Game Face, page 9
about my math worksheet.
* * *
Why do you hum all the time?
* * *
Immediately I wish
I could pull the words back
inside me.
Was that rude?
Is Rose going to be
upset?
* * *
Can’t help it, she says without
glancing up from her notebook.
* * *
Whew.
* * *
I mean, it sounds nice
I say. I just wonder, is all.
* * *
Rose gives me an odd look
like she’s sizing me up
deciding
how serious I am.
* * *
My lola — my grandmother — she loves
music. She used to dance me around
her living room when I was small
used to sing all the time.
Even after her mind got sick
and she forgot so many things
she still remembered
the songs.
* * *
When my grandfather died
last year, Lola had to move
to a care home. Now she wakes up
in a place that’s strange
to her. She looks for my grandfather
but he’s not there. She looks
for the home she remembers
but she never finds it.
It scares her.
* * *
She pauses, and there’s a
fierceness in her eyes
like she’s daring me
to call her grandmother foolish
for being afraid, but I just
swallow down thoughts
of my own fears and wait
for Rose to go on.
* * *
Every morning before school
she says, I call the care home
get Lola on the phone
and I sing with her.
It helps her not be afraid.
* * *
I imagine Rose with a phone
to her ear, rescuing
her grandmother with music.
I wonder if Oma
will need rescuing someday.
What then? She’s the one
who’s always rescuing us.
* * *
The quiet gets uncomfortable
so I pull my thoughts back
to right now, grin at Rose.
And once you start singing
you just can’t stop?
* * *
She smiles back
lifts one shoulder
in a half shrug.
* * *
I guess when you start your day
singing away
someone else’s fears
your heart can’t help but hang
on to the song.
Reprieve
Is it really true?
“… refrigeration problem.
Playoffs are postponed.”
* * *
I read the email again.
Yes! Two weeks for rink repairs.
Spring
Friday morning at school
Cole and Bennett complain
about the delay of the playoffs.
Two weeks of the arena
being closed for repairs
seems like eternity to them.
* * *
We can’t even skate
on the outdoor rink, Cole says.
How are we supposed
to stay sharp?
* * *
He’s right
about the outdoor ice.
Spring sun that’s almost
warm has left it slushy
mushy, full of ruts.
We’re not allowed on it.
If things were normal
Ty would sneak out there
when it froze over every night
and skate anyway.
* * *
But not me — no doubt
I’d catch an edge
wipe out
wreck my knee.
* * *
So that’s it
no more hockey
for a while.
I force my face
into a grimace
that I hope doesn’t look
as fake as it feels.
* * *
Yeah, I say to Cole.
What a drag.
My shoulders sag
* * *
but as I head to my desk
I can’t hide the spring
in my step.
Wish
I
dream
one day
time will be
miraculously
reversed so things can spiral back
to a day of pure happiness on the rink with Ty.
Almost Perfect
Dad and I have one of those
perfect Saturday afternoons, except
this time there’s no hockey first
* * *
no one-on-one with Ty
no teams patched together
for a never-ending game
goofing around
with half a dozen pucks coming
at me at once, and all of us
laughing
faces frozen
by the winter wind
* * *
so maybe it’s not even
close to perfect
but still, it’s a good day
Monopoly and Uno with Dad
then Oma coming over
take-out pizza
a movie
* * *
and not a single mention
of anxiety.
* * *
I don’t think about Al
until late at night
house silent
and me lying in the dark
with zero chance
of sleep.
Rowdy
No hockey means
no worries about
equipment
missing an easy save
getting injured
losing my dinner
on-ice
* * *
no stress to impress
coaches, teammates
or myself
* * *
no need to prove
anything.
* * *
I felt lighter today
less tangled up
but now in the dark
the pressing-in dark
the space in my brain
that opened up, calmed down
like a crowded
classroom emptying
after the bell — that space
vanishes
as other thoughts
rush in, rowdy and rude
jockeying
for the best seat:
* * *
the playoffs will still happen
don’t let the team down
how can I be so happy
about no hockey
when Ty would give anything
to play — seriously, what kind of friend
am I
and are we even friends anymore I better not dare think about
playing even when the rink reopens
because how could I
just face it, whether I play
or don’t play it’s going to be
the wrong decision
I’m going to ruin
everything, disappoint
everyone, and probably
flip out and run away because everyone knows I can’t handle
the pressure so
why do I even
try?
* * *
I roll over in bed
face down, pillow
over my head
as if that might block out
the roar of my thoughts.
