Page 42 of Hockey 101

Sorry. That really was an accident. He tries not to laugh. Well, at least one of us enjoyed it. Let’s go.

It’s been a while since I’ve been on skates, so it takes a few laps until I feel comfortable. Jack skates along beside me.

Where did you learn to skate? he asks.

On a lake back home. My dad used to take me when I was little. Then I did a year of figure skating. My parents hoped I might be the next Michelle Kwan or something.

Are your parents athletic? he asks.

No idea. I’m adopted, I explain.

Oh. Interesting.

When he doesn’t ask anything else, I plow on. My parents are both white. I was adopted as a newborn. I don’t know anything about my birth mother except that she was a Japanese student who was living in Minneapolis at the time. My whole life I’ve imagined many different versions of my mother. After meeting exchange students here I have a more realistic sense of how difficult it is to come to a foreign country with the heavy expectations of your family.

Jack skates backwards and watches me carefully.

I have no idea about my bio dad, except he was obviously Asian too. Over the years, I’ve created many scenarios. Maybe my mother turned to another exchange student for familiar comfort? Or did she seek an Asian American man fully conversant in all the Western ways? Why yes, I do have too much imagination.

Jack swivels gracefully and skates beside me. I feel the warm touch of his hand on my shoulder, and look up in surprise.

Don’t feel sad, he says.

What? Do I look sad?

Yeah. He motions to his face. You get this look. Like your thoughts are weighing you down.

Jack surprises me once again with his sensitivity. He keeps escaping the jock box I’ve put him in. Maybe that’s why I’m oversharing. Hey, nice guy who seems to be interested in me, here’s all my emotional baggage, so you can change your mind before it’s too late.

He keeps his hand on me until I stumble and break our contact. I miss his touch immediately, which inspires more confessions.

Thanks for not bugging me with a million questions when I told you I was adopted.

Like what? he asks.

Oh, you know, asking if I’ve tried to find my birth mother. Or if I’ve gone to Japan. My verbal diarrhea is like the opposite of flirting. I could star in the remake of How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.

I already know you haven’t gone there, he replies.

How?

You said you’ve never used your passport.

Oh, wow. I forgot I even mentioned that. Do you remember everything everyone says to you?

Not everyone. His admission warms me like a hug.

It doesn’t take a psychology degree to recognize that my reporter’s instinct for truth is tied to my own uncertain history. But I’m not going there now. Being on the ice is a good distraction, since I have to concentrate on not falling on my face.

It’s beyond irritating that you can skate backwards better than I can skate forwards, I say.

He chuckles. Ah, now there’s the crabby Andy that we all know and love. Now that you’re warmed up, it’s time for stage two. I’ll be right back. He skates off and disappears down the hallway to the locker rooms. I haven’t even completed one lap before he skates towards me with two hockey sticks.

Jack looks like he was born to skate. His hair floats away from his face as he dips and turns with the grace of a ballroom dancer. While I’m struggling not to fall, the ice seems to rise to meet his skates. I can see glimpses of the joy he felt after scoring a goal.

Then he breaks the spell by handing me a hockey stick.

Okay, here’s the smallest stick I could find, although it’s still way too long. Too bad there are no kids’ sticks around.

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