Page 50 of Sporting Goods

Sweat dreams beautiful.

My stomach was in knots. He wanted to see me again.

The hell was I doing at two a.m. that I missed these?

Having a revelation, I released a breath. Somehow my next sip tasted a whole lot better.

17

When I was eleven,I tried out for the youth hockey team at the ice center in Brooklyn. My brother Travis was fifteen and he loved the sport. He’d been playing since he was about Jax’s age, if not younger. You had to pay to use the arena outside of practice hours so we mostly played at a nearby courtyard outside of our low income development.

Travis dreamed of playing professionally. It was all he ever talked about. Talked our ears off, me and Tisch. Practiced all hours of the day outside of school. Mom had to talk him down.

Our father worked at a nearby garage. He’d work late. Very late.

Or so that was what he told us.

After work, he wouldn’t come home for hours. Typically after the three of us were asleep.

Except Travis. Travis used to wait up for him. Sometimes on the porch. Most nights, like mom, he gave up and went to bed without seeing him home.

I knew better.

I didn’t want to see dad come home. Drunk most of the time.

In the morning, he’d act like it wasn’t an issue. Had breakfast with us, asked about school, played nice with mom like they were the happiest of couples.

And she let him.

Somehow this worked for them.

I was too young and didn’t need to dig deeper or ask questions.

But Travis did.

Tisch and I didn’t need a father.

But Travis did.

Tisch and I, even in our young age, knew we really only had our mother and accepted it.

But Travis didn’t.

I didn’t make the team that first tryout. I knew I wasn’t good. Not as good as my older brother, but I wanted to be. He made it look so easy. He assured me with enough practice, I’d make it next year. For months we practiced in the courtyard, until it got dark, then we had to be home. It was mom’s only rule.

By the time I turned twelve, Travis started bringing me to practice to watch. That was when I met Marty. Practice used to get long and boring when you’re not playing, so I’d help Marty around with his duties at the arena, making schedules, unpacking shipments, and picking up trash from the bleachers.

That last part wasn’t one of his duties, but I didn’t mind.

On Travis’s sixteenth birthday, Dad assured us he’d be home early to have cake with us. Tisch was nine, I was twelve. It took one glance across the breakfast table and the two of us shrugged. I never knew which one it was for her, if she didn’t believe him or if she was like me and decided, it wouldn’t matter if he did or not.

I picked up my phone and texted Tisch.

Me:Hey, you okay today?

It was a few minutes before she responded. The store was closed today so she didn’t have the excuse of working to not respond.

Tisch: Good.

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