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Hmmm...I wonder what the heck I was doing on the morning of March 18, 1980? I wonder if, during the course of the day, I stopped, puzzled, perhaps feeling an inexplicable shudder come over me for no particular reason, only to shake it off in a moment or two and go merrily about my business?

I can't remember that far back, LOL. I'm lucky if I remember what I ate for breakfast these days. But I am sure that if I could flip my life on Rewind and go back to that day, I would instinctively know that something extraordinary happened, the effects of which I would not feel until 18 years later.

It is a few months before the new millennium, and I pretty much stand at the end of a saga now. But what a story it was. Nobody would've believed it, least of all me. If somebody had told me in 1980 that a baby had just been born on the other side of the world who would later have an impact on my life so great that I'd likely remember it and him for the next 5,000 years, I'd have said they were certifiable.

For those of you who do not know Alexei Yagudin, well, I'm not going to get into the story of his life here. If you want to know that, there's a not-too-shabby biography written by yours truly, which can be read at Yashka's Room. Suffice it to say that at this point in time, Alexei is a 19-year-old Russian figure skating sensation who is on his way to winning his third World Championship, and who will likely skate to golden Olympic glory in Salt Lake City in 2002. Nothing unusual about this story, right? Right. An underprivileged boy from the City of the Czars climbs the ladder of success and now resides in New Jersey in a nice new townhome, cruises about in a nice new Mercedes SUV, and rivals Mr. T in the amount of gold hanging around his neck. And all of this before his 20th birthday. Not really unusual, not these days, anyway. Happens fairly often to talented Russian teens in the athletic arena, particularly now since the Soviet Union has dissolved and the iron doors have been flung wide open. The former Soviet athletes all begin to eye America, rubbing their hands together so vigorously that a nice blaze could be borne from it, warming even the most frigid Siberian soul. And why not? Haven't they suffered under the yoke of oppression long enough? Certainly they have.

No, none of this is unusual, and anyway, this aspect of Alexei's life has been commented on and written up countless times already by various persons (like me, LOL). What the hell is unusual is the unsettling and fate-rattling way that this child punched a hole in my life and just strolled right in, as natural as you please. Oh, and strolled right out again, too, when his teenaged attention span began to drift like the sands of the Serengeti. This is that story.

So how did I come to know this kid, anyway? Bear in mind that our age difference is very great: he now 19, I now 38. Let's put it succinctly, I am old enough to be his mama. Yes, it pains me just a bit to admit that. Nonetheless, I had unknowingly settled down to watch the Winter Olympics from Nagano, Japan, in February 1998. Figure skating has always been my passion, and I wanted to see the new "crop" of hopefuls. The men were busy practicing on the ice, Scott Hamilton doing his usual amusing tongue-in-cheek commentating. Unexpectedly, a round-faced boy with lucent blue eyes as innocently wide as dinner plates glided into view...and I was transfixed. To this day, I really don't know why. I don't usually make a habit of going trancelike over teenagers. Yes, he was indeed adorable, but that wasn't the reason. It was something in his eyes, I think...a look, a nuance, a something that I couldn't quite decipher and still can't to this day, but that nevertheless grabbed me by the throat, shook me repeatedly, and would not let go.

His eyes held a look of eager anticipation mixed with a nervousness and fright that was almost palpable to me. Wearing his red, black and gold costume, Alexei went through the paces on center ice as his music played, dodging the other four guys in his practice group who were busy whirling and leaping all around him, eventual gold-medal-winner Ilia Kulik among them. It seemed to me that he could hardly concentrate on his own program, so busy was he checking out the movements of his rivals...his anxious gaze seemed to follow Ilia in particular.

We all know the outcome of the Nagano games. Alexei, while off to a brilliant start after the short program, later fell ill with the flu compounded by pneumonia. While he insisted on skating his free program, it was evident to all that he was going to fail miserably. His face was feverish, his eyes were glazed, and any strength that lurked in his body promptly left him after his opening triple axel, which was to be his only truly successful jump of the evening. Later, I asked him why he had even attempted to skate the Free. He looked at me with his trademark dinner-plate eyes, and said very simply, "but it was Olympics-I had to skate." Translation: If he was breathing, he was skating, it was as elementary as that.

The months rolled on after the heartbreak of Nagano, followed by his golden redemption at 98 Worlds. I couldn't remember the last time someone touched my heart as Alexei had. After much personal debate, I think it was his passion and emotion that I found so compelling. Summer approached and with it, change. The one major one was that Alexei had left his former coach Alexei Mishin for the likes of Tatiana Tarasova, the impetus behind Ilia Kulik's gold medal win at Nagano. Then a rumor began to circulate that left me floored with incredulity: Tatiana had left her former training base in Massachusetts and was actively looking for a place to live in New Jersey, my home state. With her would come Alexei, her new pupil. This rumor proved true and in August 1998, Tatiana and Alexei moved into her new townhouse in Freehold. The new training facility for Alexei (and the new pairing of ice dancers Maya Usova and Evgeny Platov--Tarasova students as well) would be American Hockey & Ice Skating located in closeby Farmingdale.

I could not believe that out of all the places to train on this planet, Tatiana chose New Jersey for Alexei. Unbe-freakin-lievable. A mere 50 miles up the road from my door, Alexei now resided. Out of pure impulse, I decided a "welcome" letter for him would be appropriate. So on September 11th, 1998, I sent this letter UPS Overnight, in care of his rink. In the letter, I expressed my gladness for his Worlds win, and my hope that he would continue developing into the Olympic star he was destined to be. I signed my name and email address, and also included a phone number, stating jokingly that I was now his New Jersey "neighbor". On September 14th, I came back from a long weekend in Massachusetts and picked up the phone to check Voicemail.

Alexei had called and left me a message. I could just imagine the look on my face as I listened to his message--complete and utter astonishment. He spoke slowly, his voice clear, his accent heavy, and the message was rather lengthy. It seemed to me as I listened to him that he had maybe written down what he wanted to say, and was reading from it, perhaps so as not to make any grammatical errors. He identified himself, and I laughed out loud. "Hi, this is Alexei Yagudin..." well, heck, I woulda never guessed. I have Russian teenagers calling me every hour on the hour.

