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Kos starts in the center. He skates forward and passes the puck to Costy, who dive-bombs toward me, dragging Jensy closer to us before Costy kicks the puck over to Burnsy, who swings back to slap the puck. But Jensy isn’t falling for that move and slides back in front of Burnsy right when he releases his shot, flinging the puck at rocket speed. Jensy drops a knee and twists, blocking the shot perfectly.
“Woo!” I cheer and skate over to J, patting him on the back of the head.
After a few seconds of chatter and Brett saying he got lucky, blocking that, we rotate one spot, moving into our next position. We continue to run this play over and over, along with a few other fun drills until our legs are aching and begging for a reprieve.
“All right, guys, I gotta head home. Laura’s making dinner, and Jack wants to shoot some pucks later, so I’d better get going,” Kos says as he skates over to me and daps me up before adding, “I’m always here, man. We all are.”
Somehow, my heart breaks all over again at his words, tearing every inch of temporary healing that I gained from this skate session.
My eyes burn, and I can’t manage to get a single word past my lips. I nod and bite the inside of my cheek.
We’ve already been here for over an hour and a half, but I don’t want to leave. I feel like the second I step off of the ice, I’ll have to face reality again, and I really don’t want to do that.
But I’m not sure I have much of a choice. Brett, Cam, Alec, and Matt all say their brief good-byes and condolences for the death of my love life, leaving Jensen, who is ready to go home, and me. I drag my feet to stay on the ice as long as I can.
“You hungry?” JD asks, slowly skating backward.
I follow him, forcing my feet to push into the ice, propelling me toward the open board door.
An appetite doesn’t exist for me right now, but I know I need to get some calories in after tonight’s bonus workout.
“What are you feeling?” I ask him as he takes a step off of the ice.
“Whatever works for you. Are you craving anything?” he asks as I linger for a moment longer before joining him on the other side of the boards.
As my skates hit the rubber floor, I have one request, “Whatever we get, can we get it to go?”
My chest is tightening more and more, and as I become aware that my breathing is quickening, I force slow and deep breaths in and out of my mouth to stop whatever spiral is trying to tornado inside of me.
“Yeah, of course. Qdoba?” he asks, as if anyone can ever say no to Qdoba.
“I’m down,” I answer, feeling myself start to dissociate and zone out.
“Sweet,” he says.
We quickly change out of our sweaty gear and throw on the spare clothes we brought with us. Luckily, I packed more in my bag earlier than I thought I would need. JD and I leave moments later and grab Qdoba on the way back to his house.
As we pull in the driveway, I can’t help the burn igniting in the back of my throat, knowing why I’m here and not at my own house. The same reason that my stomach has a twist in it that I worry won’t ever come undone.
My annoying level of self-awareness is a blessing and a curse. I am well aware of what I am feeling and when I am feeling it all the time. I owe that trait to my mom, who from a young age taught me how to deal with my emotions and process them.
The downside of this is that I am somehow too aware of my feelings. Because when I just want to sink into the pain and anguish I’m facing, I somehow mentally talk myself down from it. Self-awareness also means that I am oftentimes hyper-logical and analytical. I am aware of what is causing the surge of emotion, and once that understanding kicks in, everything else seems to shut down.
I guess, for right now, shutting down is better than crying, screaming, or punching. Maybe I need to shut everything off, as much as I can at least, and feel nothing at all.
If only it were that easy.
5
Charlotte
Iused to love surprises and the rush of being caught off guard with something exciting. But now, I would be okay if I was never surprised again in my life.
The day I was diagnosed plays over and over in my head far more than I would like. I wish I could forget it altogether, but that’s an option I don’t have. I can’t run from this. I can’t pretend it doesn’t exist and hope it just goes away. I have to face it head-on and pray that in the end, I come out on the other side, and it doesn’t.
Time to go to war.
The air has a crispness to it as I open my car door and step into the quiet and sunny hospital parking lot.
