Page 33 of Gross Misconduct

“It was more like an interrogation. Bernice, the grandmotherly manager, started asking me all these questions about plants and cacti.” I interviewed at My Flower of Need, a plant shop in Sourwood. I figured since I sometimes worked the garden center at Ferguson’s, I’d have it in the bag. I didn’t know I needed a fucking PhD in botany to work there.

“Plants need water to grow. Isn’t that the most important thing to know?” Miller asked.

“You’d think!” I shake my head. “She said it’s a specialty plant store, so they need someone with specialized knowledge. I’m a fast learner! I learned how to playHaloin like a day.”

“Bummer. Onto the next!” Fuentes makes a right, passing the local library, which has a fancy fountain installed in front.

Fuentes has been supportive of my job search, helping me format a resume. But under the best friend guise, I can sense the landlord wondering if he’ll be getting a rent check next month. I had enough in savings to cover March rent. April may be questionable, but he doesn’t need to know that yet.

“I’m thinking that retail isn’t for me. I want to work in an office,” I say, imagining a cushy desk chair, business cards, and free snacks.

“Um, okay. But I think most office jobs require a college degree. Maybe? I don’t know.” His face pinches as if bracing for impact. Fuentes never wants to be the bad guy.

“Not all of them. Some of them ask for equivalent experience,” Miller says, saving my ass. He’s done more research on these jobs than I have, apparently.

“Have you been thinking about what exactly you want to do in an office?” Fuentes looks over at me, and for the first time, I see concern in his joyous eyes.

“I don’t know. Something…with accounts?”

“You’re asking a lot of questions,” I tell Fuentes. “I’ll find something. I’ve been at it a week. Chill.” I pat him on the back to calm him down.

“Have you made a vision board? You should make a vision board,” Miller says.

I point my thumb back at him while looking at Fuentes. “That’s a solid idea. I’m going to make a vision board.”

Whenever I sit down to think about what I want to do with my life, I get intimidated by the question. Other kids got to dabble in different interests. They got to sign up for clubs, activities, and camps. They got to take various classes in college. All I’ve ever known is playing hockey. Dad set my life up for that purpose. Thinking about the future only makes me feel more like a failure. I can’t shake the idea that this is not how my life should be going.

Fuentes exhales through his nostrils, preferring to stare ahead at the road.

“What?” I ask, anger mounting at his reaction.

“I wish you took things more seriously. Jobs, hockey…” Fuentes trails off, biting his lip to stop from saying more.

“Whoa. What’s wrong with my hockey playing? We won our first game.” I turn to Miller for backup, but to my shock, Mr. Chakra averts his eyes.

My lovely ride with my buds has turned into an ambush.

“What the fuck is going on?” I ask, seconds from jumping out a moving vehicle.

“You were…rusty on the ice,” Fuentes says, and I can tell it’s twisting him up being the bearer of this bad news. “I mean, you playedfine. Good, even. You were extremely competent.”

“Funny. None of those sound like positives,” I shoot back.

“I didn’t see your soul out there.” Miller claps me on the shoulder.

I dig my fist into my thigh. I wanted to give him a knuckle sandwich chock full of soul.

“What Miller is saying is that something was missing,” Fuentes says quickly to keep the peace. “We’ve played with you for years. We’ve watched your games. You’re an awesome player, Jack. When you’re locked in, you are on fire. But it kind of felt like you were going through the motions on Sunday. There wasn’t any fire.”

I stare out the window at the rolling hills of houses as I replay Sunday’s game in my head. I landed good passes, scored a goal. But as I reflect, I can’t think of any WOW moments I had, the kinds of moves where I felt in tune with the game, every part of me harmonizing.

“You were on fire when you went one-on-one against that Comebacks player with the eye patch,” Miller says. “It was like you hadn’t missed a step since the NHL. I was mesmerized. No wonder he tried to get you eliminated from the league.”

My heart does a quick flip as I remember the challenge. Was I flipping over the excitement of the game or the opponent? It had better not be the latter.

When Fuentes turns off his car, the cold seeps in fast. I don’t like waking up early and practicing in the cold, but at least I can do it alongside my best friends.

Fuentes pops the trunk and hands me my gear. “You’re a great player, Jack. I’m guessing you’re just a little rusty and you’ll get back into the groove for the next game.”

---