He left his phone number and asked that I call him back. But my next move caused me to shriek with frustration at my own stupidity--by accident I hit the wrong button on my phone, and instead of saving his message, I erased it. I called the operator, Bell Atlantic, AT&T, and thought about calling the Pope and Alexander Graham Bell beyond the grave, but the answer was all the same: once you erase a voicemail message it's gone forever. It was all I could do to keep from throwing the phone through the window. I attempted to obtain a phone number for Tatiana, but it was unlisted. I was now helpless. Alexei had called me and now I could not return the call. All I could do was wait. Maybe he'd call again. But not bloody likely. :o(

A day went by...no call. I was heartsick and kicked myself till my butt was black and blue over how idiotic I was. Then on September 17th, I turned on my computer to retrieve my email and was very relieved, and happy as a pig in you-know, to see a message from him pop into my inbox. His words, misspellings intact: "Hi, this is Alexei. This is my new email adres. See you online, by." At first, though, I was a little skeptical. I knew he had been online before--in fact, Ilia Kulik himself had given me Alexei's first email address because I had specifically asked if he knew it. This is Alexei's first address, Yagudin1, that he had first signed online with, and had subsequently let lapse in mid-summer 1998. Unfortunately, though, Ilia had inadvertently given the address to me while in a chat room, not realizing that 500 people who also were in the room picked up on that bit of information. I had talked to Alexei several times under this original addy, but since the whole world also knew it, he was bombed incessantly with IM messages and emails.

So was this new addy really Alexei? I was fairly sure, but not positive--he didn't say enough to convince me. So I sent an email to the address he gave me to see what kind of response I'd get back.

LOL, it was him all right. He wrote back, "why didn't you call me? I wait for you." I added his AOL address to my buddy list for Instant Messaging, and sat back and waited. An hour later and creeeak the 'door' opened, and up popped Alexei's screen name in my buddy list window. He was online. Hesitantly, I highlighted his name and sent him a starting message: "Alexei, it's Linda."

Only a few seconds went by before his response ringed in: "How are you, why you didn't call?" This was the first "live" transmission of what would turn into a friendship that rollercoastered so wildly, it reached the limits of the universe and the depths of despair. I admitted to him, shamefaced, that I had accidentally erased his message and apologized. He said, LOL: "forget about this, here is my number do not lose and do not give." I did not, and did not, in that order.

He wanted to meet me, he said. Evidently he liked the words of my letter and wanted to see the face behind them. He was aware of our chasmic age difference...that was one of the first things I told him, not wanting to let him think he was talking to a cute young thing his own age. But age, apparently, was not high on his list of limitations. At first, he kept saying he'd drive the 50 miles south to my house, of all things. "I come to you," he kept repeating. Didn't think it was a good idea, though. I live in a very tricky area, lots of twists and turns, and three towns he'd pass through have the same main drag name as the street I lived on. All this plus the language barrier. He was bound to end up on the dark side of the moon, and I would never forgive myself should this happen.

So it was planned that I go to him. Another problem arose: I work Monday through Friday, and he trained Monday through Friday, usually during the same hours I worked. Which meant that Saturday, the prime day for me to make the trip, he was usually unavailable, preferring to romp about in New York City than sit and wait for my face to show up at his door. An understandable choice, LOL. Each time he made a suggestion, I had to tell him it didn't jibe with my schedule, and vice versa. He grew exasperated. "I don't know how to help us, then," he said.

I was preparing to take a days' leave of absence (I had used all my vacation time up already, LOL) when a few days later he told me that he was going to practice the next day, a Saturday morning, just so I could come up and watch him. "But is very early," he warned, "too early for you I hope not?" 'Early' was 7:30AM. On a Saturday morning, no less. Ye Gods. But if it had been 3 in the morning, I guess that would've been just dandy with me. He asked if I knew where the rink was. Yes, I told him, I had a vague idea, LOL. His last words for the evening, and many people who have talked to him will relate to this..."ok I see you tomorrow morning I sleep now bye, " all in a typical Yagudin run-on sentence. And that was it. He clicked off. I went to bed that night, prepared to look Fate right in the eyeball the next morning.

The next morning, October 17th, I started out at 5:30AM (allowing for extra time in case I got lost) on I-295 heading north toward Freehold. It was a little over an hour's drive from my hometown of Brooklawn. Strangely enough, I wasn't nervous, no, not at all. It felt almost...natural? Yes. Not a whole lot was going through my head at the time. I do remember, however, smoking about half a pack of Salems during the 50-mile drive. Hidden anxiety, maybe. I sure couldn't feel it, though. I looked out the window as I got off the Interstate and rolled through the quiet New Jersey farmland. Vividly I remember the morning mist, glowing red and orange with the rising sun, settling into the valleys and lowlands of the countryside, and I recall thinking that it looked almost surreal-something stippled into the background of a Maxfield Parrish painting. It was so glorious, it almost took my breath away. A sign of the extraordinary day to unfold.

I found the rink with no undue stress, and even at that hour on a Saturday morning--about 7:15--it was humming with activity. Children of all ages, dressed in everything from hockey gear to the most delicate of figure skating costumes, swarmed over the parking lot with their parents. I made my way into the rink and went upstairs to the observation platform. American Hockey has two rinks (now they've added a third as well), and from the platform one could see hockey warm-up happening on one surface, and the other--empty. Presently, a little door opened onto the empty rink and the bundled-up figure of Tatiana stepped out gingerly onto the ice. Behind her, equally encased in bulky parka and enormous mittens, was Alexei. I gazed down on his head as he glided behind her, and asked myself if I was really here. It just seemed like I was outside of my body for a few minutes, like I was watching this scenario happening to someone else from a short distance away. Astral projection, anyone? Several other people were on the platform, and one little girl asked her father who that boy on the ice was. "That's Alexei Yagudin, the world champ," her father replied. Except he pronounced his name YAG-a-den. Sheesh. Thank you, Tracey Wilson. Well, you bet it's the champ, no matter how you pronounce his name. :o)

I made my way downstairs. In my arms I held a notebook full of photographs of him that I had run off on photographic paper from various websites, as well as other odds and ends that I thought might interest him. Opening the outside door to the rink, I was blasted in the face with air that sure-God had to be minus 50 degrees. Never knew an ice rink could be so cold, stupid as that sounds. No wonder they were clothed like Eskimos. I shivered in my little jacket and peered through the plexiglas retainer as Alexei began to make his rounds on the rink.

After about 10 minutes, he finally saw me. He had just come out of a magnificent triple axel, wheeled around, and we made eye contact from where he stood at left of center ice. A slight smile, an eyebrow raise, and a hesitant wave of his hand. I waved back, heart still going at a surprisingly normal rate. He was just a kid, after all. A talented kid, and maybe an overly adorable one, but nevertheless just a kid. My 37 years of living on this planet was not going to allow me to regress into a star-struck giggly 15-year-old. And anyway, he did not inspire that feeling in me at all. For whatever reason, I felt totally at ease from the start of this little trek to the last goodbye.

