Page 3 of Untouchable Player

Prof looks at me in the silence and I let my gaze wander to the window behind her head. That patch of concrete across the street looks promising right now.

“What do your parents say?”

I snort before I can stop myself.

“Nothing, I mean, my dad wants me to play professional hockey.”

“And is that a viable option?” She asks the question like she genuinely doesn’t know, and for a second, it’s nice having someone think it could actually be a possibility.

“No,” I say.

“Has your Coach told you this?”

I nod. “He said I could try out for the ECHL, but you make $500 a week and hockey is not a long career and there’s no guarantees. You could get injured and have to retire at twenty-five.”

Prof slow nods and frowns into the wood pattern in the desk.

“And what doyouwant Jesse?”

I want to escape this conversation. I want to be out on the ice and check people into the boards. Where no one asks me questions or expects me to have an opinion.

I shrug.

Her sigh is bigger this time and she doesn’t try to hide it.

“Here’s what we need to do, you need to pass this course to stay in college and on the hockey team, it’s part of your scholarship, am I right?”

I nod. It’s my entire scholarship.

“So I really need you to buckle down and bring your grade up by the end of the fall semester, do you think you can do that?”

I nod because that’s the right answer, but I have no idea if I can do that. That’s what I’ve beentryingto do already.

“I’d suggest getting someone to tutor you. Maybe a classmate? Maybe someone on the team?”

I chew the inside of my lip, trying to imagine one my classmates offering to tutor me. A teammate would be even less likely, they’d probably be just as clueless as I am.

“Yes Professor.”

She lets me go and I lug my bag five minutes up the street to the arena for practise. It doesn’t give me enough time to really dwell on our conversation, but as I’m passing school busses and pick-up trucks, it does make me think about what I actually see in my future. I have no idea what kind of job I’m going to have, I’ve never known that. But I do vaguely see myself being married with kids. That’s the one thing about my dad’s life I do look up to. But that conversation with Professor Williams has forced me to realise that I’ll have to take all the other shit from my dad’s life too if I don’t start getting serious about a career that isn’t construction. Do I really want to be so tired after work that I don’t have the energy to play with my kids? To have to take jobs miles away and miss putting them to bed and having breakfast with them in the morning? I only stop moping when I see the arena.

I love being in a hockey arena. The chill air. Everything painted in the team colours. The cubbies in the locker room with everyone’s skates hanging up. The motivational quotes on the walls and Coach’s white board with his barely readable notes and drawings.

Coach Rolands pops his head out of his office door when he hears me come in and tells me practise isn’t for another forty-five minutes.

“I know, sorry Coach, I just want to work out for a bit.”

He looks me over and asks if everything’s alright.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

He lingers like he’s going to call me into the office and make me tell him what’s wrong.

When he nods and closes the door again, my whole body sags with relief. I do not want to talk. I just want to work-out and forget about everything.

Jones comes in about fifteen minutes later and sits on the bike next to mine.

“You’re here early, love the enthusiasm Engels,” he says.

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