Page 15 of Keeping the Score

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 amneverhaving 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 peculiaritiesarethereal 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.”

---