I wandered around the plexiglas, watching him. He was going through the paces of his new short program for the season, done to circus music by Albert Schnittke. Start-stop, start-stop. Over and over he practiced his jumps, his spins, his footwork. I was beginning to think that I was distracting him, because every time he attempted a jump where I was standing, he missed it, one time pounding angrily on the plexiglas, the sound reverberating through the empty rink like cannonfire. He retreated to the other side of the ice, and landed triple after beautiful triple. At one point Tatiana yelled something at him...to me it sounded like "Idiot!" but I cannot swear to that. It could've been Russian, LOL. In any case, whatever she said made Alexei's shoulders slump with dejection. But then, as he skimmed around the perimeter of the rink, head down, Tatiana reached over the boards and nearly yanked him off his skates in a huge bear hug. I felt my heart swell with happiness as I witnessed this touching scene. At last, he had a coach who really gave a damn about him.

At about 8:30, the practice ended. Alexei gathered up his gear and the box of tissues that he always has growing out of his hand when exiting ice arenas to wipe the inevitable runny nose, and headed toward the exit door of the rink, where I was standing. He came down the ramp and I walked up to him, my hand extended, but he had the first word. "Linda?" he said, as if needing confirmation. I gave it to him. "Yep, that's me," I answered, "good morning, Alexei." He laid down the box of Kleenex, took my hand for what I thought was going to be a handshake, but then pulled me forward for a hug and kiss on the cheek. This seems to be the typical Russian greeting no matter who one is greeting, LOL. "It is so good to meet you," he said, "I get shower and then we go eat."

Go eat? Jeez, I hadn't quite planned on breakfast with him but...hey, what the heck? I thought I'd merely hang with him here in the rink for maybe a half hour and then be on my way. This was getting interesting. He came out of the locker room 20 minutes later, hair wet, dragging his suitcase behind him, a myriad of little children running all around him in their hockey and skating outfits going about their business, either oblivious to who he was, or so accustomed to his presence that it was no big deal anymore. He took my arm, propelling me forward. "Come, we go," he said. Come, I come, we go, you Tonto me Jane. I had to laugh out loud, this was just too bizarre for words. Never did I dream six months ago that one day I'd be on my way to breakfast with Mr. YAG-a-den.

Ironically, I was parked next to him. It was Tatiana's green Acura, Massachusetts plates still intact. He threw his gear into the trunk and said, "you follow, ok?" Hey, no problem. But I was soon to get a very unnerving taste of Alexei's driving style. He roared around to the front of the rink and picked up an older man who was waiting there for him. Who the heck was THIS guy? I hoped he wasn't planning on bringing this chap to breakfast with us. I kinda wanted to yack with this child in private.

Following Alexei in any type of vehicle, save maybe an armored tank, is a study in terror. He flew over the narrow country roads at nearly 80, slowing down only for cars in his way. He cut traffic lights by flying through parking lots, he tailgated people, he crossed the center line. And I had to keep up with Alexei Andretti, heart firmly in throat. When he finally pulled into the driveway of a neat and tidy townhouse, I breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God. I resolved that if we were going to go to breakfast, I was going to do the driving.

I stopped by the curb, engine running, and I looked up to see him knocking on my car window. I rolled it down and he said, "want to see my dog?" The smile he had on his face, if harnessed, could've heated my house for an entire winter. Of course I wanted to see the inimitable Lawrence, or Lawrie as he called him--his new cocker spaniel puppy, named for his new long program done to the theme for Lawrence of Arabia. We walked up to the front door of the townhouse, he let Lawrence out, and I watched, laughing, as the two of them rolled all over the front lawn together...a typical boy and his dog. If I had been a passerby just strolling along on the sidewalk and observed them, I would've sworn that Alexei was as American as apple pie and Chevrolet. He just seemed to "fit into the landscape" so to speak. It was not until Alexei opened his mouth that you realized he was as far from being American as one could get.

I was happy to see that the man who had ridden home with Alexei was not preparing to accompany us to breakfast. Alexei introduced me to him as his choreographer, but I cannot recall his name at all. A Russian name, of course. Stupid of me to forget his name, but consider the extraordinary circumstances, please. Before we left, a very well-dressed and attractive older woman came out the door and stood on the stoop, smiling as Alexei introduced her to me as his physical therapist, his "doctor" so he said. "Doctor?" I said, alarmed. "She works on sore muscles," he explained. Ohhhh. Gotcha.

He stuffed a protesting Lawrie back inside the house, and turned to me. "I drive," he said. Uhhh, no. I drive instead. I'd like my head to remain intact and not be decorating any windshields today, thank you very much. We both got into my Saturn and were off; "I show you where," he said. The first thing I recall as he settled into the bucket seat of my car was how massive his lower body was. His thighs totally covered every square inch of seat fabric. The same thighs that launch him into orbit when he goes into those triples and quads! Really impressive, and very much in contrast with his upper body, which at the time was still a bit boyish. Those costumes of his were constructed to make it appear as if he had roofbeam shoulders, when in reality it was the exact opposite. Now, however (1999), he has appeared to have built up his upper body a bit, judging from recent photos. Leaving boyhood behind, entering manhood. Somehow that sounds a little bittersweet, especially when Alexei is the end result. :o( Must be the 'mommy' in me that waxes nostalgic.

The other thing that struck me, and I laugh a little as I think of it now, was Alexei's 'essence'. Now, everyone, I believe, has their own scent that has nothing to do with perfumes or colognes. I have mine, you have yours, except you may not know that you have yours, LOL. Well, you do. Alexei's was very exotic, somewhat mysterious. A heady, musky scent it was, not unpleasant, just intense, and it was his own. Whoa, if he could bottle that and sell it, maybe he could become a cologne icon like Ms. Gordeeva, eh? I still smelled him in my car, two days later. :o)

We ended up in nearby Freehold center on Route 9, at the Friendly's Restaurant there. A small eatery that specialized in ice cream concoctions, small dinners and lunches, and surprisingly good breakfasts. I knew it well--Friendly's is a chain that populates most of New Jersey and Pennsylvania and other areas as well, I'm sure. I requested a non-smoking booth, not knowing at the time that Alexei smokes. He may not now, but he did at that time. However, I figured an athlete did not need to breathe in my secondhand smoke. Again, the "mommy factor" at work.

We settled into the booth and Alexei ordered a behemoth breakfast...scrambled eggs, pancakes, potatoes, bacon, toast, juice, and what ended up to be three entire pots of coffee that we shared between us. Why he ordered that huge pile of food is beyond me, since he just ate the eggs. Actually, I asked him why, and he almost blushed. "Tatiana has me on diet, you know...low fat," he said, smiling. Guess that made sense since when he landed in New Jersey at the end of July it was commented that he was a little on the "plump" side. :o) Guess it's hard to leap into the air with some extra pounds on your butt. I wouldn't really know, since I know I wouldn't make it two inches into the air with the more than several extra pounds that live on my butt.

