Never Forgotten

by Kelly Risser

  ***

  The Goal Post was a restaurant. One of those sports-themed ones that catered to the fans. It was crowded, but we managed to get a high table in the bar area. We ordered a pitcher of root beer, breaded mushrooms, and poutine, which was starting to grow on me. Sure, it looked disgusting, but the combination of cheese and gravy with the crispy fries—mmmm, yum.

  “What did you think of the game?” Jen asked.

  “I liked it,” I said. “Seems simple enough to follow.”

  “It was a pretty mellow night,” Katie said. “No fights.”

  “Right,” Jen said. “Kind of boring actually. So if you liked this one, you’d like one of those.”

  “Does Evan get in fights?” I’d seen a few guys slammed up against the Plexiglas during the game. Katie told me it was called checking. It looked painful. At least Evan did more of the checking and got checked less often. He was quick on his skates.

  Katie laughed. “What do you think? I’m not sure his opponents like getting slammed into the glass.”

  “Does he get hurt?” I couldn’t bear it if he was getting black eyes or losing teeth. Jen told me it was pretty common for hockey players to have fake teeth.

  “Nah,” Katie said. “They have all that padding, and he’s a pretty good fighter.”

  Ula was picking at the fries. She hadn’t said anything since we got here, and she kept glancing at the door.

  “Are you okay?” I asked her.

  “Sure,” she said. She gave me a half-hearted smile.

  “Is it that guy that was with you at the game? Did he bother you?”

  “Him?” She shook her head. “No. I can handle him. It’s nothing. I’m okay. I’m sorry I can’t go with you.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. We all called our parents on the way over to the restaurant. Katie suggested I just stay over at her house, and her mom said it was okay. My mom was fine with it if Lydia was, so getting permission was easy. Ula didn’t even try to call home. “Your parents are protective, huh?”

  “You could say that.” She looked out the window again, and then hopped off the barstool. “Looks like my ride’s here. Goodnight, ladies.”

  I gave her a quick hug. “See you next week?” I asked, referring to the clinic.

  “See you then,” she confirmed.

  Jen waved, and Katie called, “Nice meeting you!” After Ula was out of earshot, she added. “She seems nice. Dresses a bit odd, but nice.”

  “She likes vintage.” It didn’t bother me. I thought her style was kind of cool. Jen echoed my thoughts aloud.

  “Her clothes are wicked. Wish I had the courage to wear whatever I wanted.”

  “Why don’t you?” I asked.

  “Are you kidding? They’d laugh me out of school,” Jen said. She took a sip of her root beer.

  “You should’ve seen the Bob Marley shirt she was wearing the first time I met her,” I said. “If I could get my hands on that one, I’d wear it.” Katie and Jen exchanged a look that said “yeah right,” which I chose to ignore. I would wear it. I wasn’t much of a slave to fashion, so I had a tendency to wear what I wanted regardless.

  Evan entered the bar. His hair was damp and curling around his ears. He wore dark jeans and a gray, button-down shirt. Three of his teammates followed him. He smiled when he spotted me, crossed the room, and gave me a quick kiss.

  “Hi,” I said. “That didn’t take too long.”

  “Coach’s lecture was short since we won tonight.” Evan turned to the guys who were with him. “This is Joe, Peter, and Brian.”

  The bar had cleared out a bit, so the guys pulled over some barstools and joined us at the table. It didn’t take them long to notice our barely eaten appetizers.

  “You gonna finish those?” Brian asked.

  “Help yourself,” Katie said.

  They demolished the two baskets in a few minutes, and Evan finished my root beer. They still seemed hungry.

  “Do you guys want to order something else?” I asked.

  “Ah, there will be food at the party,” Peter said. “Kevin eats more than the rest of us.”

  “Ready?” Evan asked.

  “Let’s go,” Brian said.

  Katie glanced at Brian. Her expression was calculating, although I was the only one that saw it. “Can one of your friends ride with us? Then Meara can go with you, and if we get lost, he can get us to Kevin’s.”

  “Good idea,” Evan said.

  “How about you, Brian?” Katie asked.

  “Sure.” He nodded to his friends. “See you at Kev’s.”

  I followed Evan, Peter, and Joe out to the car. They recapped the game, Evan glancing at me periodically. I smiled, reassuring him that I was fine. It was kind of interesting to hear the recount from their point of view.

  Peter wasn’t much taller than I was. He talked a mile a minute and seemed to have an endless supply of energy. Joe spoke slowly and thoughtfully. He was lanky, lean, and the opposite of Peter.

  When we reached the car, Peter made for the front seat. Joe blocked him and asked me pointedly, “Would you like to sit in front, Meara?”

  Peter seemed surprised to see me there. Apparently, in providing his play-by-play of the game, he forgot that I was with them.

  “Oh, yeah, right,” he stuttered. “Sorry, Meara. The front’s all yours.”

  “Thanks, Peter.” As I walked around them, Joe winked at me. I grinned in reply.

  The ride to Kevin’s house was pretty short. He lived about fifteen minutes from the arena in an apartment he shared with two other teammates. The guys told me more about the team on the ride over. I learned that the players ranged from mid-teens to early twenties. Kevin and his roommates were on the older end.

  “They’re hoping to get picked soon,” Peter said.

  “Picked?” I repeated. I wasn’t familiar with the term.

  “They want to go professional,” Joe explained. “The Sea Dogs are like a farm team for a farm team.”

  “Oh,” I said. I didn’t understand.

  “Farm teams are where the professional teams get their players,” Evan said. “Are you familiar with the National Hockey League?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Where are you from again?” Joe asked.

  “Wisconsin.”

  “Milwaukee Admirals,” Peter said. “AHL.”

  I stared at him blankly. Joe shook his head at Peter. “American Hockey League provides the players for the professional teams. That’s where we’ll play next.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Are you familiar with the Chicago Blackhawks?” Joe asked.

  “I’ve heard of them,” I admitted.

  Joe nodded. “They’re a professional team. National Hockey League or NHL.”

  I looked at Evan. He was silent during this conversation.

  “Why American teams?” I asked.

  “That’s where the money is, baby!” Peter gave me an exaggerated wink. “I’m hoping for Texas. Love those Lone Stars!”

  “Do you all want to play professionally?” I asked.

  “Hell, yeah!” Peter yelled and fist bumped with Joe. Evan didn’t respond.

  “Evan?”

  “I’m not sure,” he admitted.

  “What?” Peter leaned forward and clasped Evan on the shoulder. “Mitchell, you’re the best on the team. You could probably go pro now if you wanted to.”

  “I don’t,” Evan said. “I’m not ready.”

  “Why not, man?” Peter pursued. Evan kept his eyes on the road, but his jaw tightened. He clearly didn’t want to have this conversation.

  “I’m finishing school first,” he said finally.

  Joe leaned forward and patted his shoulder. “That’s cool.” He gave Peter a warning look. “Don’t you agree, Pete?”

  “Yeah. Cool,” Peter said, although from the look on his face, he clearly didn’t mean it.