Penguin
The doorbell rang. She stood, authoritatively, at the top of the steps leading to my apartment. "I'm here for Nicole". I fumbled for my house keys, threw a hat on my head, hoped my socks were thick enough and off we went.
"Nekol, speak Russian. You are the English teacher; I am the Russian teacher."
"But I can't speak Russian."
"I speak English in class. You speak Russian with me."
"Your English is like this", I protest feebly in Russian, holding my hand above my head - "my Russian is like this", holding my hand below my knee.
"Nekol, speak Russian".
It's not a request.
She's really enjoying this. She had to retake her midterm exam. A motivated student, she's missed a few classes, but the strength and vibrancy of her personality is in no way lessened by her imperfect grammar on my test, an arbitrary attempt to measure her "skill" and "learning progress" in this one subject area where I am somehow qualified to provide instruction.
"I don't know how to skate."
"In Russian, please."
(!@#$%)
I step onto the ice, shakily.
"Are you scared?".
Oooo she knows how to push my buttons.
She's tall and lean and naturally graceful. She grabs my left hand and drags me across the ice as I sway back and forth, yell, and search desperately for some element of form resembling her smooth, effortless motions across the ice.
Some 6 year olds skate by, turning circles and going backwards. A few drunk, roughhousing young men follow soon after. I try not to fall or get hit. I stare obssessively at my feet, trying to make them move like the other feet on the rink.
Eventually, I stop looking at my feet and start looking at the ice. I move in jerky circles around the middle, where the slower skaters are. Every so often, she stops to check on me, grabbing my hand and pulling me off for some "adult circles" around the loop, which means we move must faster than where my comfort zone is.
She's 15 or 16 years old, maybe.
I watch the lights and the music and think that I'd be more at home in a dance club. I grit my teeth and try to forget that I'm wearing skates two sizes too small since that's all they had.
When they stop to clean the ice, we decide to go home. We walk through the park to a bus stop as she puffs on her cigarette. She used to live near this park, and would run around in it when she was a little girl. She still likes to come here with her grandparents for the New Year, where they have a great celebration. I promise that if I stay in Vladimir for New Years, I will come to the park with her. We are speaking in Russian. She corrects my small words for me.
We get on the bus and leave Penguin, the skating rink. My feet hurt, but I had fun.
"Nekol, speak Russian. You are the English teacher; I am the Russian teacher."
"But I can't speak Russian."
"I speak English in class. You speak Russian with me."
"Your English is like this", I protest feebly in Russian, holding my hand above my head - "my Russian is like this", holding my hand below my knee.
"Nekol, speak Russian".
It's not a request.
She's really enjoying this. She had to retake her midterm exam. A motivated student, she's missed a few classes, but the strength and vibrancy of her personality is in no way lessened by her imperfect grammar on my test, an arbitrary attempt to measure her "skill" and "learning progress" in this one subject area where I am somehow qualified to provide instruction.
"I don't know how to skate."
"In Russian, please."
(!@#$%)
I step onto the ice, shakily.
"Are you scared?".
Oooo she knows how to push my buttons.
She's tall and lean and naturally graceful. She grabs my left hand and drags me across the ice as I sway back and forth, yell, and search desperately for some element of form resembling her smooth, effortless motions across the ice.
Some 6 year olds skate by, turning circles and going backwards. A few drunk, roughhousing young men follow soon after. I try not to fall or get hit. I stare obssessively at my feet, trying to make them move like the other feet on the rink.
Eventually, I stop looking at my feet and start looking at the ice. I move in jerky circles around the middle, where the slower skaters are. Every so often, she stops to check on me, grabbing my hand and pulling me off for some "adult circles" around the loop, which means we move must faster than where my comfort zone is.
She's 15 or 16 years old, maybe.
I watch the lights and the music and think that I'd be more at home in a dance club. I grit my teeth and try to forget that I'm wearing skates two sizes too small since that's all they had.
When they stop to clean the ice, we decide to go home. We walk through the park to a bus stop as she puffs on her cigarette. She used to live near this park, and would run around in it when she was a little girl. She still likes to come here with her grandparents for the New Year, where they have a great celebration. I promise that if I stay in Vladimir for New Years, I will come to the park with her. We are speaking in Russian. She corrects my small words for me.
We get on the bus and leave Penguin, the skating rink. My feet hurt, but I had fun.
posted by russiangirl at 3:36 AM
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