Page 5

5

FORD

Thank God the season is starting soon.

Summer makes me crazy—all that free time.

I like structure, so I make sure my off season is busy with taekwondo, yoga, and of course hockey workouts with Victor.

My teammates are back in town—those who left for the summer—and it’s great to see them and hang out again.

I stayed here in Hoboken instead of going home to Erie because I wanted to work with Victor.

Today I’m at the grand opening of a new facility for the organization Keeping Kids Safe.

Our newly anointed team captain Benny is being introduced up on the dais.

I’m glad he’s our new captain.

He’s a quiet guy who doesn’t say much (although he can chirp with the best of them on the ice) but he’s a good leader.

Along with the progress the team made last season, I like our chances this year of not only making the playoffs but making a deep run for the cup.

Which is why I was so determined to improve my game over the summer.

We all clap and hoot exuberantly for our new captain as we watch him walk up to the mic.

“Thank you, Sue,” Benny says.

“I’m thrilled to be a part of this group and to give back to the community. I’m proud to use my voice and platform to give kids who need it a voice. Hockey is a team sport and we all know how important it is to stand together, and kids who’ve experienced abuse also need a team around them.”

Yeah, it’s a team sport.

But as the goaltender, I feel a unique pressure to be the best.

There’s nobody else on the ice I can blame when a puck gets by me and into the net.

After the short ceremony, Benny’s girlfriend, Mabel, turns to us and beams.

“He did great.”

This is Benny’s first time in public as captain.

He’s kind of shy and public speaking isn’t his favorite thing, but yeah—he did great.

And seeing his new girlfriend all proud and admiring of him gives me a pinching feeling in my chest.

I’m happy for them.

“Of course he did,” my teammate and Mabel’s brother, Smitty, says.

Benny makes his way over to us.

“Thanks for coming, guys.” He looks around.

“Where’s Alfie?”

Carson Alford, AKA Alfie, had been here earlier, but he disappeared part way through the ceremony.

Last year, he and his wife were in a terrible car crash and their baby died.

Alfie was injured and even though he’s recovered now physically, he’s still not doing great mentally.

“He had to go,” Mabel says.

“I think this was hard for him.”

“I’m sure anything to do with kids is hard for him,” I say quietly.

“Yeah.” Dilly, another teammate, nods with a sad smile.

“I’m glad he came, though. Hopefully we’ll see more of him.”

“We have to make sure we invite him,” Benny says.

“Even if we’re just hanging out.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to say something stupid around him.” I rub my jaw.

It’s one thing to deal with a guy with a broken arm.

But when it’s a guy with a broken brain, it feels awkward.

“I think we all are,” Benny says.

“But if we say something stupid, we apologize. It’s better than not saying anything or ignoring him.”

“Yeah, for sure.” Nash nods.

“I’ll tell you this,” I say.

“I am never having kids. After hearing about abused kids this morning, and Alfie losing his son, it’s never happening.” Not to mention scaring them into tears by talking about sharks.

“Oh.” Mabel purses her lips.

“You shouldn’t let that stop you.”

“Well, that’s only part of it. Can you imagine me as a dad? Ha! A kid would drive me nuts. And I’m probably not the best role model.”

“Probably true,” Dilly agrees too easily.

But I don’t react.

“You and your routines. I don’t think strict routines and kids go together very well.”

“Exactly. I’m too selfish,” I say.

“And weird.”

“Who knows what the future holds?” Mabel says.

“Maybe someday you’ll meet a woman and fall in love with her and want a family with her.”

I snort.

“Not gonna happen.”

I’ve always been different.

I embrace my weirdness now, but I know from experience as a kid how much it hurts to feel excluded.

Belonging and fitting in are important when you’re a kid.

In hockey, I found people with a common interest, somewhere I can feel secure and fit in even though I’m kind of offbeat.

Hey, goalies are supposed to be different.

Everyone knows that.

Outside of hockey, I don’t think anyone will ever see past my peculiarities to see the real me.

I mean, my peculiarities are the real me; they need to accept that.

So relationships aren’t for me.

And that’s fine.

Like my neighbor, Andi, casual hookups or a few dates are fine for me.

I had fun with Andi the other night.

Even though I didn’t want to go.

I’m glad I was there for her when that crazy bitch accused her of stealing a client.

She was so pumped about winning that award and then that happened.

Then I remember her saying she wants her ex to know what he lost.

Like she still cares what he thinks.

For some reason, that annoys me.

I shake my head.

“Okay. Where are we going for lunch?”

We end up at Waylon’s, a barbecue place on Newark Avenue.

Since the weather is still nice, we sit out on the sidewalk patio beneath a red awning.

I order burnt ends and coleslaw.

“What kind of beer would go best with that?” I ask the server.

“Oh! We have a new one. A meat beer.”

“Oh my fuck,” Smitty mutters.

I like trying new beers.

Intrigued, I ask, “What is it?”

“Pork Porter,” she says.

