Queen of the Roller Derby

After everyone had gone, I sat on the porch, huddled in my coat and scarf, holding the urn containing her ashes. The sun was low in the west and the breeze off the lake was growing bitter. I stood and walked through the dormant garden and across the frosted lawn. The path that passed through the narrow neck of woods was already shrouded in darkness, but I knew the way well. Beyond it was a strip of scrubby grass, and then the low, rolling sand dune.

It was difficult climbing the dune, and I fell to my knees, terrified that I had spilled the urn. But I'd been knocked to my knees many times, and I always got back up.

I made it to the top of the dune, then looked back. Above the line of trees, I could see the soft lights of our home glowing in the falling darkness. Over the lake, the day's last light lingered.

I walked toward it, down to the water's edge. I stood for a while, hesitant to complete my task. The wind grew colder and whipped my hair and scarf behind me. My bones ached from the bitter cold, and my knees flared with pain when I knelt down before the gently lapping waves. I poured my beloved's ashes into the lake and let it take her away. I stood up and looked across it's calm surface and saw, as I have every evening since, her bright smile, alabaster on indigo.

****

I was surprised when Carol handed me the envelope. She paid the bills and threw away the junk mail. All she ever gave me was gardening catalogues. I was grateful for that. Even after years had gone by, mail would come for Myra, and it always upset me.

"What's this?" I asked.

"I don't know. Open it and find out."

I looked at the return address. It was from something called the M.R.D.A. at a post office box in Detroit. "Who the hell is that," I muttered as I torn the envelope open.

I unfolded the letter and my eyes opened wide. The letterhead read, "Michigan Roller Derby Association."

"Where are my reading glasses?" I asked Carol, squinting at the small print.

"You probably left them by your bed, like you usually do."

I handed her the letter. "Can you read it to me?"

She took the letter and read.

"Dear Ms. Boyd,

I hope this letter finds you well. As I am sure you know, there has been a great resurgence of interest in roller derby in recent years."

"There has?" I asked.

Carol shrugged. "So it says."

She continued reading. The letter's author introduced herself as Janica Hernandez, chair of the association, which represented more than a dozen teams in the state. "We have recently become aware of an essay, originally published in 1998," she wrote, "By Esther Goldblum, of Vallejo, California, about her involvement with the A-1 Manufacturing Comets in 1956-58 and the Battle Creek Bombshells from 1960-64."

"Oh my god, Goldie..."

"We were particularly interested in Ms. Goldblum's insights on being a queer woman involved in the sport in that era. As you may well know, roller derby has become a popular sport in the LGBTQ+ community."

"Goldie was a les? I had no idea."

"Sadly, Ms. Goldblum passed away in 2002. Fortunately, we have been able to find contact information on most of the surviving members of the team, thanks to Ms. Goldblum's essay. On Saturday, October 10, we will be hosting a double header, featuring matches between the Motown Mayhem and the Queen Bees and between the Skatin' Sisters and the Detroit Divas at Wayne State University Fieldhouse in Detroit. Between the bouts, we will have a special presentation honoring the A-1 Comets, and would like to invite you to attend as our honored guest. We have been researching the Comets' history for many years, and are very excited to be able to sponsor a reunion of the surviving members of the team."

"I wonder how they found me," I said.

"Well, they got computers now."

She went on with some stuff about contact info and RSVP's and things like that, but I was kind of dazed and paid no attention to it.

"So...what do you think? Do you want to go?" Carol asked when she finished reading the letter.

I stood up and walked to the window. The sun was so bright that I could not tell where the lake ended and the sky began.

"Honey, they remember us," I whispered. I turned to Carol. "We are definitely going."

****

We drove into the parking lot at the fieldhouse. It was packed. Carol pulled up by the main door to let me out.

"Pop the trunk," I told her.

"What's in the trunk? Didn't we take in all our bags at the hotel?"

"All but one," I said.

"Oh, no, Kitty..."

I got out of the car and she pressed the button to open the trunk. I lifted out the battered brown leather case.