Hope Is a Ping
My phone pings
— a text
from Ty.
hey
wanna come over?
yes!
An exclamation point?
Seriously?
Dang, that was too enthusiastic.
Now he’s going to think
I’m too hyper, too weird
too something
probably going to change
his mind.
cool
I take my time
tying my shoes
making up
for the exclamation mark
then s t r o l l
speed up
catch myself
and slow down
walk
to Ty’s house.
Pieces
Lego pieces carpet
the living room floor
around Ty. I skate through them
on my sock feet, clearing
a path before claiming
a spot near the couch.
* * *
Whoa, I say
surveying the projects
he’s already built
— a gray-and-green castle
for tiny Lego wizards
an almost-all-black
pickup truck
a multicolor stairway climbing
to the coffee table.
* * *
You’ve been doing
a lot of Lego
since you got home.
* * *
I’m so bored, he says.
But I’m supposed to
take it easy.
He scans the remaining
pieces. See any more wheels?
I’m making a trailer.
* * *
I help him look.
I want to ask how he feels
but somehow it seems
like a dumb question.
He looks fine
but he can’t be fine
— is he fine?
He seems more like
himself than on the day
he came home — at least
he’s talking to me. Maybe
he was just tired then.
Of course he was, but
is he okay now? I should ask
but words …
* * *
hello, words — where
are you when I need you?
* * *
Finally I blurt out
a tiny piece
of all the things
I want to say.
* * *
Does it hurt?
* * *
He glances up from fishing
for bricks. Kind of, he says
going back
to the Lego. But mostly
my chest is sore from Rob
beating on it.
* * *
The arena …
* * *
Ty’s voice seems to go a bit
distant
while images
of that night drift
behind my eyes
a slideshow
I’ve scrolled through
way too many times.
* * *
The doctor said I’m lucky
I don’t have broken ribs.
I guess — well, you saw — Rob
was pushing on my chest
pretty hard.
* * *
He nabs an axle
snaps it
onto the trailer.
* * *
But at least it worked
he says. Or the zap did.
I don’t remember much
from that night.
* * *
His expression scrunches up
like he’s searching his mind
for missing pieces
of the puzzle.
* * *
When did I even wake up?
* * *
I … I’m not sure.
* * *
I must’ve been awake
when they put me
in the ambulance.
I remember seeing my mom.
Her face — oh, man
she looked
freaked out.
* * *
He shakes his head
like he’s shaking out
the memory.
Then he grins.
* * *
Sirens and lights, though
he says. Pretty awesome
right?
* * *
I must’ve been halfway home
by then. Were the lights
flashing, siren
blaring as the ambulance sped
from the arena?
* * *
Maybe.
I don’t know.
* * *
I wasn’t there.
The Whole Story
My insides wrap themselves
into a tight ball
tighter
tighter
and Al fires messages at me
* * *
get out get out get out
* * *
I deflect them
kick them off
in
all
directions
can’t keep this up much
longer
force myself to click
a few more bricks
into place
then make my excuse
* * *
and leave.
My mind’s no quieter
at home. I’ve never hidden
things from Ty — he knows
how my thoughts and worries
mess me up. He knows
the truth …
* * *
just
not about this.
* * *
How can I not tell him
the truth?
I pull out my phone
send him a text
before I can decide
it’s a bad idea.
I wasn’t there
where?
that night — when you woke up
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to run
you left?
you mean after I was in the ambulance?
before that
after my mom got there?
before
…
after they revived me?
A huge lump forms
in my throat
and my thumbs tap out words
I could never say.
I meant to stay
I don’t know what happened
* * *
What happened is
I freaked out.
* * *
What happened is
my anxiety took control.
* * *
What happened is
I deserted my best friend.
* * *
I’m sorry
I give up waiting
give up
hoping
* * *
abandon
my phone.
Debate
I should’ve told him in person.
I should’ve kept the truth to myself.
* * *
I should’ve gone to the hospital sooner.
I should’ve given him more time.
* * *
I should’ve shut out the alien thoughts.
I should’ve found a way to breathe
in spite of them.
* * *
I should’ve stayed.
* * *
If only
I’d been able
to stay.
Monday Poem: Acrostic
We’re supposed to write
an acrostic poem
about something that matters
to us. Rose’s arm shoots up.
* * *
Can it be about anything?
* * *
Mrs. Darroch nods.
* * *
Whatever’s on your mind.
Before I even know I’ve decided
what to write
my pencil marks the letters
in bold capitals
