she brought the circle of arms closer to her body.
    She looked as graceful as Tara Lipinski. Finally she slowed down, straightened up, and pulled out of the spin.
    I was breathless. “I didn’t know you