What if I never get to go back?
What if they don’t want me to come back?
What if I never see Mam or Father again?
My bear groans within me, in agreeance.
Allowing all my thoughts, worries, and wishes to run rampant in my mind, I close my eyes, my head still resting on my arms.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here, and I should probably leave soon. But I just want to lie here for one more minute, to let the ice soak into my skin a bit longer. I haven’t been this content in such a long time.
I don’t realize that I’m falling asleep until it’s too late, and I don’t have the energy to drag myself back to consciousness.
November
4
Anya
Between an exceptionally awesome game the other night—where we shut out the opposing team four to zero—the brutal practice yesterday, and training the new captains, Coach decided the girls deserved a break, cancelling practice for the day.
Some of them went out last night and partied with a bunch of the local, professional football players who had also won their game. They always take up residence in the same bar after every win, and unfortunately, they’re not losing this year. It’sbeen the talk of the campus and the team, but I have no need for drinking . . . or football players, but with the news of not having to practice today, some of the girls took full advantage of sleeping off whatever they got into.
They keep trying to convince me that football players aren’t that bad, but all the ones I’ve ever met act like neanderthals. All obnoxious muscles, thinking they're God’s gift to humanity, like they’re somehow better than all of us common humans. I can’t help but roll my eyes at the absurdity.
I suppose they’re not as bad as the male hockey players I’ve met though, so there’s that. Any time I meet a professional hockey player I’m far more intimidated than I like to be. These men are the best in our sport, and they carry this predatorial aura that I can’t put my finger on.
Cancelled practice aside, I don’t know how long I have with unlimited access to the ice, so I can’t justify a day away. The idea of hockey not being what I do every day splinters my heart. I’ve tried to sit down and think of my future without hockey. My mind just goes blank, refusing to even consider a life without it.
I still have no idea what I’ll do with the management degree I’ve nearly completed, but at least I know that it gives me a wide variety of options. I really should start researching where I’ll go and what I’ll do after graduation, but that makes the idea of not being able to continue doing the thing I love most, feel all the more real.
You know what absolutely is not helping at-freaking-all?
The fact that the holiday seasons are approaching. I spend a ridiculous amount of time in the “Ber” months hiding in my house avoiding anything holiday related.
For a kid who grew up with parents who only had a child because it was the socially appropriate thing to do, but didn’t actually want to be parents, holidays suck.
There were no costume shopping and trick or treating in October.
No family turkey meal where we go around the table and say what we’re thankful for in November.
And there was certainly no love at Christmas like in the movies. There was a tree that they paid someone to put up while I was at school, and there were wrapped presents beneath it that I’m sure their secretaries bought and prepared. I can only remember one Christmas morning when they were even home and sat with me while I opened presents.
Now, as a college student, I watch each year as my teammates, along with the majority of the campus, clear out and head home to be with their families for the holidays. Coach tried to get me to join her family festivities when I told her about my situation the first year I was on the team, and she complied with my request to never ask again.
It’s only November, and already people have begun to put up Christmas decorations. I know I should just let people enjoy the things that make them happy, but it’s hard to be happy for the rest of the world when you feel like you got cheated.
Sighing as I plow through the locker room doors, the quiet of a day off is slightly unsettling. The hum of the fluorescent lights above me is the only sound, other than my thundering heart.
Why is my heart pounding all of a sudden?
Quirking my head to the side, I take inventory of my body. I know I’m irritated but not that much. I wasn’t running, and all I’ve done since entering is plop onto the bench so that I could kick my shoes off and replace them with my skates.
Trying to ignore my erratic heart rate, I continue with the routine, thoughtless process of lacing my skates. Once finished, I rise to my feet, placing my hand against my chest to keep the wild organ from bursting out of my rib cage.
Hyperaware of the strange reaction my body is having, I move across the locker room to the door leading to the rink. Once through the door, I make a noise somewhere between a gasp and a shriek.
Lying dead center on the ice is a man.