“It has a smoked pork flavor.”

“Perfect. I’ll try that.”

Dilly makes a retching noise.

I ignore him.

“That sounds disgusting,” Smitty says.

I ignore him, too.

“How’d your training go this summer?” Dilly asks me.

“How’s that new trainer?”

“He’s great.” I nod enthusiastically.

“He has a whole different philosophy and I really like it.”

“What is it?” Smitty asks.

“He’s basically rewired my brain.”

Dilly laughs.

“Finally someone has.”

I grin.

“Seriously.” I tell them more about Victor and the exercises he has me doing.

“We worked on them over and over until my brain just does them now. He doesn’t just look at just the athletic side of things but the artistic side.”

They all look at me like I just said I want to jump off the Statue of Liberty.

“I’m not just a machine,” I tell them.

Benny scratches the back of his head.

“Are you sure?”

“I get it,” Mabel says.

“Hockey’s not just physical. It’s mental. It’s not just analytical and scientific; there’s an artistry to it.”

“Hockey is not an art,” Smitty says to his sister.

“I’ll argue with you about that,” she says.

Mabel’s got her quirks, too.

I like her.

We’ve kind of gotten to be friends since she moved here.

“What’s the definition of art?” she asks her brother.

“I don’t know. Art. Creation.”

“Hang on.” She grabs her phone.

“Okay, here it is. It’s the expression of human creative skill and imagination to produce a work that is appreciated primarily for its beauty or emotional power.” She looks up from the phone.

“See? Hockey is beautiful to watch. Also you guys make people feel a lot of emotion. Think of the fans!”

Smitty snorts.

“I think they’re talking about painting, or sculpture.”

“Sure, that too,” she says calmly.

“I stand by my argument.”

“She’s right,” I say.

Mabel reaches across the table for a fist bump.

“Anyway, the point is that I’m not just a machine. I’m an athlete, but I have a craft. So do all of us.” I lift my chin.

“I’m not convinced,” Dilly says.

“But okay.”

“It’s really changed my game,” I add.

I see the skeptical looks on their faces, but I don’t care.

I’ll show them once training camp starts.

I can’t wait.

“Are you still doing martial arts?” Mabel asks.

“Yeah. I went to the dojo twice a week over the summer.”

Another thing they think is weird.

Again, I don’t care.

It works for me.

After lunch, Mabel has to go back to work but the rest of us stay for another beer.

We talk about training camp, workouts, and get in an argument about whether Dilly is a “himbo.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” he complains after telling us a woman called him that.

“I’m not sure either,” Smitty admits.

“It’s a guy who’s big and buff but nothing going on in his head,” Benny says.

“Fuck. Thanks a lot.” Dilly scowls.

“I’m not saying that’s you,” Benny adds hastily.

“But I think that’s what it means.”

“I think it just means a guy who’s nice. Not necessarily stupid,” I put in.

“Like a golden retriever,” Smitty adds.

“Shit, we need Mabel,” Benny says.

“She’d know this stuff.”

“Ask her about it,” Dilly says.

“For a friend. Like, for real. Don’t tell her it’s me.”

“How’s she going to weigh in on whether you’re a himbo if she doesn’t know it’s you?” Benny asks.

Dilly throws his hands in the air.

“I don’t know!”

“Ask her if she thinks any of us are himbos,” Smitty says.

Benny gnaws on his bottom lip.

“I don’t know. I guess I could ask her.”

“Do women like himbos?” I ask, a little confused about this conversation.

“Or no? Was she trying to insult you?”

Dilly scrunches his face up.

“It didn’t sound like she was trying to insult me.”

“Why would it be a good thing if it means a guy’s stupid?” Smitty says.

“Maybe some women like stupid men. Maybe it’s easier for them.”

“That’s bullshit. I don’t think that’s what it means. I think it’s a nice guy.”

“But women don’t like ‘nice guys’,” Dilly says with a touch of bitterness.

“Don’t they all want a bad boy alpha male?”

“We need Mabel again.” Benny rubs his forehead.

“I don’t think that’s always true.”

I grin.

“You’re going to be having a fun conversation with her tonight. Be sure to report back.”

“Speaking of himbos…” Dilly gives me a serious look.

“Did you ever try that Minoxidil like we suggested?”

I narrow my eyes at Dilly.

“No. I don’t need Minoxidil.”

They love to drag me about my hair.

I have great hair.

I just like to make sure it looks its best.

My phone rings.

Thankful for the interruption, I glance at it to see it’s my mom.

“Ah. Better get this.” I stand.

“Who’s buying?”

“You are,” Dilly says.

“Nope. I think it’s your turn. Thanks, man.” I hit the button to take the call.

“Hi, Mom. Hang on.” I move the phone away from my face.

“See you later. I have to get going.” It’s my day to clean the big bathroom.

“Hey, Mom, how are you?”

“Hiiiii, honey! I’m sooo good!”

I swallow a sigh.

She’s baked.

Again.