Saving Wolfgang, page 3
I didn’t know that. And though I like Mr. Johnson, I didn’t want to talk to anyone about it. All I wanted to do was play hockey.
But here’s the great thing. Running as fast as I could from one end of the gym to the other, and firing that orange puck as hard as I could, felt amazing. For thirty minutes I forgot about the rest of my life and just played the game. My friends seemed to forget everything else too, and Jimmy went back to his constant play-by-play.
“Here He Comes Out Of The Calgary End…big Al Macinnis With The Puck Now…” Al MacInnis—number 2—is a tall defenseman for the Calgary Flames, and Jimmy has decided that’s who I’ll be from now on. “Here He Comes Into The Neutral Zone…he’s Got Mcdonald And Peplinski With Him, But Macinnis Has Other Plans…he Winds Up To Shoot…and…he Scores! Holy Macanoli! Big Al Macinnis From Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, With A Howitzer Shot…grant Fuhr Never Saw It Coming…and The Flames Take An Early Lead!”
I smiled, Papa. I actually smiled.
Eleven
October 13, 1985
Dear Papa,
I watched my first hockey game last night on TV, and it was great! Not as good as playing it for real but still fun.
I was trying to finish my math homework. I normally like math, but I just couldn’t concentrate. My mind kept going back to the same dark places. Then I heard Grandpa turn on the TV and collapse into his La-Z-Boy recliner.
“Hello, hockey fans.” An excited voice poured out of the big wood-paneled Zenith. “We’re live at the Forum in sunny Inglewood, California, where the Los Angeles Kings will host the Calgary Flames!”
That settled it. There was no way I was going to get my math done now. I left my homework on the dining room table and headed straight for the smaller La-Z-Boy recliner beside Grandpa—Grandma’s old chair. I sat down on the edge of the seat as the national anthems were sung. Then there was a string of commercials before the game started. The second one was for Molson Canadian.
“Do you like that beer?” I asked, mostly to be polite.
“Ha!” Grandpa laughed out loud. “I sure did! Not that I was all that discerning, mind you. Back in the day, I drank Molson, Labatt’s, Carling, Pilsner, Kokanee…you name it! I’d drink every beer and any beer.”
The Molson commercial was replaced by a commercial for Hunky Bill’s Perogie Maker. But my mind was still on beer. Hearing the enthusiasm for beer in Grandpa’s voice reminded me of the old boisterous grandpa I’d met when I was young, back when Mama said he used to have a mean streak.
“Do you still drink beer?” I asked, without taking my eyes off the TV.
His voice changed to the calmer, quieter grandpa I’d been living with for the past month. “No, son. Not anymore.”
I wondered what that meant. Would Grandpa ever drink any beer again? And what about Scotch? Mama used to say he loved his Scotch. I was just about to ask him more when the TV switched back to the Forum in California and the opening face-off.
“Here we go!” Grandpa cheered. “Let’s go, boys!”
Grandpa’s enthusiasm was infectious.
“Let’s go!” I echoed.
He looked at me briefly with a surprised expression, chuckled to himself, then turned his attention back to the TV and the commentary of the Calgary Flames’ play-by-play announcer, Ed Whalen.
“Joel Otto is at center for the Flames,” Whalen announced. “He’s facing off against Bernie Nicholls for the Kings. And Otto wins the face-off…rifles it over to Gino Cavallini on left wing, who dumps it in behind the Los Angeles net…”
That was it. I was hooked! I followed the puck across the TV screen for the next three hours, listening to Ed Whalen’s voice describing it all. I screamed and hollered and cheered just as loud as Grandpa every time the Flames scored. And boy, did they ever score! The final was 9–2! The game didn’t finish until after eleven o’clock, and when it did, it was like Grandpa and I both woke up from a trance.
“Jiminy!” he said, squinting at his gold wristwatch. “We’ve gotta get you in bed! Your mother will hit the roof if she finds out!”
Grandpa and I stared at each other for a few seconds as his words floated in the air. Then we both smiled.