Watching me in the side mirror, she asked, "Kitty, why did you bring your skates?"

"It's a skating track, isn't it?"

"Kitty, you're seventy two years old. You'd look foolish."

"I'm supposed to start caring what people think now?"

She shook her head and pulled away to park the car. I went into the building and got in line at the ticket window. While I was waiting, I watched the people filing in. Most of them looked very young to me. College aged, I'd guess. Then I saw the most amazing thing.

A woman walked past me. She had spiky black hair with purple streaks. She had a ring in her nose and a spiderweb tattooed on her neck. But the amazing thing was her shirt. She was wearing a blue and white t-shirt, with a logo on it. A-1 Comets.

How I wished Myra had been there to see it.

Carol came in just as I got to the front of the line. The woman at the ticket window had a nose ring as well. I wondered if I was too old for something like that.

"Hi, I think I'm on the VIP list or whatever," I told her, "Kitty Boyd and guest."

She checked her paperwork, then smiled and handed me two passes dangling on lanyards. I thanked her and turned to walk away.

"Excuse me," she called, holding up her index finger, "I have instructions to let Ms. Hernandez know when you've arrived."

Janica Hernandez came scurrying from the arena a few minutes later. She looked like one of those women who becomes a TV sports reporter; athletic, but sort of glamorous. I almost said something to Carol about how good looking she was, but I didn't need her reminding me of my age again.

Janica shook my hand enthusiastically, gushing over how glad she was to meet me.

"A couple of your teammates are already here," she said, "Let me take you into the hospitality suite to see them."

Carol went to take a seat in the arena, and Janica led me into the suite.

There was a buffet table with snacks and drinks at the far end of the room. Two women were standing in front of it, chatting. They turned when we entered.

I recognized Lulu instantly. Her red hair was probably a dye job now, but it was unmistakeable. It took a few seconds to realize the other woman was Pearl. She'd gained a lot of weight. They both recognized me immediately.

There had been a little voice in my head telling me I would not be welcome, because of how I had left the team, but the two of them were all smiles as they hugged me.

Janica took some pictures, then her phone buzzed and she bustled out of the room.

"I think that young lady is always on the go," Pearl said.

"Sort of like you were, Kitty," Lulu added. "By the way, we just heard about Myra. We are so sorry."

"Thanks," I said, as they both patted me on the back, "I just wish she could be here today."

"Jesus H. Christ!" someone shouted, "Is that Kitty Boyd!"

I turned around to see Janica pushing a wheelchair into the room. Its occupant was a heavy woman with hair so wispy that at first I thought she was bald. She wore enormous glasses that made her eyes look as big as saucers, so it took me a second to recognize her.

"Budz?"

"Goddamn right," she said, "Now get over here."

But before I took my second step, she had zoomed that chair across the room, and she might have knocked me to the floor if she had not scooped me into her arms first.

"Jesus, Budz," I said when she loosened her grip enough to let me breathe, "You move faster in this chair than you did on skates."

"I'll let you ladies catch up," Janica said, "The first bout starts in about ten minutes."

It turned out that Lulu, Pearl and Budz had always stayed in touch, although it had been a few years since they'd last gotten together.

They caught me up on what they knew of the rest of the team. Angie had dumped Chuckie and moved to Arizona. Celia died in a car crash sometime back in the seventies. Breast cancer took Cora in the eighties. No one knew what had become of Meg or Ellie.

"What about the Kinney sisters?" I asked.

"Oh, now there was a soap opera," Pearl said.

"It sure was," Lulu nodded, "You know about Donna and Goldie, right?"

"No, what about them?"

Budz laughed. "Honey, those two started hooking up in the second season. And they weren't discrete like you and Myra..."

"Wait, did you all know about us?"

"Oh yeah," Lulu said. "I mean, you were careful, but everybody on the team knew."

"Yeah, but nobody cared," Pearl said, "Except Connie, she would make ugly remarks..."

