While heading back up to our seats, I posted the pic on my Instagram, adding the caption “Season opener vibes.”
Just before I sat down again, a woman in the stands in front of us smiled at us. “You let me know if you have any questions about the game, dears. I know this is all new for people like you.”
“Uh, thank you?” I said, not really sure what she meant bypeople like you. Brown people? Biracial Chinese nonbinary people? Canadians who’d never seen a hockey game?
Cass whispered in my ear, “Don’t worry about her. Daniel seemedexcessivelyhappy to see you.”
“Shush, Cass.”
They started humming the wedding march, and I laughed. “Where’s Owen?”
Cass pointed to one side of the rink. “He’s warming up near the net. Number twenty-six.”
I knew Daniel was number fourteen, but it hadn’t occurred to me to look for his number on the back of his jersey when I couldn’t spot him earlier. Now I searched for and found twenty-six. From this distance Owen looked like all the other players. Maybe a bit taller.
I found Daniel again and focused on him instead. His uniform was obviously really padded. I made a mental note to ask him why so much padding? Were flying pucks really that dangerous? Daniel looked ... imposing. Burly. But weirdly nimble. He was skating around the ice smoothly. I’d skated a few times as a kid—I mean, IwasCanadian. But I’d never been able to figure out how to balance, or how not to, you know ... fall on my ass.
But Daniel ... he seemed as comfortable on the ice as if he were wearing shoes on solid ground. Maybe even more comfortable. He seemed like he was flying, not skating. He glided gracefully across the length of the rink, taking the time to playfully tap one of his teammates, then turned quickly behind the net, his sharp skate blades sending a flurry of snow into the air. When everyone gathered in front of the net and took turns hitting the puck into it, Daniel’s shot got through, even though the goalie stopped everyone else’s. I couldn’t look away. It was like the stick was an extension of his body.
This was weird. I was in awe. Completely mesmerized and admiring Daniel’s ability at a sports thing.
I leaned into Cass. “Are they good?”
“Who?” Cass asked.
“Owen and Daniel. I don’t know a thing about hockey.”
“Owen is. I’ll watch Daniel for a bit.”
Now the players on Daniel’s team were skating with a puck, taking it behind the net and around their side of the ice’s edge. I had no idea how the hell Daniel could keep the puck stuck to his stick. While wearing skates. And going very fast.
“So is he good?” I asked.
Cass shrugged. “I have no idea. They all look good. I used to skate, but I could never do anything like that. And the last time I tried, I slammed into the boards and got a concussion. Wearing a helmet.”
Possibly racist lady turned around. “Which player are you talking about?” she asked.
“Fourteen on the Geese,” Cass said before I could tell them I’d decided not to engage with this woman. “We don’t really know hockey.”
“Oh, Ramos! He’s excellent! Very fast. Good puck handling, too. There’s a feel-good story there, right? We’re all so proud of him. Should be one of those inspirational sports movies.” She waved her hand in the air as if she were imagining a theater marquee. “A real Canadian hero. Too many sports movies are about American football.”
Why was Daniel being on this team worthy of an inspirational movie? I remembered what he’d told me—about being a midrange player. I wonder if this lady realized that worshipping him for being pretty good at hockey despite being Asian was a microaggression. I smiled coolly at the woman.
The actual game started soon after, and it was immediately fast-paced and a little hard to follow, but after about ten minutes I could mostly understand the rules. I loved watching the players skate. They weresoskilled. All of them. No one fell on their asses. Cass’s crush was an excellent player, and even got a goal, which I was happy for, but I was also bummed because Daniel tried to get the puck away from him, but Owen was faster. Daniel didn’t get a goal, but he did get an assist, which I figured out meant he was a good team player and helped the guy who got the goal. We cheered for both teams.
The three periods went fast. The final score at three minutes left of the third period was tied two against two, and I was at the edge of my seat. Both teams seemed to have found a store of awesomeness stashed away and played the last minutes with more intensity—clearly both really wanting to win. In the end, Owen’s team got a goal, and Owen got an assist, so Daniel’s team lost.
Daniel didn’t look upset about it, though. He grinned up at me after shaking hands with the other team, or rather hitting his massive glove against each of theirs. When he took off his helmet, I finally saw his black hair shiny with sweat and his whole happy face. He skated over closer to us and called out, “Meet me outside, okay?”
Seeing him without the helmet, seeing his incandescent face, all that positivity shining right at me ... I felt a warmth wash through me, even in the cold arena.
It was clear to me at that moment—this crush wasn’t going away like I’d hoped. I needed a strategy ... I needed to make these feelings go away. Maybe I shouldn’t see Daniel more than I needed to. After tonight I should only see him at the shelter.
As Cass and I tried to make it outside with the crush of other spectators (well, not really a crush—this was a small recreational hockey league), Cass’s phone rang. It was Owen, asking them to come back inside the arena to meet his team before heading to the café.
“You’re okay, Cass?” I asked. “I can go with you.”
Cass shook their head. “No ... it’s fine. You go see your boy.”
