Six

I didn’t know what to do next. I stood there, dumbfounded, silent, while Ziggy stared back at me. Eventually, he turned around and went into the bathroom to shower, but I was stuck there for at least ten minutes. I left the room, but couldn’t think of anywhere to go. I stood in the hallway for an hour, waiting until I was sure Ziggy was asleep. When I crept back in, his breathing had leveled out, and I was positive he had fallen asleep. I lay down on my bed and let myself go—not crying, exactly, but lung spasms so badly it hurt, crying dryly for a lost dream, a lost ideal, a lost love.

The next day we had a game. I think. Yeah, we did. We tied Latvia 6-6. It was hard—physically and mentally. Every time I wound up on the bench next to Ziggy, I’d have to stop myself from either leaping on him and tearing his jugular out, or throwing myself on him and begging for his love. I think I may have scored a goal, but I don’t remember. I couldn’t concentrate on anything but the way I felt, and how I could keep myself from hurting too badly.

I asked for a room trade the next day and I was able to move in that night. I couldn’t do anything else. I wouldn’t be able to face him for any more amount of days. I could see my life beginning to spiral downward, into a myriad of emotions that I would have to face every time I encountered his team in a game.

“Hello?” I’d wound up with Marian Hossa, and I didn’t know how he would have reacted to my being there.

“Hi, Hoss.” I brushed past him to throw my stuff on my bed, which I assumed was the one that didn’t have a duffel on it.

“Should I even ask why you asked for a room trade?” He ventured quietly. I began to throw my stuff in drawers.

“Well, here, let me tell you the whole long story. I confronted Ziggy, and he says that he’s straight and he doesn’t love me, so basically, I just spent almost four years idolizing this guy, and then it turns out that it was all for nothing! Hmm? How’s that?” I realized my voice was almost at a fever pitch, and I shook my head and tried to calm down. “Sorry.”

“It’s OK.” There was a long pause. “Are you going to be alright? You seem to be pretty wound up.” I turned around to look at him, standing in the doorway like a little kid—kind of creeped out by Grown-Up Insane Gay Man whose Now His Roommate. Which was totally understandable when I caught a glance of myself in the mirror—wild hair from practice earlier, red face, hurling clothes into drawers like missiles.

“I’m sorry, Hoss, I didn’t mean to fly off the handle like that. It’s not your fault,” I said quickly. I paused while I closed a drawer.

“It’s not your fault either,” he said, trying to make me feel better.

“Whose fault could it be but mine? I was the one who fell in love with him without knowing him, I was the one who idolized him, I was the one who screwed up four years of my life loving him. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.” I sighed and flopped down onto my bed.

“You couldn’t know that he was who he was. And he didn’t mean to hurt you. I think you’re the one who’s blowing this way out of proportion.” That was the last straw.

“YOU THINK I’M BLOWING THIS OUT OF PROPORTION? LET’S SEE YOU DEAL WITH BEING GAY IN A MOSTLY HOMOPHOBIC WORLD, HIDING IT FROM ALL YOUR FRIENDS AND TEAMMATES, AND THEN FALLING IN LOVE WITH A GUY YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW! THEN LET’S SEE YOU DEAL WITH THAT FOR FOUR YEARS, THROW YOU INTO A CONFRONTATION WITH THIS GUY, AND SEE HOW YOU TAKE IT!” I screamed. This wasn’t very good for my team reputation, I decided. Tone it down, Miro.

“Um…” is all poor Marian can say, and I don’t blame him.

“It’s my fault. I’m yelling at you again. It’s my fault. Everything’s my fault. I don’t see why I don’t just leave the Olympics. Can you even do that? I’ll start a trend.” I rambled on to myself, then stopped short as I saw a glimmer of copper in the corner of my bag. My so-called lucky penny. I picked it up and stormed out of the room.

Once more, I’d fucked up my relationship with a teammate. Once more, it was all my fault. I was a burden to everyone and everything I loved. Scratch that. I was going to totally denounce love. Never again would I fall into the trap of being in love. My life, from now on, was going to be totally and completely devoted to hockey.

Ziggy had gone from the light of my life to the bane of my existence. He’d gone from Superman to the villain, from white to black, good to evil. I realized I’d been walking out of the Olympic Village onto a now-deserted square.

“FUCK YOU, ZIGGY!” I shouted, hurling the penny into the black street. No one was listening to me, or if they were, no one did anything. I heard the tiny clink of copper against asphalt as I shut my eyes. It was cold, and I walked back to my room.