His mind was racing. He had to go back for his mother, but what could he do? These men had guns. Alex looked to the sky and wondered if his parents were both gone. Ten minutes ago he was sound asleep. Was this all a nightmare? He had run all the way to the street, but was he in danger? Should he keep running, barefoot and dressed in his pajamas? And where would he go?
As he was trying to process his thoughts, Alex caught his reflection off a store window. He looked like he had just seen a ghost. His hands were shaking violently.
“Are you okay?”
Alex spun around, half expecting to find a man pointing a gun at him. A young black woman in a nurse’s uniform stood there. She appeared to be on her way home after a late shift at the nearby hospital.
“Are you okay?” the nurse asked again. “Why are you out here? Is everything alright?”
Alex felt the earth shift as the ground and sky seemed to change places and a wave washed over him. He took shallow breaths and tried to focus on the nurse. His vision blurred and all his senses, especially his hearing, became more acute. He looked up as he heard a car coming.
A police car.
With unsteady feet, Alex forced himself out into the middle of the street and began waving his arms frantically.
“Omigod!” the nurse exclaimed.
She ran to Alex and pulled him off the road. The police car put its emergency lights on and sped toward them. Alex whispered something while the nurse had her arms around him.
“What?” the nurse leaned in closer. “What are you saying?”
“My family…” Alex whispered. “They’re killing my family.”
15.
The newspaper delivery man was making his way through Alex’s building shortly after 4:30 a.m. As he came off the elevator, he noticed the landlord standing in front of Alex’s apartment.
“Hey, what’s going on?” the delivery man asked.
The landlord had clearly been woken up and was not in a good mood.
“Couple of tenants called me concerned about this guy.”
“Well, if you see him, give him his paper, will ya?” the delivery man said, handing over a newspaper.
“Sure.”
The landlord knocked again as the delivery man disappeared down the hall. He was about to give up and wondered what his next move would be. Should he call the police or use his entry key and go inside? It was no easy thing to encroach on a tenant’s privacy. He made a decision and pulled out his cellphone. His fingers were on the keypad when he heard the door unlock.
Alex poked his head out into the hall.
“Hey,” the landlord said as he put his phone back in his pocket. “You okay, Alex?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Some of your neighbours said they heard a lot of noise coming from your place.”
The landlord was trying to look past Alex into his apartment, but Alex held the door close.
“How do they know it was my place?”
“They were just concerned, Alex.”
“Everything’s okay,” Alex replied.
“Glad to hear. Good night…what’s left of it.”
The landlord went back to the elevator and pressed the button.
“Hey,” Alex called out. “Thanks for checking.”
“Okay, no problem.”
Alex closed his door and for the first time in a very long time turned on a light. The apartment was trashed. Alex had used his baseball bat, which he always kept by his bed, to knock over anything that had been resting on a counter or table: a few lamps, an empty vase, numerous drinking glasses and mugs. He also kicked over a few chairs for good measure.
By the time the landlord had been alerted to all the noise, Alex’s tantrum was over, and he felt much calmer. He grabbed the three pill bottles and made his way to the bathroom, which had not been cleaned in over a month. Alex poured all the pills into the toilet and flushed them. Then he went back to the kitchen and took out a garbage bag to start cleaning up.
The photos of his mother and Diana were spared.
When the moment arrived for him to take the pills and lie down on his couch for a final nap, something in Alex just snapped. He could not shake images of his mother smiling at him during chemotherapy, or making a joke while clumps of her hair were falling out.
As it turned out, it was not time to let go. The pain would continue, but the shame would not. That stopped right now. He bent down and began putting large ceramic pieces of broken coffee mugs into the garbage bag.
16.
Diana Cross still had a key to the Bucco home that Alex had given her many years ago. She unlocked the door and went inside before putting her medical bag down and removing her jacket.
“Diana? Is that you?” Alex’s mother called out.
“Yes, it’s me,” Diana replied.
She threw her jacket over a chair and retrieved the medical bag.
Maria Bucco was lying in her bed down the hallway from the front door. Diana walked into the bedroom and bent down to give her a kiss on the forehead. Maria smiled and squeezed her hand.
“You don’t have to keep coming, Diana.”
Diana took a stethoscope out of her bag. “I’m going to keep coming. I want to.”
“You’re like the black daughter I never had,” Maria said, laughing and coughing at the same time.
Diana used the stethoscope to check Maria’s breathing. Next, she took out a portable blood pressure machine and hooked it up to her arm.
“Do you have copies of the latest blood work?” Diana asked as she worked the little pump to take the blood pressure.
“In that drawer.” Maria nodded toward her night table. “We’re supposed to meet with the doctor tomorrow.”
Diana waited a minute before reading the machine and taking the strap off Maria’s arm.
“Your blood pressure is okay,” Diana said before grabbing the printouts from the drawer. She studied them for a minute and smiled before putting them back.
“It’s not good, is it?” Maria asked.
