His face softened. “Beautiful. Green. Lots of forests and lakes. The light is different than here. Softer in summer, almost nonexistent in winter. The hockey culture is more… refined, I suppose. Less physical, more strategic.”
“Do you miss it?”
“I do, but this experience is incredibly valuable. I’m learning things about myself I would not have discovered at home.”
The tone in his voice made me curious. “Like what?”
He was quiet for a moment. “Like the fact that I’m more adaptable than I thought. That I can build a life somewhere completely new and find satisfaction in it.”
“That’s cool. I’ve never lived anywhere but Buffalo. Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to go somewhere completely different.”
“Where would you go?”
I thought about it. “I don’t know. Somewhere warm, maybe. California or Florida. Somewhere I could play hockey but not freeze my ass off eight months of the year.”
Coach Anders laughed, a genuine sound that made warmth spread through my chest. “The cold builds character.”
“Says the guy from Sweden.”
“Fair point.”
“What’s one thing that you miss about home?”
He made a soft humming sound. “The stars.”
That was about the last thing I’d expected him to say. I’d thought he’d mention his family, maybe, or certain foods. But not this. “The stars?”
He nodded. “I’m a hobby astronomer. Nothing too complicated or fancy, though I did bring my smallest telescope with me. But Buffalo has too much sky glow to see the stars.”
Light pollution. We’d learned about that in class. “That’s called light pollution, right?”
“Yes. It’s a problem throughout most of the northern hemisphere, and it makes it hard to impossible to see the stars at night.”
“But you can see them in Sweden?”
“Not in Stockholm, our capital, or in our cities, but we still have plenty of spaces left that have little to no sky glow. The north, especially, has pristine skies.”
I tried to imagine it but came up short. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the stars. I mean, not really, with a telescope or anything.”
Coach Anders let out a soft gasp. “Really?”
I shrugged. “City kid, you know? Plus, with all the hockey training I did, it didn’t leave a lot of time to go looking at the sky. Or money.”
“That makes sense. Maybe I could…” He stopped, then cleared his throat. “I hope you’ll get to see them one day.”
We kept talking as the bus rolled through the darkness. About music—he was into some bands I’d never heard of, but also classic rock that I actually knew. About TV and movies—I was surprised to discover he preferred action and suspense movies too, which seemed too normal for someone as smart as he was. About travel, about food, about the weird differences between American and European culture.
It was the longest conversation I’d ever had with him that wasn’t about hockey, and I genuinely enjoyed his company. He was funny in a dry way, smarter than anyone I’d ever met, but not condescending about it. And there was an element about talking to him in the dim quiet of the bus that felt… comfortable. Like I could say anything and he’d listen.
“What about you?” he asked as we passed a sign saying we were ten miles out from Buffalo. “What are your plans for the future?”
“NHL, hopefully. But if that doesn’t work out…” I shrugged. “I don’t know. Business degree, maybe get into sports management. My parents always said I had to have a backup plan, so I’ve worked hard to keep my grades up.”
“Your parents sound wise.”
“They are. They sacrificed a lot for my hockey. Worked extra shifts, skipped vacations, all that stuff. I know how much this means to them.”
“That is a significant responsibility.”
