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“Yeah, you’re probably right. I got all up in my head.”
“You wouldn’t be the first athlete to get up in their head, you know. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
That’s easy for her to say. As far as she knows, I only screwed up today. She doesn’t know that this is the third game in a row that I’ve botched. Sure, we won them – I have that going for me. This would all be so much worse if the team had lost. But I wasn’t the one that led them to victory, that’s for sure. All I did was hold them back.
I’m going to be sent back down. I know it. It’s like there’s an ax poised over my head, held up by the thinnest thread. It won’t take much for that thread to snap. All I can do until that happens is live in dread.
At dinner, it’s better that I ask for all the details on Amy’s life. She just started her freshman year at UCLA, so she’s got plenty of stories to tell. I can sense my parents’ concern, though. They keep exchanging the sort of knowing glances parents do when they suspect something is up, but I do my best to cheerfully ignore them. I don’t want to talk about me. I don’t want them to know how full of doubt I’ve become.
Finally, while we’re waiting for dessert, Mom blurts out what she’s clearly been dying to ask all night. “Are you unhappy? Are you having trouble adjusting?”
“I had a bad game. That’s all.”
“It didn’t look that way from where we sat.” Dad lifts a shoulder when I shoot him a sharp look. “It’s true. You’re being too hard on yourself, son.”
“Exactly what I said,” Amy agrees. “Okay, so you didn’t live up to your standards. But your standards are, like, ridiculously high as it is.”
“They sort of have to be. This is the real deal. This isn’t practice. I’m playing in the NHL.”
“Which must mean you’re doing something right.” Mom gives me a pat on my arm that I guess is supposed to make me feel better. Right now, I only feel patronized. They don’t know what they’re talking about, anyway. I know they’re trying to make me feel better, and when you’re trying to make somebody feel better, you say all kinds of random things that might not even be true. At the end of the day, none of them understands. They’ve watched countless games over the years – they’re supportive, and always have been. But they still don’t know what it’s like to be out there chasing a puck and feeling like everything’s slipping away no matter how hard they try to hold onto their dream.
Once I’m alone in my hotel room and the family has gone to their own suite, I can relax a little. I don’t have the feeling that I need to put on a happy face for anybody. It’s a relief, since pretending can be exhausting. I’m more worn out from that than from the game when I flop back on the bed and pull out my phone. There’s only one person I want to talk to right now, maybe the only person who can understand what I’m going through and even give me a few tips on how to get through it. That’s her job, right?
Besides, I miss the hell out of her and it’s been a few days since we last talked. The sense of loneliness that’s haunted me ever since arriving here is stronger than ever as I pull her up and place a FaceTime call.
Any momentary dread that she’s not available fades away when she answers wearing a huge smile. “Hey, stranger! How’s it going up there? You had a game today, right? Congrats on the win!”
It shouldn’t be a surprise, hearing that she keeps up with the team. “Thanks. But between you and me, I had nothing to do with it.”
“What do you mean?” She’s at her place, I see, in her home office.
“You know what, it looks like you’re in the middle of something. We don’t have to talk about this —"
“Like hell, we don’t. Tell me what’s going on. You seem upset.”
“Not upset. Not exactly.” If I can’t open up to her, who can I open up to? It would be stupid to push her away right now, when it’s clear she wants to help. I need to get over the sense of embarrassment.
“They have me on left wing.”
“I know. How’s it going, transitioning to defense?”
“That’s just it. I fucking suck at it.”
She tips her head to the side like she always does when she’s thinking. “I’ve seen you play. You are a naturally gifted player.”
“I’ll try to keep that in mind when I’m busy losing pucks to forechecking in the neutral zone.”
“Why do you think that’s happening? And don’t tell me it’s because you suck – we both know you do not suck. So why are you getting in your own way?”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“You tell me.” She chews her lip and God, I wish I were the one chewing that lip right now. I wish we were together, without all this bullshit. Did I think I wanted this? Why? So I can doubt every aspect of my game? So I can wonder what the hell I’m doing here in the first place? Was I fooling myself all along? Kidding myself into believing I had something I don’t? It’s very easy to feel like you’re hot shit when you’re a big fish in a small pond. And that’s what I’ve been since I signed with the team. A big fish, thinking he would be better off in a larger body of water. How wrong could I have been?
“Well?” she prods gently. “Why are you doing this? Why is everything falling apart?”
“Maybe I’m not as ready as I thought I was.”
“Or…” She gives me a gentle smile. “You’re coming up with reasons why this won’t work. Maybe you feel uncomfortable playing at this level. There’s nothing wrong with that. You would not be the first person to get what they wanted and find out it’s a much bigger undertaking than they could’ve imagined.”
