The Queen of Roller Disco

Brittany Redd

“Can I tell you a secret?” she croons softly into my ear, letting the smoke from the last puff of her cigarette curl out the other side of her mouth. Who was I to say no?

“When I was sixteen, I sold my soul to the devil to become a roller disco queen.” She reached out and turned my face to look at her, with piercing solemnity in her eyes, followed shortly by a fit of laughter. Then, she patted me on the hand, with an air approaching maternal. “I know it sounds insane. It is insane.”

I didn’t know how to respond. I had only just met her a few hours ago.

“It just feels good to say it out loud, you know? To tell someone. When I’m settling in somewhere, putting down roots, I have to play the cards close to my chest. But times like this, when I’m on the move…I feel…almost free.”

I wondered if she had indulged in more than the whiskey we had shared at the bar earlier. She curled into me again, reached up to run her fingers through my hair.

“Can I show you?”

I was helpless to do anything but nod. She got up out of bed, walked across the room, and unzipped her duffle bag. She pulled out a pair of pink roller skates and a bluetooth speaker.

I couldn’t help but smile. Where a moment ago she had started to come across as a little unhinged, here, lacing her skates on the window seat, she looked serene, poised, confident. Beautiful.

With a fluid grace that reminded me of my old pet betta fish - Charlie - she glided across the hotel room floor. She was radiant. “Dancing Queen” by A.B.B.A. began to play. She twisted and turned, leapt, glided, spun at a dizzying speed. I hadn’t spent a lot of time at skating rinks in my life, but I knew I had never seen anyone move like this. Somehow both embodied and out-of-body. It was mesmerizing to watch.

When the song finished, she skated back over to me and flopped onto the bed.

“That was amazing,” I told her. I meant it.

“Yes, yes I know. But can you believe it? Can you believe I traded my whole life for that? Of course, at sixteen, it seemed like the most important thing in the world. All I cared about was beating Betsy Winfield in every competition and breaking hearts. Now, look at me. Doomed to spend the rest of my days wandering from seedy motel to seedy motel, changing names and making sure I make my quotas.”

“Quotas?”

She laughed lightly, leaned in and kissed me on the cheek.

“Oh, don’t worry, my dear. I’m all full up for this month. Besides, you’ve given me plenty already.”

At that, she melted into my chest, slipping quickly into a deep and silent sleep, still wearing her skates.