“Let’s remember that.” His smile suddenly turned sad. “Maybe we’ll try that one out on her tomorrow and see if it brings her out of her room.” He eased himself up from his chair. “But right now I want you in bed, okay?”
“Okay, Grandpa. Good night.” I gave him a hug.
“Good night.”
Twelve
November 8, 1985
Dear Papa,
I’ve had enough bad news this year, so I shouldn’t be surprised. But bad news from hockey? I thought my new favorite sport might be different.
I knew I couldn’t skate, but all the floor hockey and road hockey and hockey telecasts had gotten me so excited that I started to believe that somehow, miraculously, that would change. There was still a ray of hope in my mind when I woke up last week and the snow was falling, and when I spent the weekend helping Jimmy and his dad put up the boards and flood the rinks in Elbow Park. I was just so excited to help build skating rinks that I didn’t even want to imagine not being part of all the hockey games that were going to be played out there on the ice. But when I finally went down there with Jimmy and Rolly, and wobbled out onto the ice, my fantasy came crashing down.
“Come On, Big Al Macinnis!” Jimmy yelled at me. I was still struggling to squeeze my feet into the pair of Jimmy’s old skates that his dad had found in his basement for me. I’d worried they might not fit me properly, but each skate fit me like, well, a glove. And when I pulled the laces, they tightened up perfectly. Then I grabbed the stick I’d been using in Jimmy’s backyard, took a few steps through the thick snow outside the boards and stepped out onto the ice.
“I’m right behind you!” Rolly called after me as he finished tying his skates.
My first step was wobbly, but my second step slid right out from under me, and before I knew it I was flying backward. I landed hard, with my butt hitting the hard ice and the back of my head slamming against the plywood board behind me at exactly the same time. And, no, I wasn’t wearing a helmet. Just a toque.
My ears started ringing almost instantly, and the pain from my butt competed with the pain in my head. School had only just got out, so there weren’t too many kids on the ice yet. But a few were already skating circles around the fresh ice, firing pucks into the twine.
“Skate much?” A boy with a thick jaw and angry acne all over his face stopped just inches from me, spraying snow all over my face, and laughed. “Loser!”
As he skated away, I scrambled to my feet. I was determined to try again. But I was still dizzy from the first fall. I would have been wobbly even if I’d been walking, never mind skating. So almost as soon as I was upright, my skates flew out from under me again, my stick went flying into the air in front of me and I plummeted back down. And at the very moment that my throbbing butt hit the ice, the curved end of my stick hit the jaw of the jerk who’d just called me a loser. Actually, thinking about that moment, I have to say yesterday wasn’t a total loss. Seeing that Neanderthal take a stick in the face was pretty good. Obviously he didn’t think so.
“Cory, Stop!” I heard Jimmy scream just before the big goon tackled me. “Get Off Him!”
Too late. The gigantic Cory McGoonface had already kneed me in the chest and started punching me in the face almost as quickly. I was too stunned to react, so he got in a few punches. Then I managed to get both arms up to protect my face just as two people came to my rescue. I presumed it was Jimmy and Rolly pulling him off me, but when I looked up I saw Jimmy’s sisters, Mary and Catherine, looking down at me with concerned expressions.
“He didn’t do it on purpose!” Mary yelled at Cory.
“Yeah, he fell,” Catherine, the younger sister, added. “It was an accident!”
“He’s an accident!” Cory yelled back as he skated off to the other end of the ice.
“Ouch,” Rolly said, kneeling down beside me and looking at my face as it started to swell.
“That Looks Like It Hurts!” Jimmy yelled a little too loudly.
“Oh, it’s not too bad,” I lied, clenching all my muscles to stop myself from crying. “But I’m just gonna…I think I’m gonna just go home. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
I half expected them to argue, but none of them said a thing.
I pushed myself back along the ice on my butt until I could grab the opening in the boards and crawl out.
“Do you want one of us to come with you?” Mary asked.
“No, thanks,” I said, wincing. “I’m okay.”