"You are not eating?" he asked around a mouthful of eggs. Nope, I was not. I was too interested in listening to what he had to say, to just revel in being with him at last. I didn't want to detract from that by chewing and swallowing, LOL. So I was happy with my six cups of coffee, not taking my eyes or ears off him. As he spoke, I became aware of certain things. First and foremost, I was struck by his totally disarming manner, his easy way of speaking about almost anything that crossed his mind from casually entertaining to profoundly personal. No topic was taboo for him, and he brought up most of the topics himself...I did not. I preferred to just let him ramble, rather than bombarding him with questions. This was not, after all, an interview, but rather a relaxed and personal conversation.

I handed him the notebook full of photos that I had brought, and he laid it on the table and opened it, peering down closely into it. As he did so, the morning sun shone in the window directly behind him, spilling its brilliance onto his head, turning his hair into fine, spun gold. No, not the brassy, bottle-induced look that now decorated the top of his head during the summer of 1999. This was truly beautiful, and the way his head was bowed down reading, his eyelashes resting lushly on his cheeks, he looked more angelic than all of the heavenly hosts combined. Stupid, no? Sorry, I had to say that, maudlin as it sounds. Forgive me. Anyway, he must've felt my gaze, because he raised his face to me and with a puzzled look said, "What?" LOL, with accent it came out, "Vat?" To which I answered a quiet, "Nothing." What was the point in trying to explain, he'd think me an old fool. It was to be one of the special moments of the day that I was going to remember and hold in the recesses of my being for the next 5,000 years.

As he flipped the plastic sheet protectors holding the photos, he suddenly burst out laughing so hard that bits of scrambled egg flew out of his mouth, spraying the tabletop, and hopefully not lodging in my hair. He pointed to one of the photos in the book, as I gingerly flicked several particles of egg off the table so that I would not later find them clinging to my elbows. He could hardly speak, he was laughing so acutely. Finally he choked, "where did you get this!" and I looked to see what was causing such hilarity. Oh, yes--it was a photograph of an Italian Lire, and in place of the government official's face, someone had superimposed Alexei's face grinning out at the world. I forget now where I found that particular gem, and he knew I did not create this masterpiece because I told him so. But...if whoever created it is now reading this, please forgive me for losing your location. But you will be happy to know that Alexei laughed till he gagged over it, he thought it was great.

He flipped more pages, tears of laughter still wet on his cheeks. I placed my hand on a page that held one of my favorite photos of him of all time...it was taken by Barry Mittan during the 1997-98 season. It showed Alexei at center ice wearing his black velvet jumpsuit with white sleeves and black sequin trim, ready to begin his free skate, one arm raised and the other outstretched, legs spread wide. His slightly open-mouthed, wide-eyed expression was one of anticipation, anxiety, fear, and determination, and to me it captures his essence perfectly. "I love this photo most of all," I said.

"Why you like that?" he asked. He was truly curious. "Because," I said, "I think it's captivating, particularly that look of expectancy on your face. It's beautiful." No lie, a blush fanned his cheeks at my words, and he said, smiling his Mona Lisa-like grin, "I am not beautiful, I am skater." Whatever, Alexei, LOL. Guess in his mind he can't be both. But in the minds of many, he can be and is.

He closed the book with a flourish, and then he noticed the cover of it. On it I had written in silver longhand, For Yashka. Again the puzzled eyes met mine. "Yash-ka?" he said hesistantly. I explained to him that someone on the Internet (not me) had nicknamed him Yashka early in 1998, and had he ever heard it before. He replied that he had not. "Is this what you call me?" he asked. I kind of hemmed and hawed, but indicated that Yes, I did like it. He smiled broadly at me and said, "I like it too." Apparently, there are too many Alyoshas in the world, which can make life irritating for one so innovative and unique. :o) That was the day Alexei officially declared that he wanted to be known among his fans as "Yashka." So let it be written, so let it be done.

We stayed at Friendly's for about two hours. His conversation was fascinating, particularly for one so young, and he held my rapt attention easily. His face was animated as he spoke, reflecting happiness, sadness, concern, humor, thoughtfulness. He made me laugh out loud often, one time nearly spraying coffee out my nose, when he wanted to know where Jim (my husband) was. "So!" he said, "you left husband home alone sleeping on couch to come see me!" Uhhh...welllll kinda sorta, I guess. Sounds kinda bad, but that is exactly where I left him, LOL. Sorry, Jim. :o) We went through three pots of coffee, lots of laughter, and a very fun morning altogether. We went up to the cashier to pay the bill and Alexei opened his wallet...not the usual fold-up affair that slips easily into a guy's back pocket. This was a large zippered case, sort of like one of those organizer thingies, which, upon opening, revealed a notepad, pens, and at least 8 or 9 credit cards stuck into little pockets on one side. He whipped one of these out to pay the bill and I announced that I wanted to use the pay phone to give a yell back home, since I told Jim I'd be home rather quickly. Didn't figure on hanging out with Alexei this long. "You call from my house," he said. Excuse me? Did he just say 'call from my house'? Yes, that's what I thought he said. He was inviting me back to the townhouse he shared with Tatiana. Good Lord. "Come," he said, holding the exit door open, while I stood there coins in hand, looking like an ass I'm sure. "Come on," he repeated, "is okay."

Well, allrighty then. Who was I to refuse an invite like that? I followed him out the door, and then, LOL, right in the middle of the parking lot, he again opened that big wallet of his and began pulling out all his papers to show me...his Russian driver's license, his passport (still bearing the mark of the U.S.S.R.), and other assorted documents. The thing that struck me immediately about these papers was that each had his photo on it, and each photo was unequivocally adorable. Never before had I seen official photographs of anyone that were attractive...they usually looked like something to be hung up in a Post Office lobby. Alexei's were stunning. "Look," he said, handing me his passport, "that does not even look like me." I gazed down at a very young, very childlike, 15-year-old Alexei in the black and white photograph. I repeat, adorable. And I said as much, making him smile modestly. He was so engrossed in showing me these items, that he did not see (or notice) a red car backing out of a spot directly in his path. I moved to one side, figuring he'd follow. Nope, he kept talking, the back of the car inching closer to him. Completely oblivious he was. I ended up grabbing his arm and dragging him out of harm's way. I looked at him incredulously and asked, "Didn't you see that car?" He answered yes, he did. That was it. Like maybe the driver should sit there, engine running, and wait till he was damn good and ready to meander out of the way. Teenagers, jeez. Ya gotta love em.

