These events occurred somewhere in a place I've been. A place where time passes dreamily. A place where our heart's desires are fulfilled. Where every yearning heart is held and kept and lifted up in loving embrace. Please play safe and be kind to yourselves and to one-another.

Our community always felt like a small town. In truth, it is a semi-rural enclave on the outskirts of a large northern city. But it is one of those places that people don't seem to move away from. Or they do, but only for a while, and then they're back again. Our parents and grandparents came here and put down roots -- and boy, what roots! Most of the people in this story still live in the same houses, these grand old cozy big homes that once rang out with the shouts of their parents' voices as children. Grandma's cooking smells are still there, in the walls somewhere, if your nose is keen enough.

Anyway, a few years have passed -- not a lot -- and some of us have moved away. But the place just keeps drawing us back. Some to raise a family, some to heal. And I still see these people in the course of a day and often we have a moment to stop, perhaps to touch, and to look each other in the face and smile, remembering how we were.

The flight back was a bit of a letdown. Since we were missing two days of school, there was going to be a little bit of catching up to do. Dare had seemed a little distracted, the last couple of days on the island. He had a couple of talks with Jake that I walked in on. I've always tried to ignore certain instincts, but I kind of felt he was talking with Jake about the future -- our future. He looked happier, though, and gave me what I call "the bat signal," a brief pursing of his lips, like he was thinking of whistling. It was his secret public kiss, "I love you Brand," loud and clear to me but invisible to everybody else. I would usually scrape one foot: "Aww shucks, me too."

This one time he gave me that signal and just then our dog started dragging her butt across the living room. Try explaining to Dusti why we were laughing 'till we almost puked. He seemed a little miffed. "It's a secret, isn't it?" he accused. I had to tickle him and threaten to kiss him, but he remained unconvinced, until Ice Cream. Then all was forgiven.

The first weekend we were back, Dare asked me to meet him at the rink real early. When I got there, he had half the lights on. The far side was dark. I could tell it was on purpose, because the ones that were on had come to full brightness, which takes about ten minutes. I got my skates on, half watching Dare.

He was already on the ice, warming up. When he saw me, he didn't come over like normal. He just motioned for me to take a seat, and the music started. It was not like anything I've seen him dance to, before. Sort of an electric guitar flamenco thing accompanied by what sounded like electronic coconuts being bonked. I wouldn't be surprised if it was an Al DiMeola thing, because the rhythm was really complicated but consistent. Mr. Ambrosini stuck his head out of his office and watched, looking sort of proud and longing. I won't try to describe it, but Dare's performance was very strange. A mix of bullfighter ass-tucked-in and foot stomping that sent ice chips flying, and crouched backward-walking moves with pumping fists like a comicbook hero, odd spins with forearms up at a right angle with fists. Like some kind of titan earth spirit. It seemed to be a celebration of strength and something else. Daring? Resolve? Fate? When it ended, it felt like Decision.

Derek was at center ice, at the edge of shadow, and didn't look at me. Something gentle started, two acoustic guitars. The music was sweet and simple, emotional, by turns optimistic and slightly longing. Occasionally, it turned anthemic, if that's a word. He skated toward me, and the rest was close in. Nothing flashy: he was dancing for me. At me. To me. He danced his tenderness, he danced his youth and exuberance, his raw sexuality, he danced striving to reach and being dragged away. He danced struggle and triumph. He danced celebration. He slid to a stop on his knees, before me, his hands outstretched in invitation.

I joined him on the ice, uncertain. He streaked to join me, coming alongside and slowing to grasp my arm and my waist. So strong and solid! He led powerfully, guiding me to speed up and to join him in some sweet simple turns, leaning into each other, and then he was away, circling back to leap and spin in circles around me, skates flashing, as I came back around, then to take up with me again, leaning into the solidity of each other, and then out, away, for those spectacular flashing aerials of his and down and back, slowing, slowing, to match me again, to reach me again, skating backward, leading me to the edge of shadow.

I slowly came to a stop as he circled and slid, again on one knee, to halt before me.

"Brand?" he asked. "Brand? Will you spend your whole life with me?"

"Yes," I croaked, the tears coming upon me. I dropped to one knee. The ice was cold and hard. "Yes, Derek. Yes, absolutely I will."

Thus it was said. Thus was it sealed.