Game Face, page 15
And then a brightening — hope
that maybe I will quit
— no more putting myself in
mortal peril
a couple times weekly
all season long.
* * *
Finally he finds his voice.
Why?
* * *
I can’t look at him
for this part
focus instead on straightening
the silverware.
* * *
Because some days
anxiety
makes hockey really
hard.
* * *
Except for the gentle bubbling
in the spaghetti pot
the kitchen is silent.
* * *
When I look at Dad
he’s staring toward the ceiling
like he’s searching
for some other explanation
some other meaning
behind my words.
His gaze lands back on me
and it’s clear he understands.
* * *
It’s also clear
the truth has broken
something inside him.
* * *
I’m sorry, he says.
I’ve been … I should’ve …
I’m so sorry.
* * *
Fact is, I tried to hide it
as much as he tried
to ignore it.
* * *
It’s okay, I say.
* * *
No, it’s not. His lips press together
disappearing for a moment.
Then a croaky voice: Is it bad?
* * *
I’m seeing the school counselor
I say. I think it helps — a bit
anyway.
* * *
Dad stumbles over his words.
Well. Good. That’s really —
He swallows hard.
Tries again.
I’m proud of you, Jonah.
* * *
Proud? Because I’ve got no
control over my worries?
Because some days I can’t help
letting Al be in charge?
Because I seem to have inherited
the one thing I’m sure
he never wanted to pass down?
* * *
He smiles then — a small
tired smile
and gives my shoulder
a squeeze.
* * *
It takes a lot of courage
to admit we need help, he says.
Even more
to seek it out.
* * *
For some dumb reason
my eyes fill
and the stupid waterworks
begin — but this time it’s not
pent-up stress leaking out
* * *
it’s relief, and
I think
love.
Unsung
Next morning too early
I haul the trash can
to the curb, kick
at a lingering mound
of snow in the yard.
When I turn to head back
into the house, there’s Rose
sitting on her front step
next door.
* * *
Hey, I say. She looks up,
gives me a little wave
so I wander over.
* * *
A plate of toast balances
on her knees. She’s not
eating.
* * *
It happened again, she says.
Lola
didn’t know me.
* * *
Her eyes glisten
like there are tears
trapped inside
along with the song
* * *
she didn’t get to sing
for her lola
but also
like she’s caught sight
of disaster creeping close.
* * *
I know those eyes.
* * *
When Ty was in the ICU
and I was upset, Rose
said she understood.
Back then, she didn’t know
about my anxiety — couldn’t
understand about that part.
But she knew
the fear. Knew the worry
that everything
might not
be okay.
I can’t fix anything for
her lola. But I can
sit with Rose
* * *
so I do.
She passes me
* * *
a piece of toast.
We don’t need to say
anything.
Cheer
We’re dressed and ready
for the championship game
except Bennett in the corner
who’s still busy applying
excessive amounts
of sock tape.
* * *
Coach moves to the middle
of the room, glances
at the clock.
* * *
As if on cue, the door opens
and in walks Ty. For me
it’s no surprise this time
but most of the team
don’t know he came by
yesterday. They mob him
thrilled to see
their star player
their fallen teammate.
* * *
Finally Coach breaks up
the reunion, grinning
like someone just promised him
the Stanley Cup.
He’ll be in the stands
Coach says. Cheering you on.
* * *
Ty leaves the dressing room
and Coach launches
into an amped-up version
of his pregame pep talk.
When he gets to the part
where we gather close
huddle
for the final shot
of motivation
he pulls out the big guns.
* * *
Let’s win this one
for Ty, he says.
* * *
The team echoes
hollering, For Ty!
and the resounding cheer
rattles me
shakes loose
the bits of confidence
I’d managed to cobble together.
* * *
We head out for warm-ups
with me
leading the way.
* * *
Ty’s waiting
this side of the gate.
When I reach him
he raises a hand
for a fist bump.
I tap it with my glove.
* * *
You got this, he says
and his voice
holds not a speck
of uncertainty.
* * *
He believes in me.
Final Game: The Bears
We’re clustered around the bench
getting final instructions from Coach
when I’m distracted by
movement — Rose, leaning over
the railing behind the bench
signaling me.
* * *
Keeping an eye on Coach
I inch closer
to Rose
until I’m near enough
to hear her.
* * *
Your dad, she says
her eyes bright.
He’s here.
* * *
My head jerks up
so I can scan the bleachers.
* * *
In the building, I mean
says Rose. I saw him
pacing circles
by the concession stand
when I got here.