In the car, on the way back to the townhouse, any reservations he might have had about being in the company of a mysterious, older American woman (and he really had none to begin with, LOL) completely vanished. He refused to put his seatbelt on, even at my insistence, and spent the 15 minutes it took to get back to the townhouse inspecting my car: He felt around under the seat, played with the seat control mechanism, flipped the radio tuner from one end to the other (finally settling on a Philadelphia oldies station), singing along to the song that was playing (and how he is familiar with 60s American pop I don't know, but his singing voice is very sweet and melodic :o), peered into the glove compartment, and just behaved like a typical teenager...nerve-wracking but fun. He reached into the console and pulled out an almost-empty pack of Salem Slim Lights--evidence of my 50-mile ride, LOL. He turned the pack over in his hands, and I said to him playfully "put that down, you don't smoke," not knowing at the time that he does smoke. "Why you not smoking now?" he asked me. I replied that I didn't want to pollute the lungs of an athlete. He put the pack back in the console and said a little petulantly, "Tatiana smoke around me." Which mattered not to me. "That's fine," I said, "but I won't." What he really wanted was to smoke one of my cigarettes! Why I couldn't see that at the time, I don't know. Ignorance is bliss, maybe?

Since it was October and the holidays would soon be here, I thought I'd ask him how they celebrated in Russia. I knew he was half-Jewish (from his father), and I wondered if he celebrated both Christmas and Hanukkah. Apparently not, since his answer only concerned Christmas. He said that in Russia, Christmas is traditionally "rolled" into New Year's festivities, and the merrymaking lasts about a week with everyone eating, drinking, dancing and exchanging small gifts. I had noticed at breakfast that he was wearing the large gold crucifix that always was so visible on television as he competed. I asked him about it now, straining forward in my seat, glancing at his throat, pretending I couldn't see what it was. I was just curious what his answer would be. "Is cross," he said, peering down at it. "Pretty, huh? I like gold. In Russia, gold means a lot." Well, he was right about that. His homeland's paper currency wasn't much good for anything except maybe laying it down for Lawrence to pee on. Gold was held in very high esteem there because it was tangible, it was real, and not likely to plummet in value overnight like the hapless ruble. I couldn't really glean whether or not religion played a part in Alexei's life without asking him directly, which I did not want to do, and it was unimportant anyway. I was merely curious. But he seemed to view the crucifix around his neck more as a symbol of wealth and prosperity than any religious significance, and considering the horrendous economy of his homeland and all he had gone through to be able to buy that crucifix, to me he was more than justified in feeling that way.

I pulled up to the curb at the townhouse. Alexei had indicated that his choreographer had taken the Acura and would be returning later, so I pulled up to the curb rather than pulling in the driveway. When he opened the front door, Lawrence came bouncing out of it again, a ball of fluff with ears and a tail. Again, Alexei shoved him back through the door, laughing, "he is like rabbit," and then held the door open for me. Upon entering the modest townhouse, the first thing that struck me was the large empty living room, with two immense, ornate mirrors leaning against the wall, perhaps hoping someday to be hung. I followed him through the small dining room, which contained a nice-size table and four white chairs, and into the kitchen/breakfast nook area. A huge two-story window at the back of the house lit the entire area, and I glanced down at the breakfast table, smiling at the little basket of leftover toast still sitting partially obscured under a red and white checkered napkin. Suddenly Alexei pounced on a FedEx envelope, which had been lying on the counter, and tore it open. "Ahhh! Here they are!" he said, and showed me several airline tickets, destination: Detroit. His Skate America plane tickets. His tickets to gold. He beamed as he stared at them in his hands, and I involuntarily touched his shoulder. "That's where it's all going to happen for you." I heard my voice hushed almost with a sort of...I don't know, reverence? It was weird. I felt I was standing with my hand on the shoulder of an Olympic champion, and that that fact was not a speculation, it was a certainty. Destiny. He whispered back, "I hope so." Another very special moment, one that felt like it was suspended in time, and one that will live in my heart always.

The moment passed far too soon. I asked him if I could phone Jim, to let him know the reason for my delay. I had a calling card in my hand, and Alexei asked what it was. I told him it was for long distance calls, and he waved at me, "no, just call." So I did, at his insistence. Unfortunately, the phone at my house rang till the voicemail came on...Jim wasn't home. So I called my mother instead, LOL. When I got her on the phone, I had a hard time convincing her that I was at Alexei's house, and more importantly, WHY was I there? LOL! After I convinced her that I wasn't going to kidnap him to an Amazonian jungle or something, she calmed down. "Yashka, say hi to my mother!" I said, holding the phone up for him. "Hi!" he yelled at the phone amiably. "Say it in Russian!" I said. He responded with a booming "Privet!!" My mom, ever the subtle lady, yelled in my ear, "What the heck does THAT mean?" Mothers. Jeez. Like teenagers, ya gotta love em.

"Want to see my computer?" he asked eagerly, after I hung up the phone. He ran upstairs to fetch it from his room, and ran downstairs again with it under his arm...a 1998 Toshiba Notebook. He chose the darkest, most cramped corner of the house in which to set it up--within the tiny dining room, on top of a 3-foot-high wooden balustrade. He pulled one of the white wooden chairs out and positioned it in front of the open laptop. "Here, you sit." But I placed my hands on his shoulders, and he slid onto the chair. "No," I said, "you sit instead, I'll kneel beside you and give you pointers, ok?"

He made the line connection and the sign-in screen popped up. Signing in, the laptop went through its short series of beeps and boops and his buddy list opened, showing one buddy online. "That is Elena," he said, smiling at me. "You know, Bereszhnaia. I talk to her sometimes." Nice that he was able to keep in touch with some of his skating friends via the information superhighway. Then he began a question, stopped, started and stopped again, and pointed to the buddy list. What did he want? I guess my face wore a look of complete cluelessness because he laughed at me and said, "put your name on my list? I don't know how to do it."

Was that all? LOL, no problem. Everybody can't be as technologically savvy as me, yeah sure. If Alexei only knew that a couple short months ago, I confused microchips with nacho chips. I did as he asked, adding my screen name to his buddy list as he watched closely, thinking how funny it would've been had Jim been online--my SN would've popped up in Alexei's window. But Jim was out lollygaggin around somewhere, so too darn bad, LOL.

Then Alexei went to open his email. I went to get up off the floor as he did so, uncomfortable because I considered email a private matter. But he grabbed my hand, "no, you stay, you can look," he said. So I looked and promptly smiled. The first address that popped into his inbox was familiar to me--a girl who had become a devout fan of his since last summer, when she picked up on his first email address and was able to catch him on IM a few times. He opened the message and it began 'Privet!" (Russian for 'hello') followed by "Is this really Alexei?". Alexei saw the amused expression on my face and asked if I knew her. I said that I did, then I went on to describe her to him (in a positive light), since I had spoken to her (and met her) a number of times. "Should I answer her?" Alexei asked. Whoa, he really was naпve back then, wasn't he? I think he'd choke before he asked a question like that at this point in time. And anyway, how the hell could I reply to a question like that? I told him to do what he felt like doing, that I wasn't his mama, LOL. So he furrowed his brow like he was contemplating a decision of national consequence, quite a comical expression, really, and said finally, "I think about it."

