(THOMAS WEATHERALL, CIS MAN, HE/THEY) Oh, is that DECLAN âDUCKYâ BIRRANI I heard they TWENTY EIGHT year old is CHARMING. But donât let that pretty face fool you, they are also STUBBORN. Makes sense seeing how they are a CLEAN civilian who works as a SKATING INSTRUCTOR
From your earliest memory you can recall those very words. âHeâs meant for greatness,â and even as a child that stuck with you. Expectation and promises of grandeur, a life full of accomplishments. The thoughts of trophies and medals, recognition, it all seemed like the sweetest of dreams. Dreams that were simply thrust onto you far when you were far too young to act defiant. You tried to be picture perfect didnât you? Or at least that was the goal. Perfect grades, good manners, well behaved, and always supposed to be looking your best no matter how menial the circumstance. The embodiment of excellence, not a single room for error, no flaw in place.
You had to be a star no matter what, and so ever since you hit the ice, you never once stopped. It was amazing seeing you glide on your skates as if this was what you were always meant to be doing. I could tell you loved every second of it, your smile had never been that big. But no matter all the elation you felt, nothing couldâve prepared you for what came next.
It started off as little complaints, and I distinctly remember the way you would hide your pain, just pretend it was a simple discomfort and move on. Gradually it worsened, and it wasnât until your parents noticed something was off during one of your many extra curriculars, ballet was it? A quick doctorâs visit and you were told you had scoliosis. The dreams of Olympic achievements were slowly fading before your very eyes and your fear was so crystal clear in those little blue eyes of yours.
Your adoptive parents loved you and they were the reason you worked so hard, a silly little boy with a grand dream and wishes to make them eternally proud. Then one day you were told youâd be undergoing surgery, a miracle to correct your issue and youâd be able to continue your dream. A grave mistake, but what did you know, you were nothing but a child.
A grizzly scar now kissed your back, something you always tried to hide, but at least you were back on track. For a time it was perfect, you were competing, and winning, and the pain was still there but the surgery was supposed to help, right? So why did you fall in the middle of a performance? Why did you scream out in pain, the same pain youâd been hiding because you hoped and prayed that this would all be temporary.
But it wasnât, it was all worse, and as you sought out your parents help, they recommended you take some time, wear your back brace and just commit. So you did, and it helped, but only a little that pain was persistent, petulant even, never leaving your side just gnawing away at you, day by day by day. Nothing was helping you, and it wasnât until you rang the doctor that had seen you all those years ago that you found out the truth. That fateful surgery was never supposed to happen, the doctor had fully advised against it, he had recommended a brace and therapy to rectify the issue over time, but your parents hubris would be your downfall. Them people in the medical field who should know better, and when you confronted them, all you could see was the guilt written all over their faces and words of how they meant well, and the fear in your eyes was what ultimately led them to go through with it.
Now youâre left with that pain, never able to achieve those bitter sweet Olympic dreams, now youâre stuck being a teacher, and while you still love being on the ice, you will always have two constant reminders of the biggest betrayal in your life. Your chronic pain, and that big scar on your back, the same one that makes it so you canât get close to any man, the one that makes it so youâre afraid to take your shirt off, even get intimate with someone fully nude.
Youâve never had a boyfriend, your career had to come first, and if you could talk to your younger self youâd laugh in his face, tell him it was all a waste of time. So youâre angry, angrier than even, but even as angry as you are you canât hate them, you love your parents but you hate what they did, what they put you through, but you could never hate them.
So silly little boy, gliding on the ice as if heâs being whisked away to neverland, will you ever learn to let that one boy in or are you keeping him at arms length, like all the others.