Budz laughed. "Yeah, then her own sister turns out to be a dyke. Oh shit, Kitty. Is that okay to say? Dyke?"

"No, not really."

"Sorry."

"It's okay. How you feel is more important than how you talk."

"Good, because you know me and my big mouth."

"Anyway," Lulu said, "After she got hurt and couldn't play, Connie had nothing to do but stir up trouble. Donna got sick of it all and broke up with Goldie, then got back with her. It just went on and on like that. Finally, Goldie came to her senses and told them both to get lost."

"The whole thing was kind of embarrassing to witness," Pearl said.

"What about Coach Joe?" I asked.

"Who knows," Budz said, "He's probably still sitting in some bar downtown."

"He'd be about a hundred and twenty years old," Lulu said.

"Yeah," Budz replied, "But he was well pickled."

Janica came into the room. "Ladies, the first match is about to begin."

As we followed her into the arena, Pearl told me, "I saw Goldie now and then after the team broke up. In the sixties, she really got into the hippie thing, and moved to California. I ran into Connie at K-Mart years later. She acted like 'Who the hell are you?'"

I was amazed when I stepped through the archway into the arena. It was nearly full.

"How many people does this place hold?" I asked Janica.

"Three thousand."

I didn't think three thousand people watched the Comets in all our bouts put together.

We had reserved seats in the first row. There was a handicapped space for Budz. I sat next to her, and when the first two teams rolled out of the locker room, she grabbed my hand and squeezed it tight.

All of the Mayhem skaters were Black, as were several members of the Queen Bees. I felt a bit of shame that the Comets had all been white, but I remembered Myra telling me that her father had threatened to shut the team down if she integrated it.

The teams lined up, the referee blew his whistle, and they were off. The crowd roared its approval as the skaters jockeyed for position on the first lap.

As the action intensified, I watched, spellbound. They were so fast, so strong. I pressed my shoulder into Budz. "These bitches would have kicked our asses," I shouted into her ear.

She shook her head. "You were as good as any of them, Kitty."

I didn't believe that, but I lifted her hand and kissed it in gratitude that she did.

After the first couple of jams it became clear that the Queen Bees were no match for the Mayhem. That pleased the audience, which seemed to be comprised largely of Mayhem fans.

It had been five decades since my last derby. Myra and I had watched a few bouts on television, but that had been nearly as far in the past. But as the Mayhem's jammer skated that track, I felt like I was in her head. I could anticipate her every move. When she leapt across the corner and landed in front of the Queen Bee jammer, the crowd went wild, and I did too, jumping to my feet and breaking out in tears.

"That's your move, Kitty!" Budz yelled, "That's your fuckin' move!"

I sat back down, but my tears kept coming. Budz draped her arm over my shoulder, and from the other side, Lulu took my hand.

"What's the matter, Kitty?" she asked.

"I'm alright," I sniffled, "I just wish Myra was here."

It was more than just missing her. I wanted so badly for her to know that she, and me, and the whole Comets team, had been part of something that had lasted and become important to people so many years later.

The final score was Mayhem 120, Queen Bees 67. When the lights came up, Janica led the four of us to the floor of the arena. I felt a tingle go up my spine when we crossed the track.

There was a podium and three chairs in the center of the floor. Lulu, Pearl and I sat down, and Budz rolled up next to us.

Pearl looked down at my skate case.

"Kitty, is that what I think it is?" she asked.

Lulu chuckled. "You didn't really think she'd come without them, did you?"

I snapped open the case and took out my skates. I could hear a murmur from the stands as I put them on.

A man wearing a headset walked over to Janica. They conferred for a minute, then he left and she stepped to the podium.

The lights went down. For a moment, we sat in almost complete darkness. Then a dim glow appeared and I heard a few scattered claps grow into applause as loud as thunder. I looked up at one of the arena's video screens. In letters as big as a house, it was showing the A-1 Comets logo.

