"Natasha!"

I got out of bed, from beneath my warm quilt that was hand-stitched by my grandmother, but as I did, the cold air took away my breath. I set my feet on the floor, but recoiled. I took a deep breath and put them down again. I got changed and braided my hair. The cold December light pierced my one bedroom window, making the cobwebs of ice on the panes shine like diamonds. The crystalline light made my bedroom seem even more hollow and stark than it was, with my bed, dresser, mirror, and blank, grey walls. I walked to the window and looked down on the bustling street below. Everyone was bundled up tightly in his or her ragtag coat and scarf; their breaths looked like dragon's smoke. Where my hand was on the window, fog collected. I pulled away and it melted.

"Natasha," said my mother softly, from the doorway.

"Yes, mama?" I replied.

"Come down for breakfast," she said. "Your father and brother are long gone to the factory. You must hurry."

I quickly ate and bundling up tightly with my books in my arms, I stepped out into the polar morning air. I walked as quickly as I could to my school, the snow crunching under my shoes and soaking the hem of my skirt. On my back, I carried my ice skates, in hopes that perhaps I could skate on the frozen pond beside the school after my studies were through. My day was slow and uneventful as I eagerly watched the clock for school to end.

During English, my teacher handed me back my test from the week before, saying, "Very good, Natasha." I looked down at the 100. "If you study hard, perhaps you can live in America one day." I looked up at her and could see the kind look in her eyes, the hope for me that I might leave. But I also saw the sadness as the tears welled up in her eyes, and I knew that she had been told long ago the same thing. I nodded and slipped the test into my book. My mother would be happy to see it.

The ring of the ending bell resounded through the breathless air, soon joined by the laughs and talking of the students pouring out of the school's door and onto the stone steps. I slipped to the side of the crowd, walking to the pond. I set down my books on the frozen bank and put on my skates. As I tied them, I pictured myself gracefully gliding across the pond's mirror-like surface. My dream was to skate, to skate well enough to compete, to leave for America. I knew that that was my only way out.

I finished tying my skates and took a deep breath, slipping onto the pond. My skirt whirled about me as I twirled, the rush of air exhilarating. I skated faster, then slower, then making patterns on the ice's surface. I could only imagine that I looked like a faerie on the water of the sea or an apparition gliding across midair. I twirled again. As I shaved the ice at my stop, the school's clock clanged six times. It was six o'clock. I hurriedly took off my skates and replaced them with my shoes. I had to get home to help my mother make dinner for the family.

I ran down the street and skidded to a stop in front of my brick apartment building. I ascended the crumbling stone steps as I had so many times before and pushed the up button for the dilapidated elevator, silently praying that it would take me safely to my floor as it had so many times before. It creaked with the effort and my heart stopped. But finally, the doors opened onto my hallway. I got out and silently praised God as my feet touched the hall floor. One more time, I had made it.

I opened the door to my family's apartment and squeezed past the table in the front room. It never seemed as though I had enough room to maneuver in our tiny apartment and my dad always joked, "Eat less and not only shall you fit, but perhaps we could afford a larger apartment."

I set my books down on the second-hand couch in the living room, and went into the kitchen. My mother prepared the soup for dinner while I cut the bread. By the time I heard the laughs and greetings at the door made by my father and brother, my mother and I had the table set. We said the blessing, thanking God for all that he gave, and ate. After dinner, I helped clean up and did my homework.

When I showed my English test to my mother, she said, "Oh, Natasha, how you make me proud." I saw the tears well up in her eyes also. She had the same dreams for me my teacher did. I quickly went to bed, not wanting to see her cry. I said my nightly prayers and curled up under my quilt, pulling it tighter around my body to keep out the chill of the December air. I looked out my window. The moon shone through, making the fingers of ice shine silver, silver like the tears in my mother's eyes.