I ignored her question (because I didn’t at all understand) and broke our eye contact to search the photos. “Are there any other photos of you from those days?” I asked.

Joe, Alma, Bee, and Yolanda all leaned into the bulletin board at the same time, then pointed at the same photo.

“There she is!” Yolanda declared, pressing her index and middle finger against a gorgeous photo of Alma dressed in a sparkling gold bodysuit with bell-bottoms and gleaming white roller skates. Her hands rested on her hips, her stance firm, but her head was thrown back in laughter. It seemed the camera had caught her in a moment of that pure joy she’d mentioned.

I guess I’d been staring for a while, because everyone giggled again and Alma placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Not too shabby, hmm? I’ll bet you’ll find great delight in your new roller skates too, Daya.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “Yeah.” Staring at Alma’s photo, though, I doubted a camera would ever capture in me what I was seeing. Something in the way she carried herself—even now, standing next to me—seemed so distant.

Joe broke into my self-consciousness. “Well! Daya! Want to give your new wheels a whirl?” He’d been holding the pair of skates this whole time and held them out to me now. He and Alma grinned at me like proud parents. Or what I imagined proud parents looked like.

I took the skates and sat back down on the stool. As I laced up, I snuck glances up at the two couples, who still stood in front of the bulletin board, arms around each other’s backs. They pointed and giggled and hooted like kids. The sight opened up a small black hole in my stomach. I’d never see my parents like that. I wasn’t sure I ever had. I yanked hard at my laces and pressed my hands into the stool before getting up.

It had grown darker outside, but with the Christmas lights across the edges of the garage and strewn along the shrubs on the lawn, enough light peered over the driveway. I rolled around the pavement. The new bearings spun smoothly, and I felt sturdy and strong in these skates.

While Joe resumed his horticultural endeavors, Alma gave me a few tips and Bee and Yolanda wrapped themselves in a blanket and watched, calling out the odd direction here and there. Normally, I’d be annoyed if strangers tried to give me unsolicited advice, but I’d take anything these women were willing to offer me. My earlier apprehension about asking for help had withered away under the force of these four individuals. They all seemed to know what they were talking about, and I needed all the help I could get.