I struggled with the skates for a few minutes before I finally pulled my feet out of them and replaced them with my shoes. When I tried to stand up, my head was throbbing and I thought I might faint. I had to take a deep breath before I tried again. When I finally got to my feet, I was surprised to see Jimmy and Rolly still standing on the other side of the boards, looking at me with obvious worry on their faces.
“Sorry,” Rolly said.
“Are You Sure You Don’t Want Us to Come With You?” Jimmy asked.
“Nah,” I said again, flinching at the pain the one word caused in my head.
I turned around and limped across the snowy field with my skates in one hand and my stick in the other. I managed to make it just a few steps before the tears started pouring down my cheeks. There were other kids on the field, but I just stared at the ground and limped home. I was still crying when I got there.
“You’re home early,” Grandpa called out from the kitchen before he saw me. “How did it…oh no! What happened, son?”
I dropped my skates and stick in the entryway and buried my face in my hands. I didn’t want Grandpa to see me cry. I had to bite my lip so hard to stop myself that I tasted blood. My eyes were still closed, face buried in my hands, when I heard Grandpa come up to me quietly.
“Come on, Tiger,” he said before I could look up at him. “You need some aspirin and a can of Coke.”
Thirteen
November 9, 1985
Dear Papa,
My head still hurt a little this morning. But Grandpa gave me another aspirin when I woke up and made a pile of pancakes served with real maple syrup. They were so good, I ate five.
“That’s what I like to see,” he said. “Your appetite’s back!” He sat down across the table and studied my expression. “Now how are we gonna lift your spirits?”
I didn’t say anything.
“Was it a fight?” he asked. “Some guys say hockey isn’t hockey without the fisticuffs, but I don’t want to see my only grandson get pounded because some idiots think punching is a part of the game.”
“I only got punched a couple of times,” I told him.
“Well, that’s two times too many,” Grandpa replied, looking angry all of a sudden.
“Sorry, Grandpa,” I said around a mouthful of pancake.
“It’s not you I’m mad at,” he said. “It’s whatever young thug thought he could punch my grandson!”
“Well…” I paused. “He was a thug, but I’m not sure I blame him. I mean, I did hit him in the face with my stick. Pretty hard, actually.”
His expression changed. “Well now, hold the phone! You never, and I mean never, hit anyone in the face with a hockey stick.”
“I didn’t mean to! I fell, and my stick just went flying! It was an accident!” I could feel the tears rising again.
His expression softened, and Grandpa looked sympathetic again. “Oh…I see.”
“That’s the real problem, Grandpa,” I said, trying not to cry. I bit down on my lip and waited for it to pass. “I can’t skate.”
“Ahh.” He was thinking now, looking down at the table. Then he looked back up at me. “What if I could teach you?”
I raised my eyebrows. “You know how to skate?”
He looked insulted. “They didn’t call me Rocket McElroy for nothing!”
“Sorry, Grandpa.”
The look of reproach took longer to fade from his face than I would have predicted.
“That’s okay,” he finally said. “But I can come down to the rink with you this afternoon and teach you the basics. After that, you’ll pick it up in no time. Whaddya think?”
I didn’t know what to think. On the one hand, I was desperate to skate and play hockey—real hockey—with my friends. On the other hand, I was scared to try. I’d really hurt and embarrassed myself the day before, and I didn’t want the same things to happen again.
“Come on!” Grandpa interrupted my thoughts. “Let’s give it a try this afternoon!”
When the time came, I was still unsure. We cleaned up our lunch plates, checked on Mama, who was sitting up quietly in bed, and left the house. But as soon as we got to the top of the Elbow Park hill, I stopped dead in my tracks. Both hockey rinks were jam-packed with people playing hockey, kids and grown-ups alike. Now I was sure—I didn’t want to get back on the ice and learn to skate! Especially with my grandpa in the middle of all those people. It might even be more humiliating than my first time. But I didn’t want to tell Grandpa that. So I came up with a lie instead.
