by Nora Page
There’s something strangely beautiful about certain kinds of chaos. A screaming child or fire alarm is just mayhem, but disco nights at Outpost Ice Arena are the most perfect form of chaos. Even in the absolute insanity, it feels like the eye of the storm, the peace in the pandemonium. I was first introduced to skating when I was seven or eight, and I hated it. The cold, the lights, the people; it all agitated me. I couldn’t even stand up on my skates, much less actually move anywhere. One year ago, on New Year’s Day, skating was reintroduced to me, and this time, I fell in love with it. Everything made sense now, from how not to ce. For the first time, I knew what it felt like to understand something so quickly; get it in a way I’d never before. Disco nights are now my favorite time on the ice— late nights when there aren’t too many people, and the chaos feels magical. Skating endless loops around the darkened rink until I’m tired feels grounding;
The ice scrapes under the blade of my skates, the sound sharp and inviting. My breath catches in small clouds in the frigid air, and I wait for a half second before jumping into the crowd of people. For a minute, I stumble, getting my footing on the slippery surface. The lights around the rink flicker off, giving way to the disco lights, dancing along the walls and floor. Music starts to play, and I briefly think, someone needs to choose better music. The chilly air brushes my arms, and I realize I left my jacket back on the bleachers. I don’t need it though. I glide away from the wall, fingers brushing the battered, marred plastic. I wonder absently, how many hockey pucks have flown over the wall? Hit someone? A loud thud shakes the wall. Someone had run face-first into the wall, laughing the whole time. I pick up speed, blades scraping deep into the broken ice, looping around the rink. The wall is suddenly only feet away, and I try my best to slow down, but stopping isn’t easy. Hitting the wall to stop has worked this long; I’ll just do that. The hollow thud I make as I collide with the wall makes my teeth crack together. For a few minutes, I sit on the sidelines, retying my skate laces and watching everyone who speeds past, hoping to pick up on better technique, tips to help me improve. When I step onto the ice again, it feels like flying.
The ice rink itself is absolute chaos, full of bright disco lights and loud people. Somewhere on the other side of the building, the hockey team practices; every time the skaters hit the wall, the resounding echo shakes the rink. Most of the people hang out in groups, talking, laughing, so I avoid them as best I can. The obligatory group of rude teens will run anyone over without a second thought, shoving and weaving between the slower skaters. Red, blue, and green lights bounce off the gouged ice, flashing and spinning in repetitive circles. If I stare at the ground for too long, the spinning circles of light make my center of gravity falter. This late in the evening, it’s just teenagers and couples; no little kids—ultimately the hardest obstacles to avoid, which is a nice relief. Occasionally, someone falls, skidding across the ice before hitting a wall. The group of rabid teenagers hangs on the walls, refusing to move for inexperienced skaters. Music blasts from the overhead speakers, the ‘80s and ‘90s music I hate, yet I still know most of the lyrics, the music engrained in my head by my dad’s questionable taste in music. Screamed conversations accost my ears as I cut through a group of stationary teenagers who proceed to pull out a hockey puck, kicking it across the ice. The impromptu game of hockey ends quickly, its players colliding with each other and the wall.
I’ve always felt most comfortable in the chaos, since it just feels like home, easily in a very literal way. Having four siblings means there’s never any peace, and as a result, silence can feel deafening and suffocating. It feels backward, being so comfortable in mayhem but not in the calm. Life is chaotic and being able to handle chaos feels like a life skill.
Chaos can be comfortable, and the best place for me to see this is on the ice. I learned this when I learned to skate. Every time I step onto the ice, this is obvious. When the chaos starts to agitate me, the best way to relax is to embrace it. The things I love about skating are the same things that make it chaotic: skating in the near-dark, surrounded by people and loud music. To me, being fully surrounded by chaos feels like telling myself, I can be chaos too.
Leonardo Magazine 