The logo faded and a video came on. The first shot was of downtown Detroit as I remembered it when I was a girl. The streets were crowded with men in suits and fedoras, women in dresses with full skirts, people driving Plymouths and Packards and Buicks.

A booming voice came over the PA system."Detroit in the 1950s was home to an assembly of great sports figures..." Pictures of Joe Louis and Gordie Howe and Al Kaline appeared on the screen. "...But there were no organized women's sports."

The next picture showed a group of very old looking men, posing on what looked like a golf course, while the narrator explained how a group of businessmen founded the Midwest Roller Derby Federation. Then they showed a shot of Myra's father, and told how he had sponsored the Comets.

My breath caught in my throat then, as Myra's face appeared on the screen. Budz squeezed my shoulder. I forced myself to smile at her, to let her know I was okay.

But as the video played on, I could not concentrate on it. All I could think of was her. They showed a few grainy films of the team, all taken at practice, not in matches, and I saw myself, but I felt detached from it all. She wasn't there to see it with me.

The video ended with a group picture of the first year's team. We all looked like kids.

The logo came back, and the field house announcer blared over the PA system, in a rising voice, "Ladies and Gentlemen, the A-1 Comets!"

Janica urged us to stand, and spotlights came up on the five of us at the center of the track. The applause grew, and we all looked at each other, first in bewilderment, then with pride.

I couldn't see anything outside of that circle of light. But I could hear the familiar sound of a cheering crowd. Janica stepped behind the podium. She introduced herself, then said, "I'd like to introduce you all to four incredible women, trailblazers in this sport we love."

Trailblazers. I liked that.

"Pearl Giordano."

Pearl stepped forward and waved.

"Eloise 'Budz' Budzynski."

Lulu pushed Budz' chair forward, and the sound of the crowd grew longer. Budz pumped her fists in the air.

"Louise 'Lulu' Donahue."

Lulu waved, and then Jacinda paused. For a moment, it seemed like everything stopped. A video appeared on the big scene. It was blurry, black and white, and accompanied by a barely audible tinny announcer.

It was me, streaking past Betsy Brautigan in the championship game.

For a moment I felt a deep sense of regret. I had broken Betsy. She played a few more seasons, but was never the same after I beat her in '58. I was a flash in the pan. She was the greatest roller derby player who ever put on skates.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Janica shouted, "From the A-1 Comets and the national champion New Jersey Devil Dolls...Kitty the Comet, Kitty Boyd!"

I bent forward and reached into my skate case, then stood, rolled a few feet forward, and held up the Comets championship trophy. The audience really cheered. Jacinda shouted, "Ladies and gentlemen, the 1957 Champion A-1 Comets."

I kept rolling.

The track was in the dark, but I didn't care. I could make that circuit with my eyes closed. By the time I reached the first corner, they had turned the lights up. The crowd was whooping and hollering. I picked up speed, and I heard my teammates. They had commandeered the microphone, and led by Budz' booming voice, chanted "Go, Kitty, Go!"

The crowd joined them, and I came around the second turn, and I pumped my legs harder, picked up speed, and zoomed down that track, holding the trophy high over my head. I took a deep breath on the second lap, and did my spin. Everyone in the field house was on their feet as I took the next turn backwards.

"Go, Kitty, Go!"

I spun forward on the straightaway and looked to the center of the track, to my teammates. In my mind's eye, they were young again. Budz was on her feet, jumping up and down, her fists in the air. Angie was with them, and Celia and Goldie and all the other girls. Coach Joe stood there with his cigar hanging from his lip. And just beyond them, smiling at me, showing her dimples, was my beautiful Myra.

"Go, Kitty, Go! Go, Kitty, Go!"

The noise was deafening, but I did not hear the crowd anymore. I heard the roaring engines of an airplane. The field house faded and I was speeding down Connor Avenue, along the City Airport fence. The plane accelerated down the runway, and I kept pace with it. It rose into the air, and I rose with it. I was a bird. I was an angel. I was Kitty the Comet. The queen of the roller derby. I was the fastest old lady in the world.