The Comeback

By Elizabeth Van Steenwyk

Laurie sat in the deserted dressing room that smelled of sweat socks and leftover lunches and thought about all the times she’d done this before—just sat in a dressing room of an ice rink somewhere and waited for her turn to compete. Today wasn’t one of the ordinary times, however. Today marked her comeback in the National Junior figure skating finals. If I place in one of the top three positions, she thought, I’ll qualify to move up to Seniors next year and then, after that, world competition and the Olympics. Fantastic!

If, Laurie thought, coming down from her excitement with a thud. That big word if. Before the accident, no one could beat her in competition. From that first day, when she was ten and passed the Preliminary test, she’d glided right through the local divisions into National Novice.

“Hi, Laurie,” Kathy said, suddenly bursting through the door. “Welcome back to the competition ranks. We’ve surely missed you these last six months.”

“I’ve missed being here,” Laurie said.

“How’s the knee?” Kathy’s face suddenly turned serious. “Is it going to slow you down? I mean, you had such a head of steam going for you. We really thought you’d be in the Seniors by now and then the Olympics.”

“I guess we’ll find out tonight just where I stand,” Laurie said, feeling her confidence drain away.

“We have some new competition this year, Laurie,” Kathy said, adjusting her bootlaces. “A girl from Connecticut named Jinny Jordan, who’s really strong in everything—schools, freestyle, you name it.”

“I saw some of her figures this morning,” Laurie said. “Unbelievable!”

“Wait’ll you see her freestyle program tonight,” Kathy said. “She does four double axels and a triple toe loop at the end. Can you believe it?”

Laurie thought about this and knew that she’d have to include a triple toe loop too. She had hoped to leave it out because it put an additional strain on her knee, but now there was no choice. I’ll have to try the triple and pray, she thought.

“Is Jinny ahead in the scoring?” Laurie asked.

“She’s the one you have to beat this year,” Kathy replied, as she hurried out, slamming the door behind her.

For a moment, Laurie sat quietly, getting used to the feeling. Until the accident, everyone had said, “Laurie Collins is the one to beat.” Now the one to beat was someone she’d never heard of before. Has everyone written me out of the competition since the accident? she wondered.

The accident. Who could have predicted it? No one figured on that awful rainy night when she and Mom were driving home after a practice session and the car in front of them swerved on the slippery road and they plowed into it. Later, examinations at the hospital revealed that torn cartilage in her right knee would need three months to mend and three more months of therapy and practice if she hoped to regain her position.

She jumped up and winced as her right knee broadcast pain signals up and down her leg. The doctor said it would do that for awhile. After waiting for the sensation to pass, she moved slowly across the room, then back again, to limber up. She did a few deep knee bends, holding onto the back of a chair for support.

Suddenly she caught her image in the mirror, then stood up and looked herself right in the eye. “Who are you kidding?” she asked. “And what makes you think you have a chance tonight?” She covered her eyes with her hands, and then said with determination, “I just have to win.”

The door swung open and Laurie looked up into the mirror again. Reflected there was a girl about her own age but shorter and more powerfully built. At the moment her arms were overloaded with a skate equipment bag, a thermos, a warm-up jacket, and a pair of skates.

The girl dumped some of her belongings onto a chair. The bag fell to the floor with a thud. “Hi, I’m Jinny Jordan,” she said.

“Hi, I’m Laurie Collins.” Laurie felt ill at ease. So this is the competition, she thought. Because of her, I may lose tonight.

“This costume was my mom’s idea,” Jinny began, looking at her red, white, and blue skating dress. “I hope no one expects me to skate to the national anthem.”

Laurie smiled and then looked down at Jinny’s skating bag. “Hey,” she said, “some stuff fell out of your bag, Jinny. Guess you didn’t have it zipped up all the way.”

Jinny looked at the clothes and equipment that lay scattered on the floor. She started gathering her belongings when the door opened.

“Jinny,” Kathy said, poking her head in. “You’re supposed to get your music tape out to the sound engineer right away.”

“I thought I gave it to him half an hour ago. Tell him it’s the dark green box with my initials marked in white in the top right-hand corner.”

“Maybe you better remind him. He claims you never gave it to him and he’s about ready to explode.”

“Then I don’t know what I did with it,” Jinny said, hurrying out after Kathy.

Laurie relaced her boots one more time. That’s funny, she thought. She has a chance to win tonight and she doesn’t even know what she did with her music. Music was nearly as important to the freestyle program as the skating itself. It created mood, rhythm, style. Laurie had worked for months with her coach to select, then tape, her music program. If she lost her tape, she might as well forget about competing; it was that simple.

She stood up and walked to the chair to try a few more deep knee bends with her boots relaced. As she came down for the second time, Laurie saw something small and dark green behind the leg of the dressing table. She bent over to pull it out and saw the white initials J.J. in the top right-hand corner.

Must have rolled out of her bag when she dropped it, Laurie thought. She stood there immobile for what must have been only seconds, yet it seemed years while she thought about her next move.

All I’d have to do is forget that I found this. If Jinny doesn’t have her music, she might as well not skate. She would lookpretty ridiculous skating with no sound. And then, Laurie thought, I would win, because she’s the only real competition I have.

Laurie shivered slightly at the possibility. Do I really want to win that much? she wondered. Does winning mean so much that I’d be willing to cheat for it?

The door flew open. “Hey, you’re on after Jinny,” Kathy said, “and she’s in real trouble. She still can’t find her music.”

Laurie hesitated for only a second. “Tell her I found her tape,” she said, heading for the door. “And then would you mind giving it to the sound engineer. I’m already laced up.”

With a resigned but relieved feeling, Laurie made her way to the rink. Moving to the edge of the ice, she removed her guards and watched Jinny skate gracefully to the taped music. Afterward she nervously waited for her cue. When the announcer called her name, Laurie glided quickly to the center of the rink as her music began. She waited until the taped music filled the stadium over the loudspeaker, let the drum beat inside her head to catch the rhythm, then stroked hard into a double toe spin as the tympany reached a crescendo. She followed with a strong spiral on her right leg that carried her half way around the perimeter of the rink.

Good, she thought, my knee’s holding up!

She didn’t leave one figure out as she felt herself gliding, spinning out of one figure and into another. The audience applauded from time to time, enthusiastically supporting her in her comeback.

The closing strains of music lifted her into a difficult triple toe loop that made the audience gasp. Finally it was over. The applause blanketed her and she stood for a moment there in the spotlight. Afterward she waved to the crowd and quickly made her way to the exit where her coach ran over and hugged her.

“You did it, Laurie,” she said, “You didn’t make a single mistake. I think you won.”

Laurie said nothing, but smiled as she waited for her marks. When they came, she knew she’d beaten Jinny Jordan and everyone else.

“Laurie, you won! You won!” Kathy screamed, as she rushed up to her.

“Yeah, I guess I did,” was all Laurie could manage. Then, as she put on her blade guards and walked back to the dressing room, she thought, but no one will ever know how close I really came to losing.

Illustrated by Arlene Braithwaite