I showed him how to 'surf' the net. He wanted to know how to get onto Wazoo. Wazoo? That's new to me. LOL, he meant Yahoo. I showed him how to get into all the search engines and pull out exactly what he was looking for. I briefly showed him his message board (Jam's old one, before it got totally stupid), but his eyes boggled at the number and length of messages, and he quickly went on to something else. All this while Lawrence busily chewed on the heel of my shoe. :o) After a couple hours of playing with his computer, he finally grew bored, and he turned to me, hands on his knees. His face wore a peculiar look, the ever-present innocence in those wide blue eyes, mixed with an easy, laid-back air, like maybe we had known each other forever, rather than just having first laid eyes on each other this morning. "Well? What do you think, Alexei?" I asked, "think we'll be friends?"

"Yes, of course," he answered, "but will we be good friends?" Hmmm. I wasn't 100% sure of what exactly he meant. I had no intention of butting into his life and promising to attend every competition/show he appeared in. I couldn't even if I wanted to...I have many other responsibilities that would prevent it. Didn't quite know how to answer his question, but I ended up artfully dodging it by saying something like, "well at least I hope you'll recognize me standing by the boards if you see me at competitions." He responded sincerely: "of course I will. I like you." I liked him too. :o)

It was more than time for me to go. I feared I might have overstayed my welcome anyway. What I had thought would be a half-hour little chat session with him had turned into an all-morning-and-most-of-the-afternoon sojourn. But, it was he who made the invites. So I got up to leave, and he then indicated that his choreographer would soon be returning and he had to be somewhere with him this evening. We walked out to my car, Lawrence still trying to bite the heel of my shoe clean off. He turned to the dog as he closed the front door behind us and said something sternly to him in Russian. Lawrence obediently sat down on the foyer carpet, wagging his tail. Jeez, a bilingual dog. Well, allrighty then. "He understands Russian?" I asked incredulously. "Of course," Alexei said. For those who have spoken with Alexei, you all know that 'of course' is one of his favorite English phrases. Followed closely by 'as usual.' :o)

His choreographer was pulling in the driveway. A short exchange of Russian between the two, and then the choreographer went into the house, leaving us alone again. Alexei opened the trunk of the Acura and picked up a black suede skate boot, the heel of which was completely shattered. "My boot," he said. "I broke it and had to get new ones." This was the reason he could not compete in 1998 Grand Slam; the Case of the Busted Boot. He went on to say that it was the second pair he had broken so far that year. Well, the way Alexei comes down out of those jumps, landing with the power of a bulldozer rather than the airiness of a butterfly, it is understandable why skate boots are not long for this world when his feet are in 'em.

I stood in the driveway, looking at him. So many things zipped through my head at once, it became a jumble of coherent/incoherent thoughts that tripped over and banged into each other as they raced through my brain. If I had had a son, I resolved, I would want him to look like Alexei. Be like Alexei? I didn't know about that. Alexei leads a strange, sometimes-wonderful and sometimes-not-too-wonderful life. Can't imagine a son of mine globetrotting about the world, I'd go mad with fear for him. I thought that if Alexei reached 80, he'd always retain a measure of that youthful innocence, that way he has of staring out at the world with seemingly awestruck eyes. I hope he never loses that look. It was one of the qualities that had endeared him to my heart, and before I could second-guess myself, I stepped forward and embraced him. For a moment I felt his heart beating against my chest. He was not surprised by my action, at least he didn't seem to be, even though we had just met that day. No words were said...all I wanted to do was stand there for a few moments with him, 1) because I had no idea when or if I would ever see him again, and 2) because he suddenly seemed very vulnerable and naпve, and the 'mommy' factor in me surfaced again. It almost...LOL...felt like I was letting go of a son in a wide, cruel world to fend for himself. I know, that sounds ridiculous, and I agree with you as I write this. It IS ridiculous. Forget I said it. But that is the feeling that washed over me as we stood there together, the warm sun on my head, and the faraway voices of children at play reaching my ears. "Goodbye," he said, and his voice was as soft as the down of a dove. "See you online. Will you come to see me this season?"

"Maybe, Alexei," I answered. I had no idea if I would or not, and it was with difficulty that I let go of him. "Goodbye, I really don't know when I'll see you again, but please take care of yourself, ok?"

"Ok," he replied, "see you, thank you for book, I love it." He watched as I got in my car, started it, put it in gear. One last time I looked at his sun-dappled head, praying with all my might that any and all guardian angels may protect him, and I raised my hand in farewell. He returned the wave, yelling 'bye' as my car pulled away from the curb. I watched him in my rear-view mirror watching me, until I rounded the bend and I could no longer see him. A lump arose in my throat at the same time this indescribable emotion spread from my heart outwards, warming every nerve ending in my body in a fragrant and soothing tropical bath. For some reason, I didn't know why, all the forces in the cosmos had jelled together perfectly for me (for a change--believe me it rarely happens) and had fortuitously allowed me to talk to, meet, and get to know this young boy teetering on the threshold of manhood. I felt blessed, lucky, and privileged for the experience. Didn't know if it would ever happen again, didn't know if I would ever even talk to Alexei again. But if I didn't so be it. I was a better person for having shared some time, intellect, humor, and three pots of coffee with him, if only for a day.

I headed south on Route 9, rolling towards home. A Springsteen tune came on the radio...Springsteen, whose hometown was the very Freehold I had just left...and I laughed at how fitting the first line or so of the song was: "sprung from cages on Highway 9, chrome-wheeled, fuel-injected and steppin' out over the line..." My soul burst with the wonder of the morning and afternoon that had just unfolded before my very eyes. My life was never going to be the same, I felt that clearly. Even if I never spoke to him again.

The original last part of Morning Glory was all set and ready to go...it was a fitting ending to a very lovely true story that for now has concluded but perhaps is not entirely finished.

After reading and re-reading it, however, and in view of the fact that either parts of or the entire story thus far has incurred the ire of some people (why I cannot imagine, given its innocuous and innocent nature), I have decided to shelve the original Part IV that I had planned. Perhaps, in the long run it's better to do this anyway. Some things are just better left unsaid, and the whole mystique is better left intact. At least I gave you some of it, right? :o) So instead, I give you my personal comments and thoughts on Alexei, his career, his life in general, and where I hope he goes from this point.

Someone recently said to me that Alexei has become a fine "man". Confident, exuding self-esteem, ready to take on the world. I agree...sort of. His confidence has quadrupled since last season's sweep of wins with the talent of Tatiana Tarasova at his side, guiding him like a beacon in the dead of night. The unsure, frightened boy who had made his supreme nervousness known to me before Skate America '98, and to whom I offered whatever assistance or ideas I could to help him over this first hurdle, has now blossomed into a garden of refined self-assurance. It is evident in his eyes as he stands center ice, awaiting the first note of his music. The poise envelops him like a shielding mist as he whirls and leaps over the glistening surface. He has been a joy to watch over the past few years...an awkward but cute boy who has emerged from his chrysalis as a handsome, composed athlete, and all before our very eyes.

