Rocket Blues

by David Skuy

  Rocket wheeled his bag to the locker, undid the lock and put his stuff up on the shelf. He ran to the elevator, hoping to catch them, but they’d left and he had to wait a long time for the next one.

  Poor Maddy. One night with Griffen felt like a lifetime. What was it like for her? He hoped his mom got out of meeting him tonight. She usually came up with some excuse.

  When the elevator doors opened, he could hear the old couple in 1203 arguing, as usual. It hadn’t been too bad lately, not like two months ago when the cops were called. And 1207’s TV was about normal — absolutely blaring.

  His mom was reading on the couch when he came in. She nodded toward her bedroom. “I think they’ve figured out a way to attach the television to their stereo,” she said.

  “1203 is going at it, too,” he said.

  “I asked the super again for an apartment on another floor. As usual, he just smiled and nodded. Yesterday a new family moved into 606 and he never offered it to me. I know he wants me to bribe him, but someone told me the going rate is a thousand. Where am I going to get that?”

  “It’s not so bad here.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’ve been looking at some other buildings, but the rent in this city is atrocious. How can anyone afford to live here? I know we can’t. If your dad actually paid his child support, then maybe …”

  He knew she’d mention that as soon as the topic of money came up.

  “Maddy’s coming over to watch TV for a bit. Is that okay?”

  “Do you have any homework this weekend?”

  “Nah.”

  “That’s what you always say.”

  “Honest. I don’t.”

  “Fine. What happened at the tryout? How’d it go?”

  “Good, I guess. Maybe more like weird. I ran into someone during a drill — my fault for not keeping my head up — and the coach freaked out about a concussion.”

  His mother sat up, her face white as a sheet. “Bryan! You got a concussion? Oh, my goodness. That’s it for hockey. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? It can affect you later in life: headaches, forgetfulness, mood swings, depression …”

  “Mom! I’m fine. I don’t have a concussion. The coach told me she was just being super cautious. Relax. You’ve told me a hundred times about concussions. I’m not dizzy, tired, nauseous — nothing.”

  She came over and looked into his eyes. “Can you focus? Any blurry vision? Do you remember where you hit your head?”

  “I said I was fine. I didn’t hit my head.”

  She put him through a series of tests, making him touch his nose rapidly with his index fingers, balance on one foot, repeat number sequences. He didn’t complain. He knew it would be over faster if he just did it.

  She hugged him. “You seem to check out. Play your silly hockey.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “So you got hit and left the ice. Where did that leave things?”

  “That’s the weird part. Coach came into the dressing room and offered me a spot, even though I was literally on the ice for seven minutes. I’m officially a Bowmont Blue, or I will be when you sign the contract. Here are some forms to fill out.” He handed them over sheepishly, because they were all folded and one page was ripped.

  His mom rolled her eyes and took the forms. “Typical Bryan condition. But, anyway, congrats! Do you know where they practise?”

  “I think there’s a letter explaining all that.” He pointed to the forms.

  “I’m proud of you, Bryan. Did you meet any of the boys on the team? Are they a good group?”

  “Not really sure. I got there kind of late and then, like I said, I wasn’t on the ice long.”

  She shook her head angrily. “Did Griffen get the time wrong again? I told him to come at six.”

  “He said he was held up at work and there was traffic. I got on the ice when the tryout started, but barely.”

  “That guy …” She rolled her eyes.

  “He said you were going out with him tonight?”

  Her face fell. “I said I might, but I’m tired. Don’t feel like it.”

  “So don’t. Me and Maddy don’t have to watch TV.”

  She smiled. “Thanks, dear. But … he did drive you and … Anyway, no matter. I might go out for a bit just to get away from that TV blasting in my ear.”

  “We can switch bedrooms if you want. The noise doesn’t bother me.”

  She patted him on the shoulder. “I’m going to get ready. You take a shower first.”

  “I only played for a few minutes.”

