Game Face, page 13
Still, a guy can get thrown off balance
easy enough, when he doesn’t see the hit
coming. When it’s a dirty play.
* * *
The thing about dirty plays?
They make a guy’s teammates mad.
Dylan’s laughter stops
when Cole and Harjit step
into his path.
* * *
Bennett drifts from Dylan’s side
like he’s not sure
where he fits in this scene
like the playbook didn’t cover
teammates facing off
against each other.
* * *
Some fine
foul
language
flies around the corridor
finds its way
to Mrs. Darroch’s ears.
* * *
She appears
by her classroom door.
* * *
Ends up, there’s no bench-clearing
brawl today, but as I head outside
to catch the bus, one truth
takes root inside me:
* * *
my friends
really are on my team
* * *
and I’m not talking
about hockey.
Math Problem
If
one
player
becomes friends
with his teammates, then
that player quits, how many games
will the team play before teammates are no longer friends?
Battles
Next morning
I dash across the road
to the bus stop
head bowed against the rain.
Rose and Ty are both
there waiting.
* * *
The silent space
between me and Ty
feels like the Grand
Canyon, and after
an awkward minute
Rose starts humming
loudly
over the pattering
rain.
I recognize the song
* * *
— Raindrops
keep falling
on my head
* * *
and I chuckle.
* * *
Ty must know it too
because he says
Maybe if you chose
a song about sun
we wouldn’t be
getting soaked.
* * *
Rose stops humming
says with a smirk
I could give it
a shot, but then you’d
probably complain
it’s too hot.
* * *
Probably, says Ty
tipping his head back
eyes squinting
as the rain splatters
his face.
* * *
You know, says Rose
you two have a lot in common.
* * *
All along, the main thing
we’ve shared was hockey.
If we don’t have that
what’s left?
* * *
Same thing must be
running through Ty’s mind
because he says
Not anymore.
* * *
Rose makes a sharp buzzing sound
like he just got the wrong answer
on a game show. Sorry, she says.
Please play again.
* * *
I laugh, but Ty’s quiet
waiting
for her meaning.
* * *
Your heart problem, she says.
It’s a lot like Jonah’s
anxiety.
* * *
Now Ty laughs
and I agree the idea
sounds ridiculous.
* * *
I’m serious, she says.
Your heart problem is invisible
right? We can’t tell by looking
there’s something wrong.
But there is.
And it means there are things
you can and can’t do.
It means there are different ways
you need to take care of
yourself. Right?
* * *
Ty nods. Yeah. I guess so.
* * *
She turns her head, now
addressing me. Rain drips
from her hair, runs
down her nose.
* * *
Isn’t it the same
for you? she says.
Only instead of your heart
it’s in your brain — your anxiety.
Invisible
but real.
* * *
I can’t imagine people being able
to see my anxiety, to hear the battles
that go on in my head. That would be
disastrous, wouldn’t it?
* * *
Or would it be
a good thing?
* * *
If the guys on the team
knew why
I had a hard time
maybe they wouldn’t look at me
the way they did
after last practice.
* * *
The bus pulls up to the curb
and we pile on
find seats — not together
but at least the canyon
between me and Ty
seems a tiny bit smaller
than before.
For Now
The week sneaks by
days disappearing
slowly at first
then all at once
like an ice jam on the river
breaking up.
* * *
By the time Friday arrives
Ty’s still barely speaking to me
still choosing to sit
far from me on the bus
even though Rose
leaves the space beside me
free.
I don’t have much chance to
worry about Ty, though, because Cole
corners me before homeroom
talks nonstop hockey
totally wired about tonight’s
playoff game.
* * *
Nine hours! he tells me later
on our way to math
near giddy
with excitement.
Then seven hours!
at lunch break.
* * *
As Cole counts down
Al revs up
and when I arrive
at Ms. Rogers’ office after lunch
I’m wound tight.
I perch on the chair
shift
shift again
stand up, whole body
buzzing.
Ms. Rogers waits
— how odd I must look
standing here, hands
twitching, feet shifting.
Finally my head clears a little
and I settle
in my seat.
* * *
During our first appointment
I told Ms. Rogers
no way
did I want her
to call my dad. She agreed
but added for now.
I guess for now
just ran out.
* * *
You need to talk to your dad
she says. Let him know
you’re struggling.
* * *
My throat tightens.
You don’t understand
about my d — The words
stumble and stall.
* * *
If she finds out
how bad
Dad’s anxiety is …
She smiles patiently.
