Part 9 (1/2)
The boys weren't here yet, so it left me some time to just skate and play the puck. I wasn't forced into drills and repet.i.tion of different shots. I could just skate and clear my head.
That was when Ami would come into mind.
If I closed my eyes, I could see her and picture that kiss and those pretty f.u.c.king starry eyes.
f.u.c.k. Stop thinking about her.
I'd set an easy pace around the ice, building speed as I rounded the corner and then snagged a puck. I brought it to the end of my stick and balanced it there before juggling it and slapping it into the net like a baseball player would.
Then I thought of Ami again.
d.a.m.n it.
Thankfully, the guys made their way on the ice and our morning practice started.
Pus.h.i.+ng pucks around, we slapped them at the net. Fans were there this morning watching. A young girl, maybe twelve, stood next to the gla.s.s trying to take a picture of Leo so I stuck my stick in the way.
She glared and then looked toward me, a leveling glare that gave way to a smile. Flushed cheeks appeared, so I smiled in return and hit the gla.s.s with my shoulder and skated away knowing that simple interaction made that girl's day.
”Jail bait,” Remy chirped when I pa.s.sed by and then made a siren sound.
”How are you and the ballerina doin'?” Dave asked, taking a shot at Leo with his stick when he came by.
”She's getting released soon,” I said, circling a puck and then flipping it up onto my stick. ”So I guess that's good.”
”Does she remember?” he asked, watching Remy and Cage shove each other and then Leo getting in the middle of it.
”No. Nothing from that night.”
”Glad she's getting better, man. We were all pulling for her.” He gave me a wink and then Leo came back by, and Dave took off to send him flying into the boards.
Same s.h.i.+t, different day.
Dave had always been the guy on the team that made sure the guys were okay. If you were sick or running behind on the ice, he'd sit you down and ask what the problem was. He was always sort of the team psychologist. All of us felt comfortable going to him and talking about anything. Me included. After that night with Ami all the guys knew something was up with me. My att.i.tude had changed on and off the ice.
That game against Atlanta was intense, mostly because Leo was getting into every other play with Atlanta's center.
That was when Joel gave a low hit on Leo and knocked him down hard into the boards.
Leo immediately jumped to his feet and chased after him. Apparently, he wasn't having any of it and shoved Sadler against the board, giving him a few words. Leo was smaller than me and most defens.e.m.e.n. He was your average size for any center, but he could give it when needed. That night he gave it.
I'd never gotten along with Joel Sadler. We played in the Major Juniors together.
If you were to ask the coaches back then, and people frequently did, they'd say we were at each other's throats most of the time. I didn't know if that was true, but we did have our fair share of time in the penalty box.
Joel took another cheap shot at Leo on the face off and popped him in the mouth with his stick when the ref returned.
Chewing on my mouth guard, racking up minutes in the box, a girl tapped on the gla.s.s. I gave her a nod but not much else. My attention was on the ice and how I was going to let Joel know that even though he'd gotten away with it this time, he wasn't going to soon.
Bottom line was, if someone picked on our boys, like they were doing that night, I'd lay them out. Funny enough, I started out playing goalie and then moved to right wing. When the coaches saw how much I defended the other players, they moved me to defense. With that came the fighting.
Some thought I loved to fight. And I wouldn't necessarily disagree with them, but I wasn't doing it just to fight.
Did I like fighting?
Not really, but I was good at it, and that was how I got to be a defenseman.
A few things cause a hockey player to drop his gloves and dance: retaliation or retribution. For example, a guy checks up from behind and skates away. Then as you're making your s.h.i.+ft change, he whacks you on the back of the legs. This warrants dropping the gloves the next time you meet on the ice. Provoking some players would challenge the other team for the sole purpose of winning. It was all about gaining the mental edge in hockey. A good sc.r.a.pe swung your way could do that, and it got the whole venue on their feet.
Then there was the intimidation. It went hand and hand with fear. Most fans had no idea how much trash talking went on, and they'd be surprised how much of it was for intimidation. School yard bullies at their finest. You wanted the other guy to think you were going to kick the s.h.i.+t out of him and make him think you were serious. We did this a lot in junior hockey, and still do in the NHL, but we had way more fun with it back in the junior leagues.
It was all about sending a message, and sometimes that message was personal.
There were times when fighting was done to draw a penalty, too. It was designed to change the way of play, to break it up. If you had a guy out there scoring, it was a way to get him off the ice.
Most wondered how we fought. How did we let them know? Well, it was as simple as dropping your gloves. There were times when I resisted and told them, ”Hey, pick up your f.u.c.king gloves, you p.u.s.s.y. I'm not fighting you.”
Other times, no words were exchanged. You simply grabbed their shoulders, slashed their stick, pushed them from behind, a glove to the face, all effective ways of letting them know you were ready for them.
We ended up winning against Atlanta, and then we were off to Ohio, and then we'd have a few week break.
I spent my twenty-first birthday on a plane, sleeping next to Leo, on our way home from Ohio after winning the game in overtime. Feeling pretty good, on that adrenaline again, I went straight to the hospital to see Ami.
This time she was asleep. It was late, and part of me was glad. A little drunk and after a win, I wasn't sure what I'd do. Instead, I wrote her a little note next to the key chain of a ballerina I'd picked up for her at the airport. Eventually I left, but not before watching her sleep for a while.
She was so peaceful. Her cheeks were red, her blankets bunched up near her face like she was cold. Reaching for another blanket in the closet, I situated that one on her to add to the mountain of blankets she always had. She liked to be warm.
I left after that and went back home to celebrate the rest of my birthday with Leo, Dave, and Remy. Bad idea.
During our break in the schedule, from the time we played the Blue Jackets to the time we were set to play the Islanders, I got to know Ami even more. Thankfully, I kept my hands and my lips to myself, but it was nice to talk to a girl that didn't care that I was a hockey player.
Even though she struggled with a few infections, Ami was slowly coming around and making a full recovery. The doctors a.s.sured us that there wouldn't be any lasting effects on her, and that even though she had some internal injuries from the guy being so forceful with her, she would be able to resume s.e.xual activity if she chose to.
The fact that she would be okay had me hopeful. The fact that they mentioned s.e.xual activity while I was in the room, a.s.suming we were together, made me slightly uncomfortable.
Ami didn't seem one bit fazed by it.
They even had a counselor come in and talk with her about her situation, being a rape victim. They described to her, and even me, that she might go through stages, especially during intimacy, where she may feel ashamed or depressed, maybe even powerless.
Until then I never thought about the lasting effects of her being raped. Would she ever have a normal relations.h.i.+p again? Would she want to?
They were all things I wanted to ask but didn't. It made me feel almost bad for kissing her. What if that made her feel powerless?
Regardless of what I thought or feared, I went off how Ami reacted. Never did she show any hesitation with our friends.h.i.+p, or flirting, or even that kiss. For a guy like me, those were all signs that indicated she was okay with it. Knowing the side of Ami that I did, if she didn't want it, she would certainly tell me.
The day she was released, Monday, March 1st, marked nearly ten weeks spent in the hospital. She was happy to be released.
First thing she made me do was stop and get her a hamburger.
Then we drove the seven hours from Chicago to Pittsburgh because Ami didn't want to fly. That I understood, and it was a fun drive, too. We took my new Audi and the seat heaters were her best friend. She liked to be warm after all. Not only did she have her seat heater on full blast, but she also had the heat cranked all the way up. I was dying. Half the trip I had my d.a.m.n head out the window, trying not to burn alive in my own car.