  “Whatever. You put on that equipment and the stink transfers onto you. Besides, you have a lady friend coming over.”

  “It’s just Maddy.”

  “Go!”

  He went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. The water felt good, and he closed his eyes and let it bounce off his head and shoulders. The Bowmont Blues. Was he making a stupid mistake? Should he wait? Spots did open in September sometimes, although not really at AAA. He was kind of fooling himself there. But drop down? Would he ever get back? What was this coach like? Did she know her hockey?

  With so many questions racing through his head, it was hard to enjoy the shower.

  He got out and ran a hand over the mirror to wipe away the mist. The face of a little kid looked back. Some boys in grade seven had hairy legs and a bit of a moustache already, and then there was him. He could pass for a grade four. He turned away in disgust and got dressed.

  Wandering back to the living room, he saw his mom and Maddy sitting on the couch together.

  “That was fast,” he said to Maddy.

  “I … There wasn’t much to do.” Her eyes looked a little red and puffy. “I’ve been here for a few minutes.”

  “I was taking a shower, even though I didn’t need one,” Rocket joked.

  His mom slapped Maddy’s knee and got up. “We’ll pick this up another day,” she said to her. “Bryan, I had a quick look through the forms. I hope we can find other parents to give you a lift. Otherwise, I don’t know what we’ll do. The home rink is far, like an hour away, without traffic. A seven o’clock game would be a nightmare.”

  “We’ll figure it out. I’m sure there’s someone. I think the first practice is this Wednesday.”

  She stared wide-eyed out the window. “I have a shift Wednesday. I’ll ask Griffen if he can help out. Anyway … excuse me.” She went to her bedroom.

  “What were you guys talking about?” he said.

  Maddy crossed her legs. “Nothing. Just stuff. How was the shower?”

  He sat on the other side of the couch. “The shower was hot and soapy. Very unusual.”

  “At least you took one — that’s a first.”

  “Hey, I’m a new man.” He waited for a sec. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, Bryan,” she said forcefully.

  “Cool. Anyway, it was nice of Griffen to drive me, even with the complaining.”

  “Yeah. He’s awesome.”

  That’s all he needed to hear. They must have had a fight, which they did all the time. He didn’t understand Griffen. Maddy was as close to a perfect kid as you could get. She was a genius at school, got all A’s and never got in trouble. He got that Griffen hadn’t signed up to be her dad, and it wasn’t his fault Maddy’s mom took off like that. But it wasn’t Maddy’s fault, either.

  “I think my mom’s going out with him tonight.” He followed her eyes to his mom’s bedroom. “They’re not …”

  “I doubt it, but how freaky would that be?”

  They both fell quiet and then burst out laughing.

  “Hey, sis! Are you stoked about our family camping trip?” he said in an excited, happy voice.

  “Sure am, bro. Let’s have a family game of crazy eights.”

  “Not until we have our family pillow fight.”

  As quickly as it started, the joke stopped being funny.

  “Would TV solve your problem
s?” he said.

  “Absolutely every single one of them,” she said.

  He flicked the set on and punched in a number. “Perfect. The game’s not over.” He dropped to the floor and began to do sit-ups.

  “Are you serious?” she said.

  “About?”

  “I’m supposed to sit here and watch hockey, which I don’t really like, while you do sit-ups, which I don’t really get.”

  “I didn’t do my sit-ups this morning,” he said. At thirty, he switched to side crunches.

  She dropped to the floor and leaned forward. “I know you love hockey. Trust me. I get it. But don’t you think you’re a bit obsessed? Like, you just had a tryout, it’s nine-thirty, and you’re doing sit-ups and watching more hockey.”

  He sat up. “Weren’t you the one who told me not to quit?”

  “I’m not saying quit. Play. But, Bryan, come on. It’s fun to think about the NHL and all that, and I guess all guys do when they’re young. You’re not a little kid anymore, and maybe you need to be more realistic.”

