After leaving Stella to get situated in our new apartment, I head out to the rink. It’s only about a fifteen-minute drive from where we’re staying, but I have no idea where the hell I’m going. Thank God for GPS or I’d be completely lost in Canada right now. The traffic is atrocious on the way to the rink, so my fifteen-minute drive turns into a twenty-five-minute one instead.
I’ll have to remember that for when I have to come here early tomorrow morning.
There are a few cars in the parking lot when I pull up, so I leave my stuff in the car since we aren’t supposed to be doing anything on the ice today. It’s literally just like a meet and greet and get signed in kind of thing. I’ve done numerous camps over the years of playing hockey, but this is the first time I’m doing a month-long one that is out of the country.
Walking through the front doors of the building, I can already feel the chill in the air as it slides over my bare arms. I’m used to the feeling, but it always brings me a sense of peace. Like on the ice is where I belong. It almost seems like it’s something that should be humanly impossible, yet it’s something we do every day.
Inhaling deeply, I smell the familiar scent of the rink. It’s hard to describe it, but if you know then you know. There’s a coldness that seeps into your system and you can feel it in your bones as it settles in your marrow. For some of us, hockey isn’t just a sport. It’s literally a part of us and something we could never ignore.
I walk over to the registration desk where two older women are seated. There are a few other guys here that are filling out some paperwork, but no one seems to notice me at first. I head toward one of the women and she lifts her head when she sees me approach, a huge grin on her face.
“Hi!” She smiles brightly. “Are you here for registration?”
“I am,” I tell her, feeling a sense of pride as I give her my full name to look it up in their system. It wasn’t an expensive camp, but there are many people who try to get into it each year. In Canada, there are definitely more opportunities like this than there are in the States. But it still doesn’t take away from how highly competitive it is.
Even though there were probably hundreds of applicants that were able to pay the fees to attend the camp, they pulled a curated list based on skill level. The rink offers other camps too, so that people of different levels still get the chance to attend. But for this particular one, it’s literally the best of the best.
“Here’s your paperwork, Simon.” The receptionist smiles at me, handing me a clipboard with a small stack of papers. “It’s just a few more waivers to go through and sign, as well as any health information, and emergency contacts.” She pauses and her eyes meet mine with a knowing look. “I’m sure this isn’t your first rodeo, so you know the drill.”
“Yep,” I smile back at her, taking the clipboard before I pick up a pen from the table. “I’ll bring this back over when I’m finished.”
“Perfect.”
This is how it usually goes, whether it’s for a league, a team, or a camp. You practically sign your life away when you sign up for a sport like this. Hockey isn’t for the faint of heart. A lot of people don’t realize how dangerous it can actually be and how fatal injuries can happen within the blink of an eye.
It wasn’t talked about a lot, but considering the fact that we were skating on literal weapons, anything was possible. It didn’t take much for a blade to cut through someone’s skin and nick an artery. Or you had situations like Vaughn’s. A bad play that ends your entire career. A blown knee that practically destroys your entire leg.
When you play a contact sport, you have to accept the potential consequences that might come with it.
When I was in junior high, there was a kid on another team that got hit with a puck straight to the chest. Even though he had pads on, it hit him directly in the heart and caused him to go into cardiac arrest. They weren’t able to save him.
It’s fucking sad and heartbreaking, but it’s true. That kind of shit happens more often than the general public realizes. Not to mention the number of spinal cord injuries and players getting sliced from the blades of skates. It’s a fucking tough-ass sport, so when you sign up to play, these places need to make sure that their asses are covered in case of a bad injury… or death.
After filling everything out, I take it back to the woman sitting at the table. She politely takes it and files everything where it belongs. She hands me a schedule for the week and gives me the rundown of how the camp works and what to expect throughout the days.
It’s going to be long and fucking grueling, but this is what I signed up for and I’m fucking ready for it. After taking everything from the woman, I begin my own personal tour around the rink. She said I was free to look around and check out the locker room where we’ll be meeting first thing in the morning.
The locker room isn’t much different from your standard one, so I don’t spend much time in there. Instead, I find the tunnel that leads out to the rink and I begin the walk down to it, feeling the coldness intensifying the closer I get. I reach the door and push down the button that unlocks it before pulling it open.
Staring out across the ice, it glistens under the lights that hang above. It’s freshly cut and untouched. I love when the ice looks like this. Like there’s something so serene and magical. It’s also my favorite to skate on, which I think is the same for every player. You don’t have to worry about any other marks in it from blades. You effortlessly glide across it like you’re almost walking on water.
After staring at the ice for a few moments, I close the door and head back out. Stella is back at the apartment waiting for me and I want to take her out tonight as a way to thank her. I didn’t fully expect her to come along and be so flexible with everything happening.
She knows how demanding my schedule is going to be, yet she doesn’t seem to mind. Perhaps it’s because she’s looking forward to some time to herself as well. I couldn’t help but feel bad about her being left in Wyncote while everyone else was leaving to go do whatever they had planned.
Stella is like a free spirit, yet I can’t help but feel like she’s partially lost. You know that saying, “not all those who wander are lost”?
I don’t feel like that applies to Stella at all. She’s as lost as they come right now, and I want to be the one who helps her find her way.
Even if it means she ends up going in the opposite direction of me.
When I get back to the apartment, it’s quiet inside. I softly close the door behind me, my eyes scanning the area looking for Stella. Panic sears through my system and my heart pounds uncontrollably in my chest. My feet carry me through the apartment, and that’s when I notice her in the bed.
Her dark hair pokes out from under the covers and it’s a stark contrast to the white pillow her head is laying on. I didn’t notice her at first with the way she’s curled up in the center. She slept on and off on the car ride here, so I’m surprised to see her sleeping, but it was a long ride and I feel the same exhaustion.
We were supposed to go get dinner and explore the city tonight, but I can’t help but be completely mesmerized by how angelic she looks right now. So peaceful and so innocent. The last thing I want to do is disturb her.
I finally pull myself away from the bed and wander out through the sliding glass door of the apartment that leads to our small patio space. Dropping down onto one of the chairs, I pull out my phone and find a local Chinese spot to order delivery from. After placing an order, I realize we have absolutely nothing as far as food or drinks in the entire apartment.
I’m not sure what Stella likes, so we’re going to have to make a trip to the store. But that can wait until tomorrow. Tonight, I just want her to relax or do whatever it is that she wants.
Pushing out of my seat, I quickly check the time before heading out again. I run to a nearby convenience store and grab a six-pack of beer and a case of water. It isn’t much, but it should get us through the night at least…
