Early in the evening, the best of the best were there. The skaters came from all around to be seen by the spectators who surrounded the frozen pond. They whirled and spun to the waltzes of the mighty WurliTzer on the adjacent stage.

I happened by much later on my walk home from work. The floodlights looked strange on the ice-covered pond amid the rolling fog of midnight. They had nothing to light except the scarred ice and me. Someone forgot to turn them off I suppose. The ice skaters had all gone home hours ago. It was an invitation I could not pass up, a chance for this boy to be his secret self.

I slipped off my shoes. The grass was cold and icy with bits of tiny white flakes. I put on my skates and inched down to the pond. It was frozen and marred with the lines from the skaters before me. There was no one at this midnight hour but the lights blazed at me and beckoned me onto the ice.

The silence was overwhelming until the music began to play. No one sat at the mighty WurliTzer yet it came from somewhere. Something soft and a little sad but a waltz nonetheless. It played as loudly as I wanted or as softly as the wind.

I rushed onto the ice and immediately did a backwards flip to a crescendo from the pipes. I was grace in motion. The lights teased me on. I soared over the ice with strong legs pushing me.

Other ghosts joined me in my midnight play until I had a part in their grand folly.

From far away I saw, at the edge of the pond an old man sat on an icy bench. He was dressed in a top coat with a white silk scarf around his neck and a black top hat. He wore white gloves and looked quite debonair. I had not seen him before. He sat quietly, hardly moving as he watched the me and my ghosts.

Through his eyes, I saw myself, a young boy in fierce frolic on the pond alone. He must have laughed to himself to see such a sight, or did he feel my solitude and peace and draw from it. The only sound was the music in my mind and the blades upon the ice.

“What a silly boy.” He must have thought, or what a sad thing he may have mourned, to see this young boy skating all alone at midnight. He watched me intensely and I gave him such a grand show.

I began to feel oneness with his soul when I came near him in my soaring ovals, but his expression never changed from a pleasant smile.

Finally, the lights turned a deep orange and died in the cold misting snow. I must have faded into a pale blue moonlight in his eyes. Still he watched. Still I soared past him until the last time and he was gone.

I stopped. No longer having the audience that I had never expected, feeling now as though I needed him to be there. I sat on the very bench where he had sat and from the trees somewhere behind me, I heard the muffled clap of a gloved hand and the single word, “Bravo!”

Some kind of sad joy filled me. I did not turn around. I don’t think he was really there.

And the man said, “I do not expect him to hear my applause. I don’t think he was really there.”