Page 96 of Unrivaled Love
"Alright. See ya later man."
"Bye Crocs." I say, using Crosby’s footwear preference as his nickname.
On the drive back to my house I keep thinking about two left skates. I review the highlights of my lifetime spent playing this game. My chest fills with anticipation and the familiar pre-game rush floods my system.
Hockey is jazz. Sometimes there is a tune and a rhythm to follow. Other times it's chaos but, it's chaos I can manage.
When I pull up to the house I don't stop. Instead I drive over to Jo's and walk up to her front door after placing a phone call.
***
"Are they at least going to make me the chocolate peanut butter cookies?"
"I don't think L.J. wants to fire up the entire snack counter tonight."
"Shame." Jo says and I smile. She agreed to come with me to the rink. I haven't skated in a few weeks and I think that's part of my problem.
During the season I spend as much time in my skates as I do my shoes. Usually in the off season, I skate a bit each day and then work out and read the rest of the day. This summer the routine has been thrown off by celebrations and appearances.
Crosby is right. I need to get back to my love of the game.
I'm going to start by skating with Jo.
L.J. Harris has owned the local rink in town my whole life. His kids are helping him out now and I called one of them to let us in tonight. Jo had skates from high school at her parent’s house and mine from college were in the garage at home. They're dull, they're molded to the feet of a 21 year old, and one of the laces has shredded but when my toes pinch into the boot my body and soul align. This is it. This is the feeling.
I help Jo tighten her skates and then hold her hand while she stands.
"If I hurt myself out here you have to explain it to my coaches."
"I won't let you get hurt." I tell her as I step backwards onto the ice and hold her hand. As soon as both blades slice into the surface she turns to me and then takes off, jerkily marching and trying to gain speed. "I can't protect you if you run away, Killer!"
I easily catch her and wrap her up in my arms. I lean forward and kiss her under her ear and slide my hands to her hips. Together we push off and glide like we're a figure skating pair and a memory surfaces out of nowhere.
"How old were we when we took figure skating together?" I ask.
"Twelve maybe? It was in middle school for sure."
"Do you still have that tiny little skirt you wore?" I ask as I increase our speed.
"Ha, no. But you know how to buy clothes for me now so you can go find one. We'll role playThe Cutting Edge."
"Oh, so now I'm a washed up hockey player?" I tease as I turn her so I'm skating backwards and pulling her along with me.
"I'm obviously the ridiculously talented Olympic prospect."
"Yes, you are." I look her in the eyes and she smiles.
Her confidence grows and her skating becomes less robotic as the time passes. Aimlessly circling the ice with her feels like a luxury. I owe Crosbya pair of crocs for asking me about when I started skating. It brought my headspace back to the fun of the sport.
"I haven't just skated around in years." I tell her as she tries switching from forwards to backwards and wobbles a bit. Bringing Jo here tonight was a brilliant idea. She’s glowing and I want to bend her over the boards but I’m an adult and can control myself. For the most part.
"I don't think I've gone out to just kick a ball since I was a toddler." She smiles, proud of herself, when her second attempt to switch directions is much smoother. "But, that's what being a professional athlete is. The sport you play for fun becomes work."
"I think I need it to be fun again."
"Games aren't fun?" She asks as she continues to perfect her technique.
"Games are pressure." I say as I ride my edges along the blue line. "Practice is work. Games are about the outcome. And that was fine. I fucking thrived on it. But now, I dunno."
