I didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. I could only swipe at tears of soul-deep shame as I ran out of that hotel room without looking back.
YOM
?????: How did it go, Tyoma?
Cheslav,whom Yom affectionately called Chesik, texted him in their native language at 5:30 a.m. The sun had yet to rise, but that didn’t matter. Yom, who hadn’t slept, responded immediately
ME: She left.
?????: Just now?
ME: Maybe less than 30 minutes after she got here. She ran out crying. Did not bother herself to take the elevator even. She took stairs like I am monster in American horror movie and she must get away.
?????: Oh Tyoma. What happened???
ME: I do not know, Chesik. It is clear I...
Yom toggled between his native keyboard to his English one to text,fucked up.
Then he switched back to the Cyrillic keyboard to admit…
ME: But I do not know how.
What happened?
His brother’s question echoed in his head long after their texting ended.
Had he creeped her out? Yom asked himself this as he peed in a plastic cup for the “random” drug test that was announced as soon as he arrived for the warm-up at the Uber-Berlin Arena.
This supposedly random test came as no shock.
As Chesik had warned him when he decided to skate for the German team, “You can play for your mother’s country, but everyone knows your mother country, and the game officials will treat you the same as us.”
So,nyet, Yom wasn’t surprised to be the only one the German team subjected to a drug test before the final game. Instead of seething with resentment, though, Yom handed the cup back to the WIHF attendant standing outside the bathroom stall door like a prison guard and wondered,Was it something I said—something I did to make her run away crying?
What happened?
He pondered the possible answers while defending the puck and scoring two goals against the Canadians his German teammates derisively calledDie Sirrupblätter.
Perhaps he had moved too fast? During the last period of the match, he found himself wishing he’d gone slower with Library Girl as he sped up to the Canadian who had intercepted the puck from their German defenseman.
I should not have made her choose how I would touch her.He lambasted himself for teasing her in this way as he shoved the Canadian winger into the boards—so hard the other player ended up crumpling onto the ice, and a referee’s sharp whistle rent the air, signaling an infraction.
However, Yom barely heard the boos of the crowd as he skated over to the penalty box to do his time for boarding the Canadian, who was rocking back and forth over one of his knees and being attended by medics. Library Girl’s last words to him kept ringing in his head:I should never have come here with you. I shouldn’t have let it get this far.
How could he have read the situation so wrong? Had he not asked for enough consent before touching her? Had he hurt her?
A chill ran down his back at the thought. He would need to find her as soon as he returned to their university in Minnesota. Apologize to his Library Girl for whatever he did. He’d offer to take her on a date to someplace nice. And if she accepted, he would wait for at least three months to touch her. Maybe until they were married. That was how sick the idea of hurting her made him feel.
Another sharp whistle interrupted his thoughts, letting him know his five minutes were up.
The many Germans in the crowd roared as he skated straight back into gameplay, and a glance at the scoreboard hanging above the Canadian team’s goal stand told him why.
Without him playing,die Sirrupblätterhad managed to net two more goals and erase their two-point lead.
The game was tied with only two more minutes to go.
Yom’s mind cleared, as it always did when winning was on the line. In an instant, he became himself again. Sharking into the gameplay, he sped toward the Canadian forward, who truly thought he had a chance of sinking another goal with Yom back on the ice.
