Page 9 of True North
“So, uh,” JT said, thumbing over his shoulder and backing up toward the doorway. He said a few other things that Misha couldn’t understand, but the meaning was clear: he was showing himself out. Misha nodded and closed the shower door.
Alone, he shampooed his hair three times before the water ran clear. There were thick mats of hair around the crown of his head that he did his best to tease apart with foamy fingers. He needed a haircut, or maybe to shave his head entirely, but this would do for now. At least he was clean.
The next bottle he picked up contained a creamy substance that he decided was hair conditioner. The third one held body wash, or at least something that foamed up when he rubbed it between his fingertips and would probably serve well as soap. There was no washcloth in the shower, so he did his best with his hands, rubbing hard at his skin until the ground-in grime pilled up and washed away.
He stayed in the shower for a long time, trying to clean every nook and cranny, until the water began to go tepid and he decided he’d done enough for now. What he really needed was a long soak in a tub and a few washcloths, but he was cleaner than he’d been in months and pleasantly pink and wrinkled. He dried off with a towel he found hanging on the back of the door, dropped it on the floor, and left the bathroom to look for JT.
JT was back in the kitchen, doing something at the sink with the water running—scrubbing out a skillet, Misha saw as he drew near. The radio was on and a woman’s pleasant voice filled the air. JT turned his head and smiled as he caught sight of Misha. He said something, then cocked his head and frowned. As Misha watched, puzzled, JT turned off the tap and dried his hands on a towel and picked up his phone. He tapped at the screen for a moment and then spoke into the microphone, louder and slower than he usually talked.
In robotic but perfectly intelligible Russian, his phone said, “Did you like the shower?”
Misha took a step backward, startled.
JT frowned and muttered something to himself. He spoke again into the phone, and it said, “It works? You understand?” Then he tapped at the screen and offered the phone to Misha.
Misha took it from him cautiously, afraid he would drop the thing and aware it was probably expensive. He brought the phone to his mouth the way JT had and said, “Yes, I understand.”
The phone said something—hopefully an accurate translation of Misha’s words.
JT’s face lit up. He started talking rapidly, a cascade of words too fast for Misha to have any hope of following, and certainly more than the phone could handle. JT took the phone from Misha again and tapped the screen and spoke to it, and the robot voice said, “Where are you from? You are Russian? How did you get here?”
Misha backed up a few steps. He didn’t want to answer those questions. He had clearly overstayed his welcome. All of a sudden, the walls seemed too close and the ceilings too low. He needed to be able to see the sky.
JT sighed. He spoke into the phone. “You can leave if you want, but I hope you will return. I will feed you again.”
Misha wondered if JT really spoke so formally or if that was how the translation software interpreted his words. He wouldn’t ever know unless his English came back to him, which he hoped it would, like a lost pet returning to its home. He nodded to show that he understood and backed up another couple of steps. Time to go.
“Thank you,” he said, pretty sure that was the right phrase.
JT sighed again, then smiled. Misha felt the back of his neck turn hot. “You’re welcome,” JT said.
Inexplicably flustered, heart pounding for absolutely no reason, Misha turned and let himself out through the sliding doors.
* * *
JT couldn’t stop grinning as he drove into town the next day to meet up with Alex and Curtis for an off-ice workout. Misha hadcome insideand eaten with him andshowered, and then, the crowning glory, they had actually talked to each other. JT was pleased with himself for correctly guessing that Misha spoke Russian. He was kind of embarrassed that it had taken him so long to think of using his phone to translate, but better late than never, and it hadworked. Not the most efficient way to have a conversation with someone, for sure, but so much better than talking to Misha and seeing his face reflect nothing but baffled incomprehension.
He could have done without the damp towel left in a heap on the bathroom floor, but you couldn’t win them all.
Curtis was already at the park by the time JT arrived, sitting on the grass near the parking lot with his usual gallon jug of water. He raised his chin in greeting as JT got out of his truck and said, “Alex texted and said he’s running a little late, but he’ll be in here in five or ten minutes.”
“No sweat,” JT said. Summer wasn’t the time to be a stickler about promptness. He plopped down on the grass beside Curtis and opened his own water bottle to add some aminos. “Do anything exciting last night?”
“Helped my mom hang some picture frames,” Curtis said. “That count?”
JT grinned. “Oh yeah. Wild Saturday night for sure. It’s cool, man, I went for a couple beers with my brother and was in bed before midnight. We’re both getting old.”
“How am I supposed to party when I’ve got to whip your ass into gear the next morning?” Curtis shifted his baseball cap around so that the brim was facing backward, revealing a tuft of orange hair. “Shoulda stayed in Toronto.”
JT leaned over to bump his shoulder against Curtis’s. “Nah. You’d miss your mom too much.”
He had been training with Curtis for years—since before he got drafted. His old peewee coach had connected him with Curtis the summer after his first year in major junior, swearing he was the best strength and conditioning guy in the Sault. JT had worked out with him a few times and decided he liked Curtis’s approach. He had talked Curtis into moving to Toronto after he got drafted, and now Curtis worked for the team, which was great. JT liked having the same trainer all year because that way, he never got out of his rhythm. He and Curtis were good friends by now after more than a decade of working together, and especially as JT got older and the difference in their ages mattered less.
JT did a little active stretching as they waited, trying to get his hamstrings loosened up. He’d been having some tightness in his left leg the past few days. The weather was warming up as the month progressed, but even now, the air at mid-morning was still cool enough to be pleasant for a workout. The grass had been cut recently and the scent tickled at JT’s nose. He did high-knees and thought about what a nice day it was and how good his body was feeling and how good it had been to see Misha eating breakfast at his picnic table, human and hungry.
“What are you smiling about?” Curtis asked. “We’re doing hill sprints today, so you’re not going to be too happy with me.”
JT dropped back down to the grass. “I’m gonna tell you something, but you can’t tell Alex.” Alex thought everything was hilarious and didn’t know when to pull back on the teasing, and JT didn’t want to have to tell him to back off. Curtis wouldn’t give him shit in the same way.