Page 34 of The Legend Next Door
20
Ben Stirling
Todayistheday.
Game day.
It’s not until I find myself in the kitchen making a pre-game snack a few minutes before we’re due to leave for the arena that I realize the gravity of my mistake. I can’t do this.
I can’t.
Not, I don’t want to do this. Not, I don’t think I can do this. I can’t do it.
I cannot do it.
I can’t go to a game where my team is playing and I’m not. I can’t sit in the stands when I belong rinkside, on the bench. I can’t line up for drinks and snacks when I’m supposed to be in the locker room getting ready to play. I can’t watch Bryce skate out, leading the team,myteam, because that’s whatI’msupposed to be doing. I can’t do it. I can’t fucking do it.
My heart starts to pound and my breath comes in short, raspy gulps.
As soon as I allow the conscious thought in, everything that goes with it comes rushing at me at once. Images flicker before me like a reel of film in an old-fashioned movie. Heart rate lines dip and spike on a monitor. Electric green, red, and blue against a black backdrop. The sickly smell of disinfectant and hand sanitizer. A high-pitched beep that started out steady but grew weak as I watched. A medical professional saying my name, speaking English, but using words I still don’t understand. Luca’s face. His eyes wide in horror and shock. ESPN headlines. Tragedy. Death. Disaster. My name splashed across papers and screens. Liz’s name too. Hands on my shoulders. The team in my living room, big men huddled on sofas and sitting cross-legged on the floor. Trays and trays of lasagna. Blackeyes around me, holding me up. My feet on the ground, my back straight. My heart broken. A wake where I stayed upright but felt like I was falling. Luca’s face white and drawn. The bone-chilling wail of his cries in the middle of the night. An empty locker and a group chat. A travel bag at the front door, gathering dust. Long calls to Coach. A team I love but am no longer part of. Boxes of hockey sticks and match sweaters in the guestroom that I don’t know how to unpack.
Life going on without me.
I can’t do it.
I can’t go to the fucking game.
Of course I can’t do it.
Going to a playoff game and not playing is right up there with the most insane idea I’ve ever heard of. What the fuck was I thinking?
“Are you okay, Daddy?” asks Luca, lips moving carefully around the sandwich he’s eating. He’s wearing his Blackeyes sweater. The one I got him. The one with his name and the number six on the back.
“Uh, um, I’m just…I need to make a call. I’ll be right back. Keep eating, okay?”
I tear down the hall, doorways and photographs blurring as I stagger past them, and lock myself in the guest bathroom.
My phone is in my hand. I stare at the screen, unseeing. Then I hit call.
“I can’t,” I say the second I hear his voice. “Jelly, Ican’t.”
“I’m on my way,” he says. His voice is soft and low. Calm. “I’ll take him.”
Metal chinks against metal. Keys, maybe? A door slides shut with a softsnick. Jeremiah stays on the line but doesn’t say anything else. I can tell from his breathing that he’s walking.
He’s walking to me.
I rush to the door and open it before he arrives. When I see him, everything slows. The sound of my heart and my lungs and the images burned into my retina. It all slows.
“Are you sure it’s okay?” I ask. “I know it’s a lot, and I’m sorry I’m being like this. I’m not usually like this. I never used to be—”
“'Course I’m sure.” His smile is steady and serious, and then it’s not. It changes from staid to silly. “When you think about it, it’s kind of perfect. It’s really weird for a huge hockey fan never to have seen a live game.”
“What’s going on?” asks Luca when he hears me approach. “Are we going to miss the game?” He sees Jeremiah and flicks his head quickly from him to me. “Is everything okay?”
I put my hand on his shoulder and squeeze gently. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Most things are okay, but I’m not feeling a hundred percent.” I take a breath and expel it slowly. I want to be honest with him, but I also want to communicate in a way he’ll understand. “You know, Luca, since Mommy died, it’s been really hard for me to think about hockey without feeling sad. I wanted to go to the game with you tonight, and I know you’ve been looking forward to it, but I don’t think I’m ready. I know I’m going to be ready soon. I know it. I know before long, you and I will be rinkside, cheering the Blackeyes on, but I don’t think tonight is the night. I’m sorry, my boy.”
“’S okay, Daddy. I don’t mind.” His little face is sad, but he braves a smile and wraps his arms around me. “We can work on my plane, or we can build a tower out of my magnets.”
