When we made our first American tour in 1987, I was 16. Now, I always sat with Sergei on the bus. In Los Angeles, he and I went to Disneyland. He bought me some ice cream. A couple of times he hugged me after a ride, or put his arm around me. He had never done this before, and it made me excited. This was a wonderful day for me.
By the end of 1988, my parents had grown to like Sergei so much, we invited him to join us for New Year’s on the Volga River. Sergei asked if I would come with him to see the property of a friend who had land nearby. While our friend Sasha took a sauna, Sergei and I sat at the table outside and talked, and he gave me a small glass of vodka. He said, “I want to tell you something.” But whatever it was, he was having trouble saying it.
Then he said, “Why don’t we kiss?” He gave me a gentle kiss on the mouth, and when he saw that I liked it, he gave me another one that was longer. This one was interrupted by Sasha coming out of the sauna. I was so embarrassed I couldn’t even look at him.
The next day, Sergei and I had to return to Navagorsk, and we sat together in the back of my parents’ car on the way. We wanted to be alone again as soon as possible, so once we arrived I went with Sergei into his room. After we had kissed, I asked, “Seriozha, why did you pick me? I’m not old enough. I’m not beautiful enough. My body’s not perfect.”
But when I had expressed these doubts, Sergei put his fingers to my lips and said, “You’re wrong. You’re old enough, you’re already seventeen. You have a beautiful body. Everything’s going to be okay. I love you just the way you are, Katoosha. Just as you are right now.” From this point on, I never paid attention to any other man, not ever again. In the autumn of 1990, Sergei finally got the title to his apartment and proposed to me. It made me unspeakably happy and in April we were married in Moscow.
The end came on Monday, Nov. 20, last year, as we were rehearsing in Lake Placid, New York. At the beginning of the program, I’m on one knee, and Sergei is on one knee, and we are face to face. I put my head on his shoulder, and I remember his T-shirt smelled very clean. So I said, “Hmm, smells good.” And he said, “Yes, it’s clean.” Just this. These were the last words. Then we started to skate.
The full orchestra was just coming in. Sergei was gliding on the ice, but he didn’t do the crossovers. His hands didn’t go around my waist for the lift. I thought it was his back. He was bent over slightly, and I asked him, “Is it your back?” He shook his head a little. He couldn’t control himself. He tried to stop, but he kept gliding into the boards. He tried to hold onto the boards. He was dizzy, but Sergei didn’t tell me what was happening. Then he bent his knees and lay down on the ice very carefully. I kept asking what was happening. “What’s wrong, Serioque? What’s the matter?” But he didn’t tell me. He didn’t speak at all.
I was so scared. I was screaming, I don’t know what. I forgot all the words in English. I couldn’t remember the word for help. I ran to get someone to call 911 for me. At the hospital, the doctors asked me some questions about Sergei’s history, whether he’d ever had any heart problems before. I told them no. Then a woman doctor came out to talk to me. Her face was very serious. She said they had given the electric shocks. She said they had given him the shot of adrenalin in the heart. But they had lost Sergei.
I can’t describe the feelings that went through me when I walked into the room where Sergei was lying, his skates still on his feet. He didn’t look dead. It looked like he was just sleeping. Even one eye was open a little bit, and the whole time I thought that maybe he was looking at me. He even looked like he was breathing. His hands were cold, but when I felt his shoulders and chest, they were still warm.
I don’t even remember what I began talking about. It was very simple. Something like, “Your hands are so cold.” I apologized, too. “Sorry, Serioque. I’m so sorry.” As I talked, I was thinking, He will never stand up. He will never take me in his arms again, never hug me again, never hold my hand again. But it will be a long time before I believe it.
Then I started to take off his skates, and his feet were very cold. I tried to warm them up by rubbing them. I rubbed them and rubbed them. I tried to warm his hands up, too. I loved his hands very much, loved the way they were so big and soft. But I couldn’t make them warm.