However, upon looking closer in Alexei's eyes and his soul is revealed, telling you that his journey to manhood has only just begun. At not even twenty years old yet, he is light years from a "seasoned adult". He still is a sapling...and he has many years to go before matching the sagaciousness of the proud oak tree. He simply has not lived long enough yet to acquire the real maturity and life experiences that round out a true adult. You know, adulthood is more than just reaching a certain number, folks. And sometimes beneath all that poise and self-assurance there beats the heart of a still hesitant child.

On the ice, he is a disciplined young man, he knows what he has to do, he has his eye on the prize, and he has the thirst for success that continually drives him forward. It's off the ice...ahh, now that's a whole other ball game. Here is where the young man falters a bit, his confidence and maturity falling by the wayside a bit in favor of actions and words that clearly reflect the fact that he still is, in his heart, a boy. Nothing wrong with this at all, especially given his age. I know "men" of 40 who are still boys in their hearts. Some just never grow up, LOL. Some never want to grow up. Can't say that I blame them--adulthood is an often difficult state of being. It sucks at times, to be perfectly frank. However, I believe that when Alexei is an old, old man he will still retain a measure of that youthful simplicity and naivete, and for this I'm glad because it should balance out the maturity of full adulthood nicely. :o)

Under Tarasova's flair for excellence, Alexei's career has rocketed off the launching pad, and as the millennium dawns he is still reaching beyond the limits of the galaxy. Going with her was the best move that Alexei ever made, and I applaud him for making this tough decision. LOL, when it comes to his career, he is the picture of maturity, isn't he? :o) Yes, indeed. And I am happy he went with her for another, more selfish reason. In addition to his career getting an artistic shot in the arm by his move to Tarasova, in going with her it brought him to New Jersey, 50 miles from my door. Had he not gone with her and stayed with Mishin, I would never have gotten to know him if for no other reason than logistics. Talking to him over the net is one thing. But it's impossible to pick up nuances, facial expressions and warmth through the internet. You have to look into his eyes to feel/see these things. It was a very simple but lucky twist of fate that brought him to New Jersey, and it continues to amaze me to this day. And I do realize that this all happened on the turn of the cards. It could've been anyone. But for some reason it was me the lightning struck for a change...normally I'm always the last in line for everything. This time, though, fate was kind.

In the original Part IV, I went into some detail of the friendship between us (and it was he who first referred to us as such), the times I got to see him or talk with him, my feelings, his feelings, what makes him laugh and what makes him sad. We spoke at great length of love and hate, relationships and the breakages thereof, kings and queens, Nobel laureates and assholes. The gamut, we ran. He opened his mind and heart and I responded in like kind. I learned a lot from this child whom I think will forever teeter on the edge of manhood without actually falling fully into that realm, no matter how old he gets. Perhaps he learned a bit from me too. Positive stuff, I hope, if anything.

The original last segment of this story will remain safely in my head for all time now. And maybe it's a good thing after all. It wasn't highly personal or anything...ok, maybe parts of it were, but be real--those parts wouldn't have been told anyway. I looked upon this story as my joyful gift to all of Alexei's fans, myself included, and to him as well. For those of you who wonder why I am telling it now, well, while it was actually unfolding Alexei kind of didn't want it to be real well known. His words were, "later you can tell, ok?" Well, I think Alexei's 'later' is now here. Enough time has properly passed, and the events I have related will in no way reflect negatively or harmfully on him. In addition, everyone who knows me basically figured that since we lived fairly close to each other, it was a foregone conclusion that we'd meet sooner or later. They were correct. :o)

This is an upbeat, benevolent story of two people as different as chocolate and vanilla, whose paths crossed and ran parallel for a while, for whatever reason. There are those, however, who look upon this story with malevolence instead and for them I am feel only pity that their minds are so shallow, their souls so damned empty, that all they can feel is hostility. They conjecture that perhaps I influenced him, or 'led him on', or exploited his 'innocence' in some manner. Nothing could be further from the truth. It was a harmless mutual association, a 'friendship' if you will, that I neither manipulated nor profited from in any way. Well, wait a second, let me rephrase that. I did profit, in a way. Alexei enriched my philosophy of life; he showed me how to look at myself through the eyes of a child...excited, always anticipating what was around every corner, with heart ever-dangling at the end of a sleeve. We made each other laugh and sometimes we made each other cry. But the experience was rich indeed and in that respect I have more wealth than Bill Gates.

Alexei is destined for even greater things than he has already accomplished, of this I am quite sure. I fully expect him to stand on the top podium at Salt Lake City in 2002. He sure has the drive, determination and talent to achieve that goal. However, being human like the rest of us, he sometimes gets off track in his thinking or deeds and he suffers the consequences, unfortunately. But suffering the consequences is something we all must do at one time or another, because no one, not even Alexei, is perfect. And falling off a bicycle is still the best way to learn how to ride one properly. When he has a miscalculation in his thinking or whatever, my attitude is to first find out what happened, and then acknowledge that it did indeed happen. Be it a minor blunder or a major one. There is no surer road to disaster for him than for everyone to pretend whatever happened didn't, or that he can in no way be held responsible for anything he says or does...all in a foolish attempt to make Alexei appear 'larger than life' and purer than the driven snow. In essence, to make like all is well when it might not be. Those who fervently believe in this tenet are not only deluding themselves, they are doing Alexei a grave disservice. If he looks to someone for an opinion or assistance, that person cannot possibly be completely honest with him if they are so worried about trying to shield him from the wide, cruel world at any and all costs. I'm not doubting anyone's good intentions. It's just that this approach will only hurt him in the long run. No, of course don't kick him in the head when he's down, either. Extend a hand, help him up, talk about what might have caused the trouble to rain down upon his head and how he could avoid it next time rather than walking headlong into it, and then slap a couple BandAids on his wounds and tell him that everything's cool, the best of people fall from time to time. Just please acknowledge it. Don't pretend he has never done and will never do wrong. He's human. We are all susceptible to brain cramps from time to time. Even him.

Alexei is innately a kind and wonderful young man, intelligent and amusing, fun to be with, generous almost to a fault, and he has the two most talented feet on ice. But jeez, gang, he ain't God. So don't make like he is by putting him on a pedestal so high that he cannot help but to someday fall off and break his skull. Please don't put that burden on his shoulders. He cannot live up to it, no one can. He needs support and love, yes, but not blind allegiance. Blind allegiance is needed by nobody except third-world dictators. They require it. Alexei doesn't.