It’s important we include him
so he can support you.
How can I make it easier
for you to talk to him?
* * *
I pick at the edge
of my chair
where a brown thread
juts from the fabric
of the seat.
Jonah, she says
and waits
until I stop picking
and look at her.
I can call him
if you want —
* * *
No! That would be worse
would make Dad think
it’s a much bigger deal
too big
for him to handle.
I’ll talk to him.
* * *
She studies me
probably trying to guess
if I’ll actually do it.
I squirm in my seat.
* * *
This weekend, she says
and even though her voice
is gentle
there’s no doubt
she’s dead serious.
Decision
By the time school’s out
my chest feels
like Dylan Babinsky
is sitting on it. My body sinks
onto the bus seat
but my mind
drifts
bumps against the bus ceiling
hovers above me, watching
as I lean to the side, let my head
thunk lightly
against the window.
* * *
I close my eyes.
* * *
As the bus pulls away from school
someone plunks down
beside me. I jolt upright.
* * *
It’s Ty.
* * *
He faces forward, doesn’t say
anything, so I keep quiet
glance at him from the corner
of my eye — why
now? Does this mean
we’re still friends? Does it mean
he forgives me
for running away
or for still being able
to play hockey?
* * *
After a while, I settle back
against the seat
watch out the side window
as the world slides by.
* * *
We’re almost at our stop
when Ty nudges me
with his elbow.
Want to come over tonight?
Maybe watch a movie?
* * *
Tonight.
* * *
This could be my chance to
get back to normal with Ty.
But the game —
* * *
I could be
a no-show, couldn’t I?
They’ve got Kyle.
Probably no one will even
miss me.
* * *
But the pros
don’t skip games.
No player would choose movies
over hockey if they’re hoping
to make it big — and Ty and I
always imagined
we’d make it. All those hours
on the outdoor rink
practicing
imitating the pros
dreaming of the day
we’d play alongside
our heroes.
* * *
Do I even want that
anymore? And even
if I do, how can I keep
chasing the dream
without Ty?
* * *
I take a deep breath
and give him my answer:
* * *
A movie sounds good.
Empty
The weight on my chest
eases
and the tension
in my gut
unravels
threads spiraling up
drifting out from
my shoulders
arms
fingers.
* * *
Al likes movies — he’s quiet
while I escape into stories
two hours at a time.
A movie will be so much easier
than a playoff game.
* * *
A pang of sadness
sharp
and hollow
rings through me
like a puck shot hard against
the boards
echoing
in an empty arena.
* * *
Am I ready to scrap
the whole anxiety-causing
big-stress, big-league
hockey dream?
* * *
Not
quite.
* * *
I rub my palms
on my pants, ignore
the warning siren winding up
in my brain.
* * *
Actually, I say, I can’t.
There’s a game. Playoffs.
* * *
I shrug and hope
desperately
that Ty can tell I’m so sorry
for choosing hockey.
* * *
Oh, he says. Right.
* * *
His expression changes
and it feels like a door closing.
No-Win Situation
I miss
the Friday nights
I never had to choose
between friendship and big-league dreams.
Simple.
Off-Season Friday Night Routine
Half a dozen of us in Cole’s basement
* * *
hands batting an orange road-hockey ball
between shoes or throw-pillow goalposts
* * *
strategically rearranging furniture to hide
new dents in the walls before Cole’s mom
came downstairs to break up the game.
Alone
Dad arrives home from the
office only minutes
before Cole and his parents
pull into our driveway.
He gives me a quick hug
wishes me good luck
smiles through the pained look
on his face.
* * *
I wish I could be there
for you, he says.
* * *
I know.
* * *
It just wouldn’t end well.
You understand, right?
It’s … He offers a feeble
shrug. It’s too much.
It’s okay, Dad.
* * *
He’d be there if he could
if things
were different.
Oma would be there too
but her back won’t tolerate
driving, never mind
the arena bleachers.
* * *
Mom
was always there
every game
Before.
* * *
Inside me, sorrow explodes
like fireworks
— a sudden shock
and then sparks
slowly
settling.
I blink a few times
douse the remnants
of sadness
grab my bag and
go.
Every now and then
missing her
catches me off guard
sadness rushing through me
triggered by the weirdest things.
It hurts worse than anything
* * *
but if it ever stops happening
I’ll miss it.
Lost
In the early days
after the accident
Dad would check in with me
make sure I ate something
even if he didn’t
hug me hard
when the missing
got to be too much.
