Val Dumond

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Articles on Writing, Grammar, and Publishing
by Val Dumond

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Val writes articles on grammar, the art and science of writing, and publishing, for budding writers and seasoned authors alike. These articles are not only informative and educational, they're entertaining - written as only Val can. Enjoy this latest of her articles:

On the River
by Val Dumond
© Copyright 2009

On the river in the wintertime lay a memory of a young boy and a young girl who braved the dark of midnight and the cold of New Year's Eve to encounter the wind and their dreams.

She slipped out of her house just as the neighborhood church clock struck midnight - the beginning of a brand new year. Her new white figure skates over her shoulder and snow boots on her feet, she trudged alternately through snowdrifts and shoveled sidewalks down to the edge of the river. The snow falling lightly and blowing from the tall fir trees reflected what little light shone down from nearby streetlamps. Approaching the shelter of the fir trees, she caught first sight of a figure out on the ice, appearing much like a small sailboat skimming in front of the blustery wind.

She sat down on the big log and removed her boots, noticing another pair of boots next to the log. "Just like him", she whispered to the trees. "Always showing up at the wrong time." While she had looked forward to trying out her new skates by herself, she felt oddly safe knowing that he was nearby. She laced up her skates hurriedly, then clomped down the wooden board that led to the ice.

"What's she doing here?" he said to nobody, since the wind was the only moving thing out where he was in the middle of the river. And although he had looked forward to trying out his new hockey skates by himself, he felt cheered to have company. He lowered his "sail" and headed toward shore.

"Hi," she called. "I thought that was you."

"Yeah, it's me," he returned. "Thought I'd try out my new skates."

"I got new ones too"

"Bet they're not good old hockey skates like mine."

"Course not - they're beautiful white figure skates. 'Bout time too - my old ones were all dirty and worn out. Much as Dad tried, he couldn't get the runners as sharp as these."

"C'mon out - the ice is perfect. I had to brush off some snow, but the ice is smooth."

"The cracking isn't dangerous?"

"Course not, girl. Just says it's getting colder and deeper. Bet you could drive a truck on it right now."

"Well okay - here I come."

She skated onto the ice, spreading her arms suddenly for balance as she felt the sharpness of the new blades. "Ooh, these skates are great! Maybe even too sharp for me."

"I thought you were quite good as a figure skater - for a kid girl anyway."

"Not a kid girl!"

"Yes you are!"

"Then you're a kid boy!"

"Am not! I'll be thirteen next year... I mean this year. Hey, Happy New Year!"

"Thanks. What're you doing with that broom?"

"It holds my sail. See? I stick the end through the sleeves of my jacket and I have a sail." He showed her what he meant just as a blast of cold air gave him a sendoff down the river. She laughed so hard she lost her balance and took a header. Quickly, so he wouldn't see her spill, she got back to her feet and brushed the snow off her pants.

If you were hovering over the river that cold blustery night, you'd have noticed how two youngsters began to notice each other in new ways. You'd have seen how he flew past her, jacket sailing in the wind, a wide smile on his face and hope in his heart that he wouldn't hit a rough patch of ice and fall. And you'd have seen her find her balance and twirl and glide over the ice in a performance for the stars, and him, that equaled the Olympics.

He longed for speed and control and daring, and found them in the excitement of the crackling ice during that nighttime visit. She sought the grace and freedom and beauty of gliding, shunning the threatening sounds of expanding ice as it froze even colder and colder in the midst of the night. They both found new ways to enjoy shiny new skates that had shown up under their holiday trees. And they found a new way to regard someone who previously had been just a neighbor, just the friend down the street.

Now, fifty-five years later, the same two people appear at the edge of the river on a snowy holiday night, a bit earlier in the evening than before, but hauling their ice skates over their shoulders. This time he helps her lace up her skates. She helps him move his fragile old legs onto his feet. Together they approach the crackling of the late night ice, arms about each other. Once on the ice, he opens his jacket and lets the wind take him out to the middle where he drifts along with the wind. She stays near shore, renewing her figure-eights and floating swans.

Two happy people... on the river of ice.

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