Diana did not immediately respond. Maria looked at her expectedly.
“No,” Diana finally said. “Your tumour counts are higher.”
“The doctor said if they go over 1,000 that would not be good, but it’s hard to understand that paper. Alex could not make sense of it.”
Diana could make sense of it. “They are over 1,000. I’m sorry.”
Mrs. Bucco sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “After all that…surgery…treatment…more treatment…should I continue with chemotherapy?”
“You should ask your oncologist. I’m not…”
“I’m asking you.”
“If you were my mother, I would say –”
“I am a mother to you,” Mrs. Bucco interjected. “Do I have to remind you of that?”
“No, you don’t…and no, I don’t think you should continue chemo.”
Maria held her arms out for Diana, who leaned over and hugged her tightly.
“Thank you, Diana.”
Diana wiped her eyes and packed her medical bag. “I have to get to the hospital.”
“I know.”
“I’ll be back soon.”
“I know.”
17.
The Captain
It was crowded just outside the Toronto Eaton Centre on a sunny and warmer day. Alex stood at the traffic light outside the Hudson’s Bay department store and fought the urge to purchase a hot dog from one of the street vendors. He turned and looked at the Bay’s window displays. For many years, Diana always made a point of admiring the store’s famous Christmas windows in December, while Alex stood beside her freezing and pretending to like them as much as she did.
He walked over to a nearby coffee shop where he was supposed to meet Corey Peters, whom he had not spoken with since university many years ago. Alex had been repainting his apartment when the phone rang and it was Corey on the line. It was a puzzling call, as they had never been close. In fact, there had often
been tension between them. Over the years, Alex heard that Corey became a big-shot lawyer, which did not surprise him.
Alex stepped into the crowded café and quickly recognized Corey. He still had the same perfectly coiffed hair and smug expression on his face. Alex remembered Corey as the kind of guy who stopped in front of mirrors to admire himself.
“Hey, Alex,” Corey said enthusiastically. He held his hand out.
Alex shook it and sat down. “Corey. Long time. How’re you doing?”
“Great. Just great. You look good.”
Over the past few days, in addition to cleaning and repainting his apartment, Alex had also shaved and gotten a haircut. He would get around to working out again. Baby steps.
“You should’ve seen me a few days ago,” Alex replied.
The smile disappeared and Corey made a sympathetic face.
“I heard your mother passed away. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. How’d you hear that?”
“Oh, you know, Helen saw it on social media.”
“You and Helen got married, right?”
“Got married. We have a boy and a girl, three and six years old.”
Corey showed Alex a family photo on his phone. The kids were very cute, and Helen Peters was a stunning blonde in her late-thirties. Based on how he remembered her, Alex could have predicted that. They looked like a perfect family out of some magazine.
“You remember Helen, right?” Corey asked. “And how’s Diana?”
“Diana and I aren’t together.”
“Oh, I didn’t know,” Corey said innocently.
Somehow, Alex doubted that.
“So, you’re married with kids. I’m sure you have lots of money,” Alex said. “Did you call me to show off after all this time?”
A waitress came over to take their order. Alex asked for a small coffee with a generous amount of milk. Corey studied a drink menu and took his time before ordering a latte with a ridiculous number of modifications. The waitress wrote down the order and walked off.
“You still playing hockey?” Corey asked.
“No. Why?”
“Well, this might sound a little crazy, but I’m trying to put together a team for a tournament.”
“You want me to play in a tournament?” Alex asked.
“That’s right,” Corey replied. “I want to get the guys back together too.”
Alex looked at Corey skeptically.
“You been taking narcotics, Corey?” Alex asked. “Why would you want to do that? I mean, we haven’t played together since we graduated. We’re all pushing forty now. That’s nuts.”
The coffees arrived quickly. Corey’s had whipped cream on it.
“I need a spoon,” Corey said curtly to the waitress.
“Yes, sir. I’ll be happy to get you one,” she smiled.
“I hate bad service,” Corey said as he tried to sip his drink through the whipped cream.
“There’s no harm in saying please,” Alex pointed out.
Alex recalled how a part of him always wanted to punch Corey in the face when they were in school together. The waitress returned with a spoon and dropped it on their table before walking away without even looking at Corey. Alex liked her.
Corey picked up the spoon and scooped some of the whipped cream.
“Did you hear they cancelled the rest of the hockey season today?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Alex replied. He read the newspapers every day, after all.
“Don’t you think most people have had enough of this stuff? Athletes, owners, arguing over money?”
“I don’t know. I stopped caring years ago. The game’s not the same.”
“Exactly,” Corey said. “So, this tournament is for guys like you: good players who never made it. That’s the only rule: no player can have a history of going pro. The rest is just details. Money goes to charity…cancer research, I think.”
Corey spent the next few minutes explaining how The Tournament would work and how he found the old Arena Gardens. He was happy to hear that Alex was already on a leave from his job because that would cover the three to four months.