* * *
Why would he come?
He never comes.
Is something wrong?
Is it Oma?
* * *
Everything’s fine, Rose says
clearly reading the panic
on my face. He’s here
for your game.
* * *
Is he coming in
to watch?
* * *
She shakes her head.
I don’t think so, she says.
But he’s here.
Pressure
Our starting lineup skates
into place, facing the Bears.
I move into position
game face on, but insides
wound tight
give the goalposts one more tap
for good measure
breathe
focus
ready for puck-drop.
* * *
Cole wins the face-off
but his pass to Nick
goes wild.
Bears get possession
lose it at center
get it back, take a shot
well wide.
Mad dash behind the net
puck squirts out the side
picked up, stolen, sent down-ice
sent
back.
* * *
Half the period gets eaten up
by a mess of intercepted
passes and missed
shots, until a rebound
off the boards
finds its way onto Cole’s stick
and he dekes around
the Bears’ defense, fakes out
the goalie and — yes! It’s in!
* * *
Our bench erupts
a blazing burst of joy
and even I feel less wound up
like that goal opened a valve
and released
some of the pressure.
* * *
After the next face-off
it’s less of a scramble
more of a game
as both sides settle in
for some decent hockey
everyone fired up
just enough
to keep me on my game.
Flash
Three minutes left in
the third period
we’re tied at four
— so close to surviving
the whole season
so close to becoming
champions.
* * *
Bears get a breakaway
left-winger flying
toward me. My heart
hammers.
* * *
In the second it takes their player
to stickhandle the puck
into position, a scene flashes
through my mind: Ty
on the outdoor rink
racing at me with a grin
wicked wrist shot releasing
puck zipping
toward the open spot
on my stick side
only now it’s the Bears’ winger
who fires it.
Energy surging I lunge
get my leg out
and down
can almost feel the
winter wind on my face
as the puck strikes my pad
rebounds and slides
out of harm’s way
— SAVE!
Intermission
Rob claps me on the back
as I leave the ice at the end
of regulation time.
* * *
In the dressing room
the mood
is electric, the team
riding high.
* * *
Cole is ecstatic:
Championship game
going to OT! It doesn’t
get better than this!
* * *
Yeah, it’s been quite a game
exactly what we’d expected
playing the Bears
but I’m ready
for it to be over. That spark
— that moment when it felt
like the outdoor rink
like Ty and pure fun
like I really loved hockey
* * *
that’s gone.
What even was that?
* * *
The guys … they’re in this
to win. They want this.
They want it for Ty
and for themselves, too
and so do I, but I’m not sure
I want it enough
to risk so much.
* * *
What if I fail?
What if I lose focus
fumble an easy save?
Sudden-death overtime
means one mistake
and it’s all over.
One mistake
and I let everyone
down.
* * *
My stomach winds its way
into a tangled knot
making me wish I had
my pause button
or better yet
a barf bag. I jump up
from the bench, rush
to the bathroom as fast
as all this blasted gear
will let me.
* * *
Into the stall
bend forward
hang
over the bowl
breathing fast.
* * *
I hate this.
My anxiety is as bad as ever.
After a minute or so
of not puking
I emerge from the stall
face myself in the mirror
remind myself again
of my dad.
* * *
My dad
* * *
who came to the arena
even though it would’ve taken
everything he had
even though whatever alien
haunts his mind
would’ve been screaming at him
to stay home and not think
about hockey.
* * *
He came.
* * *
Knowing Dad’s out there
pacing here instead of at home
knowing he did the hard thing
and showed up
even if he can’t bring himself
to actually watch the game
somehow adjusts the volume
in my brain, muffling
Al’s voice.
* * *
I think of Rose in the stands
and I imagine this is exactly
how it feels when someone
sings away your fears.
* * *
It doesn’t fix things.
It doesn’t mean my fears
won’t be back tomorrow.
But for right now
it helps.
Right Now
Even though the stone
from Ms. Rogers
is at home in my jeans
pocket, I take a minute
and create my own pause.
* * *
What is real and true
right now?
* * *
My dad is
on my side.
* * *
My friends are
cheering for me.
* * *
I’ve made some good saves
kept my team in the game.
* * *
We might win tonight
and we might lose
and either way
I’ll be okay.
* * *
I’ll be okay.
Overtime
Al’s most quiet when
I’m most focused
and for three minutes and
twenty-nine seconds
the Bears’ offense makes sure
I’m super-focused.
