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rayden on the leg with his stick and motions over to us. The expression on Brayden’s mostly blank face barely changes. I flash my arm, so he can see his number, and smile, though he doesn’t smile back. He shakes his head as he lowers to the ice to stretch and I swear, he’s hiding a smile.
A little while later, Brayden skates over while the guys prepare to shoot some pucks. He doesn’t say anything, but he tosses a puck over the glass. I catch it and hand it to Jackson, whose eyes are wide as saucers.
“I can keep it?”
“I guess so.”
“Wow,” he whispers. He clutches the puck and holds it close to his chest. “Everything looks so much bigger,” Jackson mumbles, his face pressed against the glass. He suddenly frowns and looks at me. “Will the goal noise be louder down here?”
“That sounds the same everywhere.” At least, it should.
The guys shoot pucks and one of them hits the glass a few feet away, causing Jackson to jump and cover his ears from the loud thwack!
“I don’t like the loud noises,” he whispers to me.
Glass seats may not have been the best idea then. “Does it scare you?” I ask him.
He shakes his head, dropping his hands. “I just don’t like it.”
“There may be some loud noises here, but it’ll be okay. They won’t last long. Will that be okay?”
Jackson frowns, but eyes the guys on the ice as they begin to leave. “Yes.”
Whew. Good. Hopefully, that’s true. I don’t know kids or Jackson well enough to know how to react if he started freaking out or something, other than to leave. We sit and wait as the minutes count down for the game to start.
Jackson sits on the very edge of his seat, the excitement spilling from his every pore. He can’t stop smiling either. The anthem is sung and then the puck drops. The first chant of the night starts and I look down at Jackson.
“Let’s Go Rebels!” I shout and then clap my hands in time to the rest of the crowd. Jackson’s laughter causes me to smile widely. The kid is too cute. He shouts with me and the rest of the people in the arena on the next two chants.
He startles when two players crash into the boards in front of us, but after shrinking away, he moves forward, more captivated than ever. Thank goodness. He asks me what’s happening a few times, but I let the poor kid down because I have no idea what’s happening. There isn’t a broadcaster here telling me, giving me terms to use that I don’t quite understand.
Jackson gets really, really, really hungry and thirsty, so we leave mid-period for food and drinks. We’re just settling in our seats, not paying a lick of attention to the on-ice action, or at least I’m not, when the goal horn blares. Jackson apparently was. He jumps up, knocking his hot dog, which was in his lap, onto the floor and cheers, jumping up and down. The guys are doing their hug-celebration thing right in front of us. Jackson screams and shouts.
“I think Mr. EJ scored!” he says to me.
“That’s great.”
Jackson sits back down. His gaze falls to his hot dog and his eyes widen in horror as he slowly turns his head to look at me. “Ms. Deanna, I’m so sorry!”
“It’s okay. Here, eat mine.” Thank god we both got plain hot dogs. “Focus on eating, okay?”
He nods and I lean down to pick up his mess and wrap it in napkins to throw away later. We also got popcorn, so I munch on that. Turns out, Jackson was right. They announce the scorer as EJ. Jackson grins around a mouthful of hot dog.
Once he swallows, he says, “I told you.”
“Looks like you are good luck for him.”
If possible, he grins wider.
The rest of the game goes more smoothly for us. The zing of the puck hitting the goal posts doesn’t bother Jackson. In fact, he thinks that’s the coolest sound ever. He’s not too fond of hearing the puck or a stick or bodies hit the boards or the glass, and he still isn’t a fan of the goal horn, but I think he loves glass seats. I keep having to pull him away. He wants to have his face against the glass or an inch or so away. I feel like that’s a safety hazard.
“I wish I could play,” Jackson says once the game ends with a Rebels win.
“Maybe you can one day.”
We’re sitting in our seats, waiting for EJ. He’s taking Jackson home and he wanted us to wait here for him instead of outside. The usher asked us to leave twice before finally leaving us alone. I don’t think she believed me when I told her EJ’s meeting us. But she didn’t come back after that second time, so I don’t care.
Jackson has a wistful look on his face as he gazes out at the ice. They need to get this kid in skates.
