Page 37 of Hockey Halloween

Larry

I need a clown costume that’s not that

Coach’s whistle echoed over the ice and called us in at the end of practice.

The group of us who made up the members of the Toronto Blaze NHL team were dripping sweat and our muscles were burning, but underneath was a thread of contentment.

Something was happening this season. And not just the win in last night’s game.

This year, we were winning the Cup. We all believed it.

Thanks to a two week “retreat” our captain, Cooper, had set up, a lot of us had bonded before training camp.

I was new to the team, traded in from Austin over the summer, and I was closer to these guys than teams I’d been through a playoff series with. It was special.

“Good job, men. Keep this up and we’re going places.”

The locker room was energized, alive. I looked around at the other twenty-two bodies in the room.

Most were stripping down, all of us breathing hard after our practice.

I felt a special lift to see a couple of guys with different skin tones.

Things were improving in the league when it came to representation, but I’d spent more than one season as the only person of color on a hockey team .

The Blaze had three—me, Korean-Japanese; Crash, a Black defenseman who’d been here for a while; and another new guy, Reed, who was half Indigenous.

If nothing else, it meant less questioning about how I felt as one of the few Asian players in the league, and was Paul Kariya my idol growing up.

My dad had been the one to instill the love of hockey in me, and as a Korean Canadian, it was all about Jim Paek and Jacob Bryson.

Playing for Toronto, after growing up in Markham and following the Toronto teams, was extra special. I lived in downtown Toronto but could visit my parents in Markham frequently.

Life was good.

“You still on for tonight?” Crash asked.

“Definitely. Just have to pick up my costume on the way home.”

A grin split his face. “Awesome. I’ve done this the last couple of years, and it’s always great.”

Crash volunteered for a small youth organization which had set up a safe and fun place for kids who needed somewhere to be on Halloween.

No mention was made of the hockey players who came by, so it wouldn’t be overrun by fans, just people from the community center.

He said it was mostly preteens and teens, some dragging along younger siblings they were responsible for.

We chipped in money for pizzas and drinks and gave them a fun option to getting in trouble.

The older kids played hockey on one rink, while the younger ones had supervised skating on the other.

Costumes were encouraged, but not required, since not all the kids could afford to dress up.

The hockey players, though, dressed up in clown costumes so that we could remain anonymous.

“I’m happy to help. Wasn’t interested in the other party anyway.”

Oppy, one of the wingers, was the poster child for fuckboys, and he was throwing what was supposed to be a killer Halloween party at his place tonight. But Crash had asked if I’d be interested in a different kind of party.

“Not looking to hook up? ”

I peeled off my jersey. “Getting tired of it. I’d like what Deek and Ducky have.”

He cocked his head. “What’s that?”

I tossed the jersey toward a laundry basket. “Something real. Not all about hockey, you know? They both found someone who wanted them before the money.”

I’d been taken a time or two by a woman who saw me first as an NHL player, rather than a person. And one woman had been weird about my background, insisting she had to know where I was really from. Not Markham, but somewhere in Asia. No thanks.

He nodded. “Don’t give up—Cooper found his person and no one is better known on this team.”

“Or I wait till I’m done playing.” I shrugged. “Anyway, see you later.”

The costume rental place was busy, as you’d expect on Halloween.

I should have picked up my clown suit a day or two ago, but we’d been traveling.

And yesterday, when we’d gotten back in town, I didn’t want to upset my pregame rituals.

I’d booked the costume weeks ago, so I would be sure to get what I needed.

There was no special treatment for me at the shop. I was surprisingly anonymous, for Toronto, the staff too busy and the clients all stressed.

“Larry Han. I preordered,” I told the man at the counter when it was my turn.

He typed on a tablet, then disappeared and returned, the costume wrapped in clear plastic. I stared. “I’m sorry, there’s been a mistake.”

He narrowed his eyes. “It’s Chucky the Clown.”

“I specifically asked for a clown costume that wasn’t Chucky.”

He tapped on his tablet. “That’s not what it says here.”

“I can’t wear that. There are children at the event. This could scare them. ”

He didn’t respond, merely shrugged. People behind me began to murmur.

“It’s for a charity thing. I need a clown costume that’s not that.”

With a heavy sigh, he typed on the tablet. “I’ve got one clown costume left, but it’s 3XL.”

Why the big demand for clown costumes? I shook my head. 3XL? I’d be lost in something that size. No way I could skate wearing it. I looked at the Chucky costume. Falling down on the ice would be better than scaring some little kid. And fortunately I had an ace up my sleeve.

“Okay. I’ll take it. The 3XL that’s not Chucky.” Then I messaged my mom while he went to hunt it up.

Mom, need your sewing skills ASAP.