Two

Thursday morning was cloudy and gray. Perfect day, I thought sarcastically. Can’t wait to get out into this. I checked the refrigerator, finding nothing, then remembering I’d eaten my last noodles the other day. Damn, I’ll have to go to the grocery store.

The store was normal, the streets were normal, everyone was normal except me. Yep, normal pavement, normal bricks, normal food. I tossed stuff into the cart nearly at random. Then it struck me.

I didn’t HAVE to be on the team if I didn’t want to. But I wanted to. Or did I? It was the pressure talking, the part of me that had revered HIM for so long and didn’t want to spoil that vision. But the other part of me, the part of me that had loved HIM for so long, wanted to meet him more than anything else in the world. More than a gold medal.

Did I really think that? Would I rather have only met HIM than have a gold medal, a medal, a perfect golden medal that showed how well I had played for my country? I thought I wanted a medal more than a Cup. Almost.

Wait—if I wanted HIM more than a medal, and a medal more than a Cup, did that mean I wanted HIM above a Cup? Yes, it had to. Well, that was it. I was going. I would meet HIM.

Suddenly I realized I had been standing in the canned food aisle, staring at a can of tomatoes, for longer than I intended. I have to quit that, it’ll make people stare. Maybe if I pretended to be contemplating them—well, that’s a stupid idea. Who stands around contemplating canned tomatoes? Nobody sane, that’s for sure. I wished I could stop thinking. I wished everything. I wished too much. Wishing wouldn’t ever do anything. It wouldn’t get me HIM, or get me a medal, or get me a Cup. Nothing.

I touched the lucky penny in my pocket.

Ahh, the game. I can relax, just play for a while, I thought. Uh-huh. I hadn’t been able to keep my head screwed on straight since they called me and told me HE might be on the team. What if that happened during a game? I’m on a breakaway, speeding straight for Ozzie, and I stop stock-still, dead in my tracks, while all five Isles beat me into the ice, and all because I started thinking about HIM at a stupid moment? I couldn’t let that happen to me, but what could I do to not think about him? I’d have to…to…um…I could think about that later. Just concentrate on the game, playing well against the Isles, yeah, I’d be fine.

We won, I think. I kind of had my head in the clouds for most of the game. So much for my idea of keeping in control. I was just a zombie, following the puck around everywhere. Twice I nearly missed line changes. Once I nearly missed a scoring chance. Boy, did I get chewed out for that one.

“Were you even alive out there? It was a clear three-on-two, and you were just over on the side with your head in the clouds, acting like you were the only person in the world! Good thing they didn’t pass to you!” Lindy Ruff hollered. I knew it had happened because I was thinking about how HE and I were both right wings. So we wouldn’t be playing together at the Olympics…just on the same team. God, that thought would still thrill me in February. It would stay with me for the rest of my life.

February showed up on my doorstep a lot faster than I thought it would. I had spent my months playing and practicing and wondering, of course, about HIM. The next thing I knew, it was February and I had to pack for the Olympics..oh, great, what do I pack? I want to look nice, but I don’t want HIM to know I’m looking nice for HIM because of course HE doesn’t know I love HIM. So what do I bring? Regular clothes? Dress clothes? Suits? Suits would be too hard to press. But I look good in suits—don’t be vain. Damn, flight leaving in three hours. Must pack! Must pack! What to bring? What to bring? OK, here, here’s a nice thing. I tossed random things into the suitcase and flew out the door. Oh God. Oh God.

The car was being naturally unhealthy. I didn’t want to take the BMW to the airport and leave it forever, so I took the beat-up Chrysler. Of course it gave me a hack hack hack ashew ashew clonk clonk oh god oh god I’m dying hack clunk clunk this is the end for me, Miro sound, but I made it. Just in time. Security, and onto the plane.

Oh. Oh. Oh. The closer I was getting to Salt Lake City, the closer I was getting to HIM. Obviously. But still, what would I say? What if I saw HIM at the airport? Would HE say hello? Does HE know who I am? Does HE care? Should I introduce myself or should I expect HIM to know who I am? Should HE say the first thing or me? What if I don’t even see HIM until the practice? We’d be in the locker room together. What if HE had a spot by me? We were both right wings…it could happen. God. What if it DID happen? What if HE sat RIGHT next to me? I’d die. That’s it. I’d just completely die. There is nothing else I would be able to do. It’d be so surreal, I wouldn’t be able to stand it—

WHAT IF WE SHARED A ROOM? Oh God Oh God, this is it, let me go home. Pilot, turn this plane around, take me back to Buffalo because if I step off this plane and HE’S in the airport telling me we have to share a room, I’m going to die, and I’m interested in self-preservation, thank you! My life will end right there and then. I should hijack the plane. Could I? I have nothing to hijack it with but a plastic knife and a gold chain. I could…um…give my chain to HIM. Maybe HE’D like it. Wait—should I have a gift for HIM? Would that be stupid? ‘Here, Ziggy, I love you so much I bought you this gold/spoon/watch what the hell am I thinking? You don’t get your teammates gifts. Not ever. Not even on their birthdays. Well, maybe on their birthdays, but this wasn’t Ziggy’s birthday! And believe me, I knew HIS birthday. I had it circled on the calendar and everything. I once sent HIM an anonymous card for his birthday, but that was the closest contact I’d ever had.

The pilot just made his landing announcement. God, this is it. I’m in Salt Lake City. I’m going to meet HIM.

The lucky penny was cold. Was that a good sign?