Friendship is sturdier than ice

The silent lands of green were bedecked white with snow. The downfall in the night had collected itself into knolls across the plains. Where there was once a field with a circular lake, there was now a white land with frozen water.

As morning brightened the world and the blinding light shone off the snow, the hardened body of liquid had greeted a keen ice skater. His name was Adam. He wasn't alone. Well, he was alone in his skating because his friend, Christopher, wished to fulfil an alternative hobby.

“Hey, Chris! Come on and skate,” Adam called over.

“Shut up, I'm trying to fish!” yelled Christopher. He wasn’t as perspicacious as his friend when it came to ice skating.

“Not when you're being that noisy, you ain't.”

Christopher growled, sagged his shoulders, and faced the white sky.

It had stopped snowing but the clouds were yet to disembark. No matter where he looked, Christopher could only see white. It wasn’t uncommon for the weather to be like this during winter out in the rural part of the country. It was captivating, in a strange way. Almost . . . surreal.

“Have you even caught anything?” Adam asked, joining him by the frozen pond.

“No,” Christopher pouted. His line never pulled. He was yet to catch a glimpse of a fish in the cold water that he had drilled an uneven hole into.

“You know, I'm pretty sure this pond was empty when it wasn't frozen.” Adam slapped Christopher on the back in a friendly fashion. “Come on, it's skating time. We rarely have an opportunity to skate like this. I mean, look at this lake.” He held out his arms and threw himself on the frozen water, his feet twirled and danced upon his landing.

Christopher sighed. There was a saying suitable for situations like this. Something about if you're unable to beat them you have to do . . . something. He couldn't remember. He wrapped his fishing pole in the plastic cover and placed it in the soft clutches of the snowy knoll. Adam was right. Opportunities like this seldom came by.

His ice skates were worn, despite barely using them himself, and they slipped on like slimy sandals. He tested the steel blade. He was no expert but it felt sturdy enough.

Christopher pushed himself over the ice on unsure, leaden legs. They remained straight and tight, whereas his body wobbled all over. His arms extended out from his side in the hopes of balance. But that hope was non-existent like his talent on the ice. He was sure he was the antithesis to a pro ice skater. He lacked the bravura that Adam held and he was void of any sense of balance. Seeing as balance was paramount to any form of success, he felt a wave of despondency wash over him. His arms suddenly danced in the air, almost as though to prove his own thoughts, as his legs flailed and his backside smacked into the ice with a rumbling thud.

“You're not very good, are you?” Adam felt the need to point out, sliding over to him in sinuous strides on assured legs, hands held together behind his back.

“Hey, I think I saw a lamppost not far from here you could lick. Given the current temperature, I'd say there's a fifty-fifty chance that your tongue might not stick.”

“You always bring that up,” Adam complained. “Is that your only insult?”

“My repertoire of insults is brimming but I feel they would be wasted on the likes of you, along with my ingenuity.”

“I was going to come and help . . . but now I'm not so sure. I thought you could skate, anyway?”

“I haven't done it in years. And,” he added, waving a finger as though the point he was making was obvious, “when I did, it never went well.”

“Now's a perfect time to practice, then.”

Christopher couldn't argue. There was no one around to watch him should he slip and humiliate himself. He'd dealt with enough embarrassment already. This was a time to unwind; a time to make memories and relish in the merriment of the activity at hand.

He did his best to regain his posture and fill the void of balance. He managed to stand straight without his body fumbling, and he slowly pushed himself forward allowing the light grip of the frozen water to carry him like a delicate princess.

Yes, this is it, he thought. He hadn’t done it in so long. No one had ever trained him; he just taught himself through watching and minimal practising. He closed his eyes and drifted. It helped when he couldn’t see his limbs. He wasn’t sure why. He believed if he saw that his arms and legs weren’t throwing themselves in a panic, they would suddenly develop the urge and a sense, separate from his mind, to start flailing around.

“Not bad,” Adam said from his side.

“What!?” Christopher screamed in panic as the sudden voice threw him out of his concentration. His trance broken, he reeled and his hand grabbed what it could on the way down. Sadly, the only thing in range was Adam’s grey jacket.

They both fell, Adam falling on his face, and Christopher landing on his rear.

“Hey, watch it,” moaned Adam, rubbing his nose. “Don’t drag me down to your level.”

“Right, my level. I’m in two minds about whether or not I want to apologise to you,” said Christopher, brushing his arms down.

“Don’t you like to claim the higher ground?”

“Every ground is higher than yours. Whether or not I apologise, I will be the better–”

There was a bone-chilling cracking noise and their eyes rolled to look at each other as fast as a snail on holiday. Their faces expressing everything unsaid.

“If we die, I’m haunting you,” said Adam.

“If ‘we’ die? ‘We’ implies that both of us will die. I won’t be around to haunt!”

“Then I’ll haunt you in the afterlife!”

The cracks intensified.

“Should we run?” asked Adam, his eyes fixated on the ice.

“No. In a situation like this, you're supposed to spread your weight so the ice doesn't–”

The cracking thundered through the air and the lines in the ice spread into noticeable splits.

“Should we still...?” Adam let the unfinished question hang in the air.

“No! Shut up and run!” screamed Christopher.

They did.

Their legs reached high as they flew across the frozen lake. Neither of them was an athlete but if there were ever to be an Olympic sport that entailed racing over a collapsing body of ice, these two would surely get the gold and silver medals.

The ice fell at their feet with every step like a chain of falling dominoes. Christopher did his best to match the pacing of his friend as the two headed for the bank.

At the edge of the lake, they leapt like they were stunt men in a cheap action movie. Neither thought they would've done something like that in their lifetime, but the soft embrace of the snow was comforting to their fall.

They rolled over and laid there, their chests heaving. They extended their arms and their fists met in the cold air.

“Nice,” they both whispered to each other through pumping chests.

“That was too close for– Awh, dammit!” yelled Christopher, sitting up suddenly.

“What? What's happened?”

“I landed on my fishing pole.” Christopher held the snapped rod in his hands, the plastic covering flopping over like a deceased dandelion, and Adam erupted into laughter.

“Adam, stop that. Adam. Adam, I mean it! If you don't stop it, you know where I'm going to stick this!?” he announced holding up his broken fishing rod.

Adam continued laughing and Christopher incessantly prodded him with the pole aiming for his cheeks.