“I don’t know.” Alex leaned back and sipped his coffee. “I’m trying to get back on track. Throwing everything up in the air to play in some tournament…I don’t know.”
“Look, Alex, we’ve all made choices,” Corey said. “You decided to keep your goals pretty low and that’s fine, whatever. But this is a chance to do something different. I mean, all the money goes to cancer research…didn’t your mom die of cancer?”
Alex leaned forward and their faces were inches apart.
“You know, Corey, my life hasn’t exactly been roses lately, but don’t think I won’t reach across this table and pour that fucking drink down your throat.”
Corey sat back in his chair. “Okay, I’m sorry, but just play. Come on. Give it a shot.”
Alex took a deep breath and contemplated the whole scenario. This is not what he expected at all when he arrived for this meeting.
“Three months?”
“Maybe four.”
Alex truly had nothing else going on, but he was not in shape and his hockey skills were not sharp. The last year and a half of his life had been consumed trying to save his mother, and he lost Diana in the process. Maybe if he played hockey again then he might forget about being miserable for awhile.
“Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll play in your little tournament, but only on one condition.”
“Which is?”
“Ken Hornsby has to be the coach.”
“I don’t want Hornsby,” Corey protested. “Don’t you remember what happened back –”
Alex stood up to leave. “Goodbye, Corey. Nice seeing you.”
Corey grabbed his arm. “Okay, okay, fine.”
Alex tugged his arm free and sat back down. Corey pulled out some papers and a pen.
“Alright,” he said. “Let’s split the labour. I’ll go and track down three of the guys. You find the other two and Hornsby.”
Alex looked at Corey for a long time before nodding.
“Okay, deal.”
18.
The Coach
Pertia John sat by her living room window for several hours each day watching people hustle to work or just walk their dogs. Her mind often drifted as she thought about her grown kids and her late husband Randall. Family meant everything to Pertia, and the rooms inside her home were overflowing with photos that spanned her entire life, all seventy-five years of it.
She and her husband moved into historic Cabbagetown in early-1970s Toronto. Back then the area was predominantly white and even though the Johns still had to deal with racism, many of their white neighbours were progressive social activists. Their children had white friends who defended them in school against bigots.
Pertia had been a stay-at-home mother except for the odd part-time job cleaning apartments. Randall, a self-employed plumber, could have made more money but was overly generous with the breaks he gave his customers. Still, the Johns’ children all grew up well educated and successful.
She had been widowed for nearly ten years now and refused her children’s attempts to put her in a seniors’ home, or “retirement village” as one of her daughters called it while showing her a brochure. Pertia was very independent by nature, except that it was becoming increasingly difficult now for her to do many of the things she used to do. She did not want to burden her children, who were consumed with their own families. Pertia knew they were busy. She just wished they could find a way to visit more because she missed them…and her grandkids.
Pertia enjoyed the company of her sweet neighbour Ken Hornsby, a retired university hockey coach and the nicest white man she had ever known. Sitting by the window now, Pertia saw Ken approach with a shopping bag that undoubtedly contained a few items she asked him to get from the drug store. She used a cane to help herself up from her chair and slowly proceeded to a coffee table that had a cookie jar on it where she kept mo
ney. Ken did not like being reimbursed and they usually argued about it. He had a key to her house, but did not have to use it because the front door was wide open and he walked right in.
“You should really keep this door locked, Pertia. What if it wasn’t me?”
Pertia took out a bill from the cookie jar and put the lid back on. She winced a little as she walked over to Ken.
“But it was you, Kenny,” she replied. “Go on, take some money. How much was it?”
“It was free,” Ken smiled.
“What’s free is me cracking you over the head,” she said in a tone of exaggerated anger as she waved her cane menacingly in the air.
“Okay, just give me ten dollars,” Ken said as he put the bag down on a nearby table.
Pertia approached him and put the bill in his coat pocket. “Here’s twenty.”
Ken helped Pertia sit down on her favourite recliner. He went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water.
“Pertia, I’m planning a trip to Europe.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful, Kenny,” Pertia said and raised the glass of water to her lips.
“We’ll work out something. I’m going to –”
“Oh no, you’re not!” Pertia exclaimed. “You’re going to go on your trip and not worry about me. I will be just fine on my own, Kenny.”
“I’ll check on you every day from wherever I am.”
A male voice came out of nowhere. “Maybe you won’t have to just yet.”
Startled, Ken turned and saw one of his former university players and team captain, Alex Bucco, standing inside the front door that he forgot to lock behind him.
Ken looked stunned. “Alex.”
“Hey, Coach. Maybe you can delay that trip?”
19.
“Garbage Goal” Curtis
It was the corporate midday power hour in a typically crowded restaurant near the intersection of King and Yonge Streets in the downtown core. As usual, the place was packed with suits that needed to eat their lunch, have a drink and promptly be given a receipt so they could expense their meals and get out within an hour.
The Tournament Page 4