I hope that most of you enjoyed what you did read of "Morning Glory", and I thank you for reading it. I regret that some malevolent forces beyond my control did not enjoy it. Critiques I can take, I'm a writer. We're always being critiqued. I'm used to it, and it's no big deal. I was expecting critiques. Anonymous threats, however, are an entirely different matter. That I was not counting on. A little frightening, that is. Now I know how Rebecca Shaffer (sp.) felt, may she RIP. Anyway, that little "present" did influence my decision a bit to scrap the original last part of this story, so if you are pissed about it, you can thank them for their juvenile terrorism. But in retrospect, I am not too unhappy about the decision, really. Sometimes the whole story should never be told, for then nothing is left to the imagination. So I invite you to use yours (imagination, that is), until such day when your path might be fortunate enough to next run parallel with his. Then you can write your own story, if you wish. :o)

So that's how I leave this tale. It was a beautiful ride for the most part. Is the ride over now? I don't know, really. He once told me we were "friends always." But what a 19-year old means and what an adult hears are two different things. The ride could be over, I suppose. Or maybe it's just on pause, for rejuvenation of batteries, of mind, of soul. It's his turn to serve the ball, so we'll see. I do not wait with bated breath...there are other things, people, projects that occupy my brain. Alexei is not the only resident there, not by a long shot. But I leave the "door" open to him, and he knows he doesn't need an engraved invitation. Whether he walks through that door again is entirely up to him. His decision will never effect the love that will always be in my heart for him.

If I never spoke to him again, would I miss him? Silly question, of course I would miss him. I wouldn't pine away and die, but yes, I would miss him. Tell you what...in thirty years, I will be 68 years old. I will sit on my porch in my rocking chair, watching the sun set, and I'll be contemplating the autumn of my life. I'll reflect back on 1998 and 1999 and marvel at the way one human being...half my age and from the other side of the world...collided with my own destiny and from that wreckage was born a kinship that I will forever feel for this child until they close the lid on my coffin. Does he feel it too? Well, he did at one time, of that I'm sure. Does he now? Don't know. Probably not. And does it really matter? Thirty years from now, Alexei will be 50 or close to it. He will have geared down and likely hung up his blades for good, opting to possibly coach or choreograph, or do whatever it is he has planned for his "retirement" years. Hopefully there will be a roomful of gold medals that he can gaze at proudly as his lucid blue eyes begin to furrow with age. With any luck and continued determination, he should have at least one and hopefully two Olympic golds hanging front and center.

Will he remember me? Again, don't know. He once said that he would never forget me. But again...perhaps what he meant and what my adult ears heard were two different things. I hope that he does remember me years from now, and that he will recall the innocence and pure friendship of the relationship. It was not manipulative, it was not sexual, it was not forced. It was just a friendship. An extraordinary year or so in the life of an ordinary person--me. It was a friendship that incurred the ire of some sick and fanatical individuals, apparently, who took great and envious joy out of twisting it into something it never was and never would be. There are some disturbed fans in every facet of fandom, as well as "normal" fans who just admire what Alexei is and does. Alexei unfortunately seems to have his share of kooks following him. Thankfully, though, most do not ride the lunatic fringe. He'll survive the kook factor, though. :o) He's tough when he needs to be. I hope that if Alexei remembers me at all that he will pause, recalling and feeling the simple affection that I will always feel for him, despite everything. And that he smiles as I do now. I wish you joy and peace of mind, Alexei, for all your life.

November 27, 1999

EPILOGUE

It is almost September 2001. Not quite 2 years after the original penning of Morning Glory. I now write this very short Epilogue to the saga in thorough disgust and revulsion. Who would've thought that Yagudin "Fanship/-dom/-land", call it what you will, could have degenerated to the point it is at right now. Originally, my first impulse was to leave all the excrement lying in the cesspool where it belongs. But since I seem to still be brought up in communiques to this day, directly or indirectly, to people I don't even know--and why I haven't the first clue--I am writing this, the End to the Alexei Yagudin Story, which will close the book permanently as far as I am concerned.

Never in all my life have I witnessed the depths to which human cruelty could fall, until I became an official "SkateFan" of Mr. Yagudin in this confusing, computerized realm known by some as "SkateLand." When I, like others, became a supporter of Alexei in 1997, little did I know where it would lead. Yes, it led to the basis for the preceding 4 parts of this story, which, coupled with my "fandom" BC (before computers), were the only real bright spots in all of my "fandom". But it also led me to suffer the effects of and now be a witness to such degradation, humiliation, pettiness, and downright nastiness, the degree of which I didn't think a human being was capable of achieving. I was wrong. All of the events of the last couple of years has only served to reinforce my belief that all humankind is innately hateful--how sad that is--and it is up to the individual to rise above that. Some do and some don't. Unfortunately, the "some that don't" seem to populate YagudinLand heavily.

I endured much suffering since 1999. But I survived and am better off. However, what was flung at my face pales in comparison to the filth being flung around now at and by people all alleging to be "fans" of this one skater. So much anguish, so much hurt, so much betrayal. And for what? To "prove" our admiration and undying devotion for one Mr. Yagudin, who...let's face facts...could give a shit and a half about any of this, really, except to augment his own entertainment. Are we stupid? Yes. We most definitely are. But unlike most of you, I've realized my stupidity and pulled anchor, sailing on to happier times. Actually, if the truth be told, I realized it long ago, maybe as far back as December 1999, but only recently--earlier this year--did I decide to pull the plug for good. To take my "Yagudin fandom" off the ventilator and let it die mercifully as it's been wanting to die for some time now. I finally came to the realization that the high price I've had to pay was in no way worth the benefit of being among the Few, the Proud, the Privileged--i.e., "Alexei Yagudin Fans". Call me an infidel, call me a traitor, call me chicken, call me whatever floats yer boat. I don't care anymore, and I can't be hurt anymore, because...now don't be saying you didn't hear this before...I am no longer an official Yagudin fan, folks!! LOL, or even an unofficial one for that matter. Like the song sez, I got one hand in my pocket and the other one's hailing a taxicab. So save yer breath, wave goodbye, and scream at someone who gives a shit. I will say my last 2 cents, much as you'd wish I'd shut up.

One day I will look back on my Yagudin "fandom" and smile as I remember the happier moments before power struggles and psychogames became the norm. I admit I will projectile vomit as I remember the latter, for it truly destroyed all that was good. And it was good at one time. But unfortunately, the latter constitutes many more days than the "happier moments". I am truly sorry for those who merely want to like Alexei and what he does, but who find themselves swept away by The Exalted Ones (keyword here: "Ones"--i.e., plural) Who Appear To Know So Much, but who in reality couldn't find their own assholes with both hands and a flashlight. I am truly sorry for the innocents who choose to remain mired in the mud of this "fandom", for you deserve so much better.

An Autobiography of a Dream...

EPILOGUE