  “Realistic? Because I’m a shrimp, you mean? Too tiny to play with the big boys? Thanks. I’ll prove you wrong, and Kinger and Adam and Ty and Barker, too — all of you.”

  Eyelids half-shut, Maddy let out a sigh and said, “It’s not easy being your sister.”

  Rocket began his crunches on the other side. “I’ll get you box seats, sis, but not all the time. I have important friends.”

  Maddy hopped back on the couch and tucked her legs under her. “I want front row, behind your bench, so I can tell you what to do.”

  Rocket’s stomach was beginning to ache. He reached forty and lay down to catch his breath.

  “Can you explain it?” she said quietly. “Just once, and I promise not to ask again.”

  He sat up and stared at the TV. He’d never tried to put it in words before, why he was only really happy on the ice, where everything made sense — or at least it had until he got cut from the Huskies. He turned the game off, the only sound coming from the neighbour’s television.

  “You’re so smart, Maddy, and you have tons of friends. You’ll be a doctor or a lawyer or something awesome. What am I going to do? I’m no brainiac like you. How am I going to get away from this place? I don’t want to live in this stupid, smelly building all my life, and I want to help my mom so she doesn’t have to work all the time. Hockey is all I’ve got — it’s the only thing I’m good at. And when I’m skating and playing, I feel like I don’t have any problems. It’s like life is better on the ice. Plus, it’s my only shot. I’m sure of it. Otherwise, I’ll be stuck in this neighbourhood forever — a total loser — another Grady,” he finished bitterly.

  “You’re not going to turn out like Grady.”

  “Why not?” he said. “He had a chance to make the NHL, to be rich and respected, but instead he got hurt and has nothing.”

  “I think it’s more complicated than that,” Maddy said. “It’s not like you become a street person if you don’t make the NHL.”

  “No kidding — I’m not that stupid. And I don’t think everyone who lives here is a loser, but you know what I mean: the gangs, the garbage, the street people — Grady!” He looked her in the eye. “I’m good, Maddy. Really good. I know it’s a long shot, but why not? I want it and I can play the game. I was the league’s lead scorer last year — in AAA — the lead scorer. But one idiot coach decided I was too small and no one else wanted me. I’m not going to be washed up at thirteen.” He slapped the floor with his fist.

  “You’re not just a hockey player, Bryan.”

  He began to do more sit-ups.

  She was wrong. Dead wrong.

  Without hockey, he was nobody — a nobody going nowhere.

  CHAPTER 16

  Rocket stopped in front of the door to calm his nerves. He’d played in plenty of big games, finals in tournaments, league championships. But he’d never been more scared than he was right now, about to start his first practice with the Blues.

  “That’s the right door.”

  He flushed. “Hi, Coach. I couldn’t remember if it was three or four.”

  “It’s three,” she said. “Tell the boys I want them dressed in ten minutes, then I’m coming in.”

  Rocket pushed the door. The guys were talking to each other; there was lots of laughing. It sounded like a typical hockey dressing room. It was also the sound of guys who knew each other, which meant he was most definitely an outsider.

  The first problem was finding a seat. Griffen had been late, as usual, and the room was full. Rocket leaned his sticks against the wall and took a few steps forward. He looked like an idiot, and he knew it.

  “There’s a spot over here,” said a kid, pulling his bag over and sliding to the side to make room.

  It was the same kid he’d run into at the tryout — André. Rocket sat, unzipped his bag, pulled out his pants and began hunting around for his jock.

  The volume level dropped slowly, until no one was really talking much. Rocket snuck a peek as he put on his shin pads. All eyes were on him. He struggled to think of something to say to break the ice. He prayed he wasn’t turning red.

  “How’s the noggin?” André said to him.

  Rocket sat up and touched his temple. “I’m good. I don’t think I hit my head. Stupid of me — I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  “Coach Sonia’s a fanatic about concussions — likes us to play hard, though.”

  “You played for her last year?”