* * *
Later, though, he got lost
easy enough, when he doesn’t see the hit
coming. When it’s a dirty play.
* * *
The thing about dirty plays?
They make a guy’s teammates mad.
Dylan’s laughter stops
when Cole and Harjit step
into his path.
* * *
Bennett drifts from Dylan’s side
like he’s not sure
where he fits in this scene
like the playbook didn’t cover
teammates facing off
against each other.
* * *
Some fine
foul
language
flies around the corridor
finds its way
to Mrs. Darroch’s ears.
* * *
She appears
by her classroom door.
* * *
Ends up, there’s no bench-clearing
brawl today, but as I head outside
to catch the bus, one truth
takes root inside me:
* * *
my friends
really are on my team
* * *
and I’m not talking
about hockey.
Math Problem
If
one
player
becomes friends
with his teammates, then
that player quits, how many games
will the team play before teammates are no longer friends?
Battles
Next morning
I dash across the road
to the bus stop
head bowed against the rain.
Rose and Ty are both
there waiting.
* * *
The silent space
between me and Ty
feels like the Grand
Canyon, and after
an awkward minute
Rose starts humming
loudly
over the pattering
rain.
I recognize the song
* * *
— Raindrops
keep falling
on my head
* * *
and I chuckle.
* * *
Ty must know it too
because he says
Maybe if you chose
a song about sun
we wouldn’t be
getting soaked.
* * *
Rose stops humming
says with a smirk
I could give it
a shot, but then you’d
probably complain
it’s too hot.
* * *
Probably, says Ty
tipping his head back
eyes squinting
as the rain splatters
his face.
* * *
You know, says Rose
you two have a lot in common.
* * *
All along, the main thing
we’ve shared was hockey.
If we don’t have that
what’s left?
* * *
Same thing must be
running through Ty’s mind
because he says
Not anymore.
* * *
Rose makes a sharp buzzing sound
like he just got the wrong answer
on a game show. Sorry, she says.
Please play again.
* * *
I laugh, but Ty’s quiet
waiting
for her meaning.
* * *
Your heart problem, she says.
It’s a lot like Jonah’s
anxiety.
* * *
Now Ty laughs
and I agree the idea
sounds ridiculous.
* * *
I’m serious, she says.
Your heart problem is invisible
right? We can’t tell by looking
there’s something wrong.
But there is.
And it means there are things
you can and can’t do.
It means there are different ways
you need to take care of
yourself. Right?
* * *
Ty nods. Yeah. I guess so.
* * *
She turns her head, now
addressing me. Rain drips
from her hair, runs
down her nose.
* * *
Isn’t it the same
for you? she says.
Only instead of your heart
it’s in your brain — your anxiety.
Invisible
but real.
* * *
I can’t imagine people being able
to see my anxiety, to hear the battles
that go on in my head. That would be
disastrous, wouldn’t it?
* * *
Or would it be
a good thing?
* * *
If the guys on the team
knew why
I had a hard time
maybe they wouldn’t look at me
the way they did
after last practice.
* * *
The bus pulls up to the curb
and we pile on
find seats — not together
but at least the canyon
between me and Ty
seems a tiny bit smaller
than before.
For Now
The week sneaks by
days disappearing
slowly at first
then all at once
like an ice jam on the river
breaking up.
* * *
By the time Friday arrives
Ty’s still barely speaking to me
still choosing to sit
far from me on the bus
even though Rose
leaves the space beside me
free.
I don’t have much chance to
worry about Ty, though, because Cole
corners me before homeroom
talks nonstop hockey
totally wired about tonight’s
playoff game.
* * *
Nine hours! he tells me later
on our way to math
near giddy
with excitement.
Then seven hours!
at lunch break.
* * *
As Cole counts down
Al revs up
and when I arrive
at Ms. Rogers’ office after lunch
I’m wound tight.
I perch on the chair
shift
shift again
stand up, whole body
buzzing.
Ms. Rogers waits
— how odd I must look
standing here, hands
twitching, feet shifting.
Finally my head clears a little
and I settle
in my seat.
* * *
During our first appointment
I told Ms. Rogers
no way
did I want her
to call my dad. She agreed
but added for now.
I guess for now
just ran out.
* * *
You need to talk to your dad
she says. Let him know
you’re struggling.
* * *
My throat tightens.
You don’t understand
about my d — The words
stumble and stall.
* * *
If she finds out
how bad
Dad’s anxiety is …
She smiles patiently.
It’s important we include him
so he can support you.
