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| 11
“Go downstairs, boy, and wait for me down there.”
I go downstairs and sit in the living room, fearing for my mom’s life. My mom didn’t show up to my junior hockey game at the rec center, and my dad’s obviously very upset about it. She was sick. When we came back home, she was coughing and noticeably under the weather. My dad didn’t care, though. Hockey is important to him. Whether it’s a kids’ hockey game orhishockey game, he was enthusiastic about it. Overtly so. The sad thing is...we lost. So it wouldn’t have mattered if she showed up. I played horribly tonight. And that’s why I fear my dad coming downstairs to talk to me.
“Your son’s big hockey game was tonight, and you didn’t care enough to show up. Do you know how that makes me look?”
I roll my eyes at his selfishness. I hear my mom cough before she continues on.
“I’m sorry, dear. But I told you I wasn’t gonna be able to make it tonight. I’m coming down with something, so I have to take it easy.”
My dad gives a scornful laugh. What a douche.
“Sick or not, that boy had an important game tonight. And you didn’t give two shits about it.”
My eyes burn with tears as I hear the sorrow in my mom’s voice. She had a long day at work, still under the weather. I wasn’t expecting her to show up to my game. I hate that he’s making her feel bad for this. Wiping my eyes, I get up and walk up the steps back to their room.
“I wish I could’ve made it tonight, Dan. But I had a long day at work—”
I flinch when I hear something crash. I jog faster up the steps and see my mom’s head cradled in her hands, my dad puffing with anger. I look around the room and see a broken lamp and a dent in the wall. He turns to me and has a look of annoyance.
“What did I tell you, Jacob? You don’t listen, boy?!”
I swallow before slowly backing into the hall. “I was just worried about—”
He stomps his foot, scaring me again. “There are adults talking. Go back downstairs and wait for me. We’ll talk about your game later.” That didn’t sound good. I don’t want him to hurt Mom.
“Please don’t hurt her—”
My words are cut off when his hand whips across my face, sending me across the floor.
“Jacob!” My mom shouts in obvious pain before coughing. I’m lying on the floor, looking up as my dad gives me an angry grimace. The stinging sensation only gets worse when he slaps me again.
“Stay down, boy. Since that’s what you’ve been doing in your games lately.” He squats down to me, lifting my chin up. “Look at me, boy. Stop crying. You’ve been sucking. You’ve lost your last three games. Larsons don’t lose, you hear me?”
I just nod, not being able to help the tears falling down my face.
“It’s not just me on the team, Dad. I have teammates.” I immediately regret it. He just gives me another grimace, gripping my arm more tightly.
“You’re the team captain, Jacob. Now you start high school in the fall. I will not have a loser for a son. You look like a sissy out there. If you want to be recruited for colleges, you need to train all summer. Do you understand?” I nod again, just wanting this to be over. “Answer me! Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. I understand.”
He lets me go. I slowly get up, wiping the tears from my face. Once I face him, he nods toward the door. I look at my mom one last time, and she gives me a sorrowful look. She mouths to me ‘I love you,’ and I mouth it back. Wanting to get this over with, I leave the room and let them argue.
I was thirteen years old. Go figure.
I need to stop having these flashbacks. It’s almost as if I have PTSD from my childhood.But maybe you do.Having PTSD would actually make sense. But that’s not the ideal explanation for why I work harder than I should as a hockey player. Sure, I’m a high-value athlete. And if I want to be recruited professionally, I need to work harder, naturally. But saying I had a troubled childhood where my father beat me is the reason for my work ethic will not sit well withmostgirls.
I have way too much baggage. I look at the most recent bruise on my leg and silently curse myself when I do the idiot thing and squeeze it. Maybe an ice bath would work right now. Walking into the bathroom, I turn on the shower. An ice bath will have to wait.
I just got back from practice, and the boys decided to go to a bar while I wasn’t in the mood.You’re not in the mood most days.In order for me to be in a bar again, I need some sort of incentive. If a certain girl is not there, then there is no need for me to be there. I have plenty of beer in my fridge. Why would I need to go to a bar to drink more of it? What’s more, I can just grab a beer from the fridge and chat with Leia.
Leia. My girl that’s not really my girl. I’ve missed her. I haven’t seen her for a few days now. The last time I spoke to her was five days ago on the phone at the bar. Suddenly missing her presence, I pick up my phone and quickly text her.Maybe we can hang out this weekend.
One week later...
Or maybe not. It’s been a week since I’ve spoken to her. One full week since I’ve texted her and one full week since she hasn’t responded. What the fuck gives? Did I do something wrong? I haven’t evenseenher for a week. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was avoiding me.Again. This is ridiculous. I’ve never had to chase a girl this hard.
