Four

We lost our very first game 3-0 to Germany. Talk about a demoralizer. I’d only once gave away the puck because I was staring at Ziggy, which was quite an accomplishment for me, but that led to the first goal. It was all downhill from there. I made bad plays, I mishandled the puck, I basically sucked. Afterwards, in the locker room, there was no celebration, no cheers for a goal scored. There were no goals scored for us. We had absolutely nothing to celebrate for. The room was as quiet as a bunch of dead people.

I went right back to my room, not even waiting for Ziggy. I had made a little model of the German flag and hung it up on the ceiling, where I was shooting rubber bands at it, when he walked in.

“You know, somebody might yell at you for that,” he said. It probably wasn’t the most politically correct thing to do, but it felt good.

“So?” I handed him a rubber band and our hands touched for a half a second. I felt stupid acting like a seventh-grader, swooning every time he looked at me, but I couldn’t help it. It would feel so right if he loved me. I wished he loved me. “It’s better than having a German dartboard. That’s what Pavol Demitra was doing.”

“How’d he get darts on the plane?”

“I don’t know, go ask him.” I couldn’t believe I was acting so deadpan around the man of my dreams. Losing the very first game of your Olympic tournament will do that to you, I guess. I stood up and went to my dresser. He continued to hit the German flag, time after time. Good shots, too.

I picked up the lucky penny off of my dresser where I had set it when I walked in, flipping it over and over. It was cool, and I could feel the ridges of the Lincoln Memorial engraved on it.

“What’s that in your hand?” he asked, busy flipping bands at the flag. I blushed, thankful that he couldn’t see it.

“It’s, um, just a penny I found a while ago. It’s lucky for me,” I stuttered. He grinned.

“You have a lucky charm? I brought one, too.” He stood up and went through his dresser drawer before picking up something that looked like a twisted piece of metal.

“What is that? It looks like a twisted piece of metal.”

“Well, um, it is. But I found it on the ground outside of the airport when I flew to the US for the first time, and it looked like a piece of art to me.” He blushed. THAT rocked me back on my heels, Ziggy blushing. At me, nonetheless.

“Really? I found mine on the ground the same day they called me to be on the Olympic team.” I neglected telling him that that day I had obsessed over him for nearly an hour. That would definitely creep him out.

He nodded. “Bet you didn’t wish you were on it now. We sucked.”

“I know. Next game, I’ll bring my lucky penny onto the ice with me somehow.”

“What, put it in your mouth or something? That’s kind of gross.”

“Whatever it takes to win.”

It finally happened. Finally. Finally, I came out to someone. Granted, it wasn’t exactly the way I’d hoped to tell someone, and it wasn’t the way it had happened in my mind a zillion times, but it did feel good to think that I wasn’t living half in my own little dream world and half in the real world.

Practice after that first game was torture. Of course our coach was screaming at us for our half-assed effort the previous night. Of course I was only half paying attention (at least until Pavol whacked me and told me to quit staring at the clock; it made me look impatient). We had to do some weird winding drill all around eighteen thousand cones, which made me a little dizzy, and finally they let us free. The locker room was pretty damn quiet.

I was the last one out of the shower, shaking my face and running a towel over it. Marian Hossa was the only other guy left in the room, and the silence was awkward. Not the kind of ‘I’m in love with you and you don’t even know me’ awkward I felt a lot of the time, but the ‘we both really sucked today and there’s not that much to say’ awkward. Well, that’s what I thought it was. Apparently, Marian had different ideas.

“Listen, Miro, is everything all right? You’ve been acting really, really weirdly lately. Kind of dazed, just acting like you’re in a dream. Come on, the Olympics aren’t that awesome.” I had to laugh since they actually weren’t.

“Yeah. I’m fine. Fine.”

“OK, now I know you’re not fine. No one talks like that when they’re actually fine, only when they’re hiding something. So…spill it. Look, if it embarrasses you, I won’t tell anyone. I swear to God,” he persisted. Holy shit. This was it. If I told him, I risked major problems in my career, but if I didn’t tell him, he’d know I was lying. He was pretty damn perceptive that way. So, should I say? Or not? Wouldn’t he think it was weird that I’m just sitting here randomly staring at him. What if he thinks I’m in love with him? Then I’ll majorly be screwed. That’s it. I have to tell him.

“Ok. You can’t tell anyone this. I’m gay and I’m in love with Ziggy. Please don’t hurt me.” Well, that didn’t come out the way I hoped it would. Where the hell did that last sentence come from? Don’t hurt me? Who did I think he was, some evil punishing—aw, shit, this was awful! Could I retract it? Could I laugh it off and say ‘just kidding, I’m actually a shoplifter’ or something less alarming?

“What?” Marian just looked at me a little blankly. That was totally understandable, though. I think. I hope.

“Umm—,” I started.

“No, I heard you. Are you serious?” he asked. No, dumbass, it’s a monumental joke I’m playing on myself. OF COURSE I’m serious!

“OF COURSE I’m serious!” I said. I picked up a towel and wiped off my face for no apparent reason.

“Whoa, sorry. So, um, what are you going to do?” What am I going to do? What does he think I’m going to do? Oh… he doesn’t actually know. So I ought to tell him.

“I don’t exactly know. I don’t know if I want to tell him, or not tell him, or what. It’s a mess. I don’t know what to do.” I sat down on the bench, leaning back.

“Have you known this for long? The Ziggy part, I mean.”

I sighed. Should I tell him how long I’ve been obsessed…three and three-quarters of a year? That would seem creepy. Really creepy. If someone said they’d been obsessed with someone else for three and three-quarters of a year, I’d be freaked out.

“Three and three-quarters of a year.” Shit. That plan flew right out the window. So much for the not-looking-like-a-creep part. I was right, Marian stepped back.

“That long?”

“Yeah.” I glanced at my watch like it was all the most trivial of matters when it was actually very, very serious. “I ought to get back. I’ve got…somewhere to be.” Actually, I didn’t, but I needed an excuse to leave. The atmosphere was suddenly awkward, the air thick. “Please don’t tell anybody, Marian. It’s important.” I ran out of the room, having totally destroyed my image in his eyes.