“Wow,” I said, pointing at some of the kids on toboggans at the bottom of the hill. “Sledding looks like more fun than skating.”
Grandpa gave me a funny look—an equal mix of disappointment and sympathy, with just a hint of a smile on his face.
“Son…” He sighed. “You can’t learn to skate on a sled.”
“I know, Grandpa. I’m just not…”
He tilted his head. “You’re just not ready yet?”
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s it.”
“I tell you what,” he said, turning to walk back home. “You wake up with me dark and early tomorrow morning, and the two of us will go back down there when it’s quiet, and there’s no one there to watch.”
I could have hugged him. Instead I cleared my throat and tried to sound like it didn’t really matter to me.
“I guess that’d be okay, Grandpa.”
He smiled. “All righty, then.”
Fourteen
November 10, 1985
Dear Papa,
Morning today came way too soon. Grandpa woke me up at five o’clock.
“Pitter-patter, let’s get at ’er!”
“Ooooohhh,” I groaned without opening my eyes.
“Oh no you don’t!” He laughed loudly. “If I’m up, then you’re up too, mister!”
I tried arguing, but Grandpa was having none of it. He made it obvious that it would be easier to get up and follow him than it would be to stay in bed and argue. I got dressed and stumbled into the kitchen to find a cup of hot chocolate waiting for me on the table.
“That’ll put some spring in your step,” he said with a laugh. “Drink up!”
The hot chocolate was delicious, and not too hot. I drank it quickly, and we were out of the house soon after, trudging through a thin layer of new snow that fell last night.
When we reached the top of the hill, I could see there was no one on either of the two hockey rinks. At least, no one that I could see. But the lights weren’t on either.
“How are we going to skate with no lights?” I asked Grandpa.
“We’ll start on the tennis-court rink,” he said.
I looked to the right, where the tennis courts were covered in a sheet of ice and surrounded by a tall chain-link fence. “But we’re not supposed to play hockey on that rink. It’s only for skating.”
“There’s no one here to tell us we can’t.” Grandpa grinned.
“But it’s dark there too.”
He raised an eyebrow at me. “They’re closer to the streetlights,” he said. “There’s enough light to see. We’re not gonna be going too fast at the start.”
I thought about arguing, but something in Grandpa’s voice made me decide against it.
At the bottom of the hill, Grandpa pulled on the back door of the tennis club, but it was locked. He muttered something under his breath, then sat down on a long wooden bench beside the ice and took off his boots.
“Well!” he barked. “What are ya waiting for?”
I sat down quickly, took my boots off and squeezed my feet into my skates.
Grandpa tied his own skates up quickly, then knelt down in front of me.
“Let me show you how to get these tightened up just right,” he said. Now the kindness in his voice was back, and it stayed for the rest of the day.
He wedged one of my skates between his knees and started tightening the laces with his big strong hands. He took his time, moving from just above my toes all the way up to my ankle, pulling one section of lace at a time. “Ya gotta get ’em nice and tight. That’s the first thing.”
“Thanks, Grandpa.”
By the time he was finished, my feet almost hurt, but I couldn’t tell if that was from the cold or the tightness of the laces.
“We can loosen ’em if we have to,” he said. “But you’ll have more luck if they’re snug.”
I nodded and stood up on the black rubber mat, finding my balance. I grabbed my stick with both hands and stared at the ice-covered tennis courts in front of me.
Grandpa seemed to sense my hesitation and spoke quietly. “Now I want you to remember three things before we start. First, always keep your stick on the ice. Second, bend your knees. And third, lean forward.”
I nodded as he stepped onto the ice in front of me. I took a few steps and stopped right at the slippery edge. Thinking of what he’d said, I held my stick out ahead of me with my right hand and rested it on the ice, then bent my knees, leaned forward and took two small steps onto the court. My feet slipped just a little beneath me, but to my surprise they didn’t get away from me. I didn’t go flying onto my butt!
“Now,” he said, turning to skate backward, making it look easy, “I want you to hang on to your stick with both hands—at least to start—and remember to keep it on the ice.”