* * *
They’re in control from
the moment the puck drops
that maybe I will quit
— no more putting myself in
mortal peril
a couple times weekly
all season long.
* * *
Finally he finds his voice.
Why?
* * *
I can’t look at him
for this part
focus instead on straightening
the silverware.
* * *
Because some days
anxiety
makes hockey really
hard.
* * *
Except for the gentle bubbling
in the spaghetti pot
the kitchen is silent.
* * *
When I look at Dad
he’s staring toward the ceiling
like he’s searching
for some other explanation
some other meaning
behind my words.
His gaze lands back on me
and it’s clear he understands.
* * *
It’s also clear
the truth has broken
something inside him.
* * *
I’m sorry, he says.
I’ve been … I should’ve …
I’m so sorry.
* * *
Fact is, I tried to hide it
as much as he tried
to ignore it.
* * *
It’s okay, I say.
* * *
No, it’s not. His lips press together
disappearing for a moment.
Then a croaky voice: Is it bad?
* * *
I’m seeing the school counselor
I say. I think it helps — a bit
anyway.
* * *
Dad stumbles over his words.
Well. Good. That’s really —
He swallows hard.
Tries again.
I’m proud of you, Jonah.
* * *
Proud? Because I’ve got no
control over my worries?
Because some days I can’t help
letting Al be in charge?
Because I seem to have inherited
the one thing I’m sure
he never wanted to pass down?
* * *
He smiles then — a small
tired smile
and gives my shoulder
a squeeze.
* * *
It takes a lot of courage
to admit we need help, he says.
Even more
to seek it out.
* * *
For some dumb reason
my eyes fill
and the stupid waterworks
begin — but this time it’s not
pent-up stress leaking out
* * *
it’s relief, and
I think
love.
Unsung
Next morning too early
I haul the trash can
to the curb, kick
at a lingering mound
of snow in the yard.
When I turn to head back
into the house, there’s Rose
sitting on her front step
next door.
* * *
Hey, I say. She looks up,
gives me a little wave
so I wander over.
* * *
A plate of toast balances
on her knees. She’s not
eating.
* * *
It happened again, she says.
Lola
didn’t know me.
* * *
Her eyes glisten
like there are tears
trapped inside
along with the song
* * *
she didn’t get to sing
for her lola
but also
like she’s caught sight
of disaster creeping close.
* * *
I know those eyes.
* * *
When Ty was in the ICU
and I was upset, Rose
said she understood.
Back then, she didn’t know
about my anxiety — couldn’t
understand about that part.
But she knew
the fear. Knew the worry
that everything
might not
be okay.
I can’t fix anything for
her lola. But I can
sit with Rose
* * *
so I do.
She passes me
* * *
a piece of toast.
We don’t need to say
anything.
Cheer
We’re dressed and ready
for the championship game
except Bennett in the corner
who’s still busy applying
excessive amounts
of sock tape.
* * *
Coach moves to the middle
of the room, glances
at the clock.
* * *
As if on cue, the door opens
and in walks Ty. For me
it’s no surprise this time
but most of the team
don’t know he came by
yesterday. They mob him
thrilled to see
their star player
their fallen teammate.
* * *
Finally Coach breaks up
the reunion, grinning
like someone just promised him
the Stanley Cup.
He’ll be in the stands
Coach says. Cheering you on.
* * *
Ty leaves the dressing room
and Coach launches
into an amped-up version
of his pregame pep talk.
When he gets to the part
where we gather close
huddle
for the final shot
of motivation
he pulls out the big guns.
* * *
Let’s win this one
for Ty, he says.
* * *
The team echoes
hollering, For Ty!
and the resounding cheer
rattles me
shakes loose
the bits of confidence
I’d managed to cobble together.
* * *
We head out for warm-ups
with me
leading the way.
* * *
Ty’s waiting
this side of the gate.
When I reach him
he raises a hand
for a fist bump.
I tap it with my glove.
* * *
You got this, he says
and his voice
holds not a speck
of uncertainty.
* * *
He believes in me.
Final Game: The Bears
We’re clustered around the bench
getting final instructions from Coach
when I’m distracted by
movement — Rose, leaning over
the railing behind the bench
signaling me.
* * *
Keeping an eye on Coach
I inch closer
to Rose
until I’m near enough
to hear her.
* * *
Your dad, she says
her eyes bright.
He’s here.
* * *
My head jerks up
so I can scan the bleachers.
* * *
In the building, I mean
says Rose. I saw him
pacing circles
by the concession stand
when I got here.
