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“You’ll figure it out. You always do.”
After my tardy lunch date with Roxanne, I stroll through the arena, lost in tumultuous thought. I don’t even question when I find myself sitting in the stands, stumbling on Wilder’s outreach program, which teaches less fortunate kids from around the city how to play the game we both love so much. It’s one of the rehabilitation requisites I imposed on him. I know Rex will be pleased that some good came out of that wretched viral video, the same one that is not only gunning to tarnish Wilder’s reputation, but also the Guardians’.
I watch the group of preteens glide across the ice, their skates creating a rhythmic melody that feels like a soothing balm to my uneasy soul. The innocence and joy of watching them play hockey under Wilder’s guidance reminds me of how this game saved my life and got me to where I am today. The purity of their laughter and the determination in their eyes as they chase after the puck reminds me of simpler times, too, when the only thing that mattered was the thrill of the game. As I take in the scene before me, I can’t help but be filled with a sense of nostalgia, longing for those same carefree days that I was never given in my youth.
And if Roxanne’s assessment is on point, it seems that Wilder never had those carefree days either.
How fucked up is it that our childhood makes up for so much of who we become as adults?
That those experiences mold us in ways that we don’t even realize will affect every aspect of our lives in the future?
With Wilder, his wretched childhood made sure to create an anti-social man, unequipped to handle rage unless it involves a puck and a stick.
What did my childhood do to me?
It turned me into a runner.
I ran so far and so fast, craving to put some distance between who I was and who I wanted to be, that sometimes I don’t even recognize myself anymore.
We change, and we grow.
But sometimes, we grow into people we were never meant to be.
I bet Wilder never wanted to grow up and be depicted as the angry bully who couldn’t be left alone at a bar.
And me… I hate having become this heartless bastard who would turn a blind eye to his friend’s grief just because it was too uncomfortable to talk about.
I have to hand it to Wilder, though.
He’s at least putting in the effort to change and be a man worthy of the green and white jersey.
Question is, will I put as much effort into being there for my friend if it means losing the job I love?
My turbulent thoughts are interrupted when I feel said friend sit right beside me.
“Poor kid.” Rex chuckles. “Maybe suspending him would have been more of a mercy than having him jump through so many hoops for us.”
“Does he look like he’s bothered?” I ask when we both see Wilder laugh at something one of the brats on the ice said to him.
“Guess not.” Rex laughs. “I like him. “
“Is that your way of saying he’s off the hook?”
“Oh, that’s your problem. Not mine.” Rex laughs, washing his hands of the ordeal. “All I’m saying is that I like the kid. I’d hate to lose him. He’s got heart.”
“So people keep telling me.” I frown.
Rex turns to the side, fixing his gaze on mine before giving me one of his fatherly smiles.
“You’ve got a heart, too, son. Even if you don’t like people knowing about it.”
“I do, do I?” I grimace since I’ve spent most of this afternoon debating if I had a rock in my chest where a heart should lie.
“Hmm,” Rex hums with a nod. “Knew it the first day we met. Big old heart.”
“Not compared to yours, old man,” I reply in earnest.
“No, son. My heart left me a year ago. All I have now is a hole where it used to live.”