How can I make it easier
for you to talk to him?
* * *
I pick at the edge
of my chair
where a brown thread
juts from the fabric
of the seat.
Jonah, she says
and waits
until I stop picking
and look at her.
I can call him
if you want —
* * *
No! That would be worse
would make Dad think
it’s a much bigger deal
too big
for him to handle.
I’ll talk to him.
* * *
She studies me
probably trying to guess
if I’ll actually do it.
I squirm in my seat.
* * *
This weekend, she says
and even though her voice
is gentle
there’s no doubt
she’s dead serious.
Decision
By the time school’s out
my chest feels
like Dylan Babinsky
is sitting on it. My body sinks
onto the bus seat
but my mind
drifts
bumps against the bus ceiling
hovers above me, watching
as I lean to the side, let my head
thunk lightly
against the window.
* * *
I close my eyes.
* * *
As the bus pulls away from school
someone plunks down
beside me. I jolt upright.
* * *
It’s Ty.
* * *
He faces forward, doesn’t say
anything, so I keep quiet
glance at him from the corner
of my eye — why
now? Does this mean
we’re still friends? Does it mean
he forgives me
for running away
or for still being able
to play hockey?
* * *
After a while, I settle back
against the seat
watch out the side window
as the world slides by.
* * *
We’re almost at our stop
when Ty nudges me
with his elbow.
Want to come over tonight?
Maybe watch a movie?
* * *
Tonight.
* * *
This could be my chance to
get back to normal with Ty.
But the game —
* * *
I could be
a no-show, couldn’t I?
They’ve got Kyle.
Probably no one will even
miss me.
* * *
But the pros
don’t skip games.
No player would choose movies
over hockey if they’re hoping
to make it big — and Ty and I
always imagined
we’d make it. All those hours
on the outdoor rink
practicing
imitating the pros
dreaming of the day
we’d play alongside
our heroes.
* * *
Do I even want that
anymore? And even
if I do, how can I keep
chasing the dream
without Ty?
* * *
I take a deep breath
and give him my answer:
* * *
A movie sounds good.
Empty
The weight on my chest
eases
and the tension
in my gut
unravels
threads spiraling up
drifting out from
my shoulders
arms
fingers.
* * *
Al likes movies — he’s quiet
while I escape into stories
two hours at a time.
A movie will be so much easier
than a playoff game.
* * *
A pang of sadness
sharp
and hollow
rings through me
like a puck shot hard against
the boards
echoing
in an empty arena.
* * *
Am I ready to scrap
the whole anxiety-causing
big-stress, big-league
hockey dream?
* * *
Not
quite.
* * *
I rub my palms
on my pants, ignore
the warning siren winding up
in my brain.
* * *
Actually, I say, I can’t.
There’s a game. Playoffs.
* * *
I shrug and hope
desperately
that Ty can tell I’m so sorry
for choosing hockey.
* * *
Oh, he says. Right.
* * *
His expression changes
and it feels like a door closing.
No-Win Situation
I miss
the Friday nights
I never had to choose
between friendship and big-league dreams.
Simple.
Off-Season Friday Night Routine
Half a dozen of us in Cole’s basement
* * *
hands batting an orange road-hockey ball
between shoes or throw-pillow goalposts
* * *
strategically rearranging furniture to hide
new dents in the walls before Cole’s mom
came downstairs to break up the game.
Alone
Dad arrives home from the
office only minutes
before Cole and his parents
pull into our driveway.
He gives me a quick hug
wishes me good luck
smiles through the pained look
on his face.
* * *
I wish I could be there
for you, he says.
* * *
I know.
* * *
It just wouldn’t end well.
You understand, right?
It’s … He offers a feeble
shrug. It’s too much.
It’s okay, Dad.
* * *
He’d be there if he could
if things
were different.
Oma would be there too
but her back won’t tolerate
driving, never mind
the arena bleachers.
* * *
Mom
was always there
every game
Before.
* * *
Inside me, sorrow explodes
like fireworks
— a sudden shock
and then sparks
slowly
settling.
I blink a few times
douse the remnants
of sadness
grab my bag and
go.
Every now and then
missing her
catches me off guard
sadness rushing through me
triggered by the weirdest things.
It hurts worse than anything
* * *
but if it ever stops happening
I’ll miss it.
Lost
In the early days
after the accident
Dad would check in with me
make sure I ate something
even if he didn’t
hug me hard
when the missing
got to be too much.
* * *
Later, though, he got lost