* * *
Why would he come?
He never comes.
Is something wrong?
Is it Oma?
* * *
Everything’s fine, Rose says
clearly reading the panic
on my face. He’s here
for your game.
* * *
Is he coming in
to watch?
* * *
She shakes her head.
I don’t think so, she says.
But he’s here.
Pressure
Our starting lineup skates
into place, facing the Bears.
I move into position
game face on, but insides
wound tight
give the goalposts one more tap
for good measure
breathe
focus
ready for puck-drop.
* * *
Cole wins the face-off
but his pass to Nick
goes wild.
Bears get possession
lose it at center
get it back, take a shot
well wide.
Mad dash behind the net
puck squirts out the side
picked up, stolen, sent down-ice
sent
back.
* * *
Half the period gets eaten up
by a mess of intercepted
passes and missed
shots, until a rebound
off the boards
finds its way onto Cole’s stick
and he dekes around
the Bears’ defense, fakes out
the goalie and — yes! It’s in!
* * *
Our bench erupts
a blazing burst of joy
and even I feel less wound up
like that goal opened a valve
and released
some of the pressure.
* * *
After the next face-off
it’s less of a scramble
more of a game
as both sides settle in
for some decent hockey
everyone fired up
just enough
to keep me on my game.
Flash
Three minutes left in
the third period
we’re tied at four
— so close to surviving
the whole season
so close to becoming
champions.
* * *
Bears get a breakaway
left-winger flying
toward me. My heart
hammers.
* * *
In the second it takes their player
to stickhandle the puck
into position, a scene flashes
through my mind: Ty
on the outdoor rink
racing at me with a grin
wicked wrist shot releasing
puck zipping
toward the open spot
on my stick side
only now it’s the Bears’ winger
who fires it.
Energy surging I lunge
get my leg out
and down
can almost feel the
winter wind on my face
as the puck strikes my pad
rebounds and slides
out of harm’s way
— SAVE!
Intermission
Rob claps me on the back
as I leave the ice at the end
of regulation time.
* * *
In the dressing room
the mood
is electric, the team
riding high.
* * *
Cole is ecstatic:
Championship game
going to OT! It doesn’t
get better than this!
* * *
Yeah, it’s been quite a game
exactly what we’d expected
playing the Bears
but I’m ready
for it to be over. That spark
— that moment when it felt
like the outdoor rink
like Ty and pure fun
like I really loved hockey
* * *
that’s gone.
What even was that?
* * *
The guys … they’re in this
to win. They want this.
They want it for Ty
and for themselves, too
and so do I, but I’m not sure
I want it enough
to risk so much.
* * *
What if I fail?
What if I lose focus
fumble an easy save?
Sudden-death overtime
means one mistake
and it’s all over.
One mistake
and I let everyone
down.
* * *
My stomach winds its way
into a tangled knot
making me wish I had
my pause button
or better yet
a barf bag. I jump up
from the bench, rush
to the bathroom as fast
as all this blasted gear
will let me.
* * *
Into the stall
bend forward
hang
over the bowl
breathing fast.
* * *
I hate this.
My anxiety is as bad as ever.
After a minute or so
of not puking
I emerge from the stall
face myself in the mirror
remind myself again
of my dad.
* * *
My dad
* * *
who came to the arena
even though it would’ve taken
everything he had
even though whatever alien
haunts his mind
would’ve been screaming at him
to stay home and not think
about hockey.
* * *
He came.
* * *
Knowing Dad’s out there
pacing here instead of at home
knowing he did the hard thing
and showed up
even if he can’t bring himself
to actually watch the game
somehow adjusts the volume
in my brain, muffling
Al’s voice.
* * *
I think of Rose in the stands
and I imagine this is exactly
how it feels when someone
sings away your fears.
* * *
It doesn’t fix things.
It doesn’t mean my fears
won’t be back tomorrow.
But for right now
it helps.
Right Now
Even though the stone
from Ms. Rogers
is at home in my jeans
pocket, I take a minute
and create my own pause.
* * *
What is real and true
right now?
* * *
My dad is
on my side.
* * *
My friends are
cheering for me.
* * *
I’ve made some good saves
kept my team in the game.
* * *
We might win tonight
and we might lose
and either way
I’ll be okay.
* * *
I’ll be okay.
Overtime
Al’s most quiet when
I’m most focused
and for three minutes and
twenty-nine seconds
the Bears’ offense makes sure
I’m super-focused.
* * *
They’re in control from
the moment the puck drops