  He nodded, his smile slightly cockeyed. “Most of us did. We started together in select and then A and last year up to AA …”

  “Make something up,” a fair-haired boy said from across the room.

  A few of the boys began to laugh.

  “Why bother? We can’t do worse this year,” André said. All the guys laughed this time. “But you may as well tell him, Noah.”

  Noah, the fair-haired boy, looked disgusted. “You all think it’s funny, and Coach Sonia tells us to just have fun, but we only won one game all year, and that was in a tournament.”

  “Coach isn’t like that,” André said. “She wants us to win. We all do. It was only our first year in AA. We’ll be ready this season.”

  Rocket pulled on his pants and began to tape his socks. One win — at least that was one more than he’d thought.

  Somehow that didn’t make him feel better.

  There was a lull, and then another kid piped up. “You played AAA, right?”

  It was the goalie. Rocket was startled. He hadn’t expected someone to come right out and ask.

  “I did.”

  “You guys any good?” the goalie said.

  “Good question, Dominic,” said the kid next to him.

  “Thanks, Blake,” Dominic said, and they punched fists.

  Obviously, they’d been talking about him. They may as well know the entire story. “We might’ve won more than one game.”

  “Did you snag two?” Blake said.

  “Think so,” Rocket said.

  They were all looking at him. He waited and then shrugged. “We might’ve won the championship.”

  That broke everyone up.

  “We could use a bit of that action,” Noah said.

  “Welcome to the Blues, bro,” André drawled. He was grinning as he held out his hand, and they shook.

  “Any other new guys on the team?” Rocket said.

  “Nope,” said Dominic.

  He was the only new player on the worst team in the league? It was laugh or cry time. He decided to laugh. “This new guy better be good,” he said.

  The room erupted. When it quieted down, Dominic asked the dreaded question. “So why’d you drop down?”

  “I don’t blame you, bro,” Blake said. “I got a bud who plays for the Sharks, and you’d think he was in the NHL. He’s on the ice six times a week, tournaments practically every weekend, paid coaches, crazed parents. Who needs it?”

  “It’s intense, for sure,” Roc
ket said. “Lots of hockey. The new Huskies coach is definitely a lunatic.”

  “Is that why you’re playing for us?” Dominic persisted.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Rocket noticed André give Dominic a stern look.

  “It was that and … other stuff.”

  The door opened and Coach Sonia walked in.

  “I’d like to officially welcome everyone onto the team, this being our first practice and all,” she said. “I’m excited for the season and I hope we all have lots of fun — and learn a little something along the way.”

  “And win more than one game!” Noah said.

  “That would be nice,” she said. “We improved a lot last year, especially in the last third of the season. Don’t get down on yourselves. If we work hard at practice and improve each game, the wins will come. They will.”

  Rocket could tell the boys liked their coach. They listened to her — like he used to listen to Coach Neilson.

  “I do want to talk about a few things,” she continued. “First, is the way we practise. Maybe last season we didn’t always concentrate enough. Teams play games like they practise. I want you all to think about paying the price during practice; that will translate into wins. Second, we’re going to increase our fitness level. That was a problem last season. So you have summer homework: turn the computer or the TV off once in a while and do some sit-ups or go for a run — anything. We got tired in the third period. Okay?”

  A chorus of “got ya” and “sure” answered.

  Coach Sonia opened the door. “Zamboni’s on. Let’s get going.”

  Rocket rooted around in his bag for his shoulder pads. He hadn’t quite finished dressing. His mom had not been happy to hear that he’d lost them. He pretended he’d left them in the dressing room at the tryout. No way he’d tell her about Raja; she’d flip out.

  Fortunately, she’d tossed some old equipment in their storage locker thinking she’d sell it one day. Rocket had found his shoulder pads from his first year with the Huskies. They were tight, but he could slip them on. They looked ridiculous, of course, and his mom had burst out laughing when he’d tried them on. She said she’d buy him new ones, but she needed time to save money, unless they could find a good used pair.