Chapter 440: Joey XXV—Slug or a Star
Simple as going to bed without brushing your teeth, bah! Joe opened his eyes and scowled the taste unmistakable; he ran his tongue over his teeth and put his fingers over his lips. When was the last time he’d done that? Ugh the feel even scratched his throat and drifted up into his nostrils, he could imagine Debbie grimacing and pushing him away. For God’s sake brush your teeth Joe aye?
Snoring like a chain saw. Looking at Keaner sprawled in the next bed, an overturned half eaten bowl of popcorn snuggled next to him; kernels all over the place, Joe had to curl his lip and grimace. Keane’s mouth hung open, and the noises emanating reminded Joe of something too loud and grating, too comical to be real.
“Oh God,” Joe sighed and he sat up, he stretched and his muscles whined and twisted with protest, and then he belched. Eating half a cheesecake, some pizza, popcorn and a liter of Rum and Coke will do that to you. Back to that taste in the mouth…
Keaner we can’t eat pizza this late at night!
C’mon cap’n it’s simple as going to bed without brushing your teeth.
I really, really doubt that.
Ugh! Joe
burped again; foul old tomato oregano taste pouring up. Apparently that was
pretty easy. What’s more, his head hurt, not horribly, but he felt the
discomfort of a “morning after”, alcohol and food. He squinted at the watery,
clear blue skies outside, the sun not yet up, they would need to be leaving for
Celebrate what?
Keaner had waggled his eyes up and down. Can’t we just celebrate being friends or something? Hell we can even order a Julia Roberts or Sandra Bullock movie if you want, come on let’s Sandra Bullock, the one with all the beauty queens. It doesn’t have to be porn.
Oookay…
Joe cried out and his eyes pinched shut, momentarily over dazzled and blinded by the bathroom light. Growling, he squinted at his shadowed face in the mirror, probably wouldn’t be much time to shave. So much for randomly celebrating friendship, what the hell did Keaner think they were fifteen? It just didn’t suit him, maybe it worked for Keaner, and Joe felt bad thinking, “a slug” like Keaner but it didn’t fit him. Leaning into the mirror, Joe pulled down his bottom eyelid and gazed at the blood shot eyeball, “I’m not a slug,” he muttered realizing that his mouth tasted so horrible because he’d forgotten to take out his partials before going to bed, just another thing to be grumpy about.
With his tongue, he popped out the partials and clattered them onto the sink counter, not even bothering to put them in their holding case, and he dropped his pants. First things first, a shower never failed to clear the senses; he’d feel better after a good long shower.
“How ya feeling Joey?” Keaner said casually when Joe came out of the bathroom. “I packed your bag for ya, squared off the food bill, just in case.”
The belch just crawled up from deep within, Joe couldn’t stop it and he couldn’t help feeling mortified. “Bah! Keaner what the hell are you doing to me I feel like crap.”
Mike nodded. “It’s shit, Joey, that’s the word you’re looking for.”
“No it’s crap,” Joe snapped, scratching his itchy chin. Sure the shower helped, it helped a lot, and so did brushing his teeth, but that didn’t cut out the fact he needed a shave and bad. “Crap is the word, crap, crap, crap. What the hell am I doing listening to you for anyway, pizza at eleven, hard liquor BAH! And thanks for helping me pack.”
“Heh and I didn’t even booby trap the luggage.”
Joe sniffed, “Oh I didn’t even think about that.”
“Hey Joe where’s your teeth?” Keane asked. “Toothless Joe aye?”
“Yeah thanks to slugs like you,” Joe muttered stomping back into the bathroom to retrieve his forgotten teeth.
“Hey come on, that hurt Joe!” Keane barked, a little good naturedly though, “I’m just doing my job, weall gotta live off the gifts we’ve been given.”
“Right, right,” Joe said after he’d popped his teeth back in. “Let’s get moving, we gotta be outta here by eight. Bring the paper with you, aye Keanes?”
Keane nodded. “Aye.”
So Joe didn’t like to talk about it that much in the press, or to his teammates or even to his own son, but he did realize his own talents, and his own importance. Of course he understood it; he wouldn’t play as well as he did unless he thought he could accomplish what he could. But the lathering of compliments and accolades by the press and strangers, it just made Joe uncomfortable and more than a little irritated. It made him think of his father’s flashing eyes and heavy eyebrows don’t look at me, don’t look at the puck, shoot. Don’t stop stick handling, you won’t get dinner unless you hit that target, don’t look at me, don’t look at the puck, shoot.
And when his forearms twitched with rock hard exhaustion, when his little legs trembled with acidic pain, his father would hug him, you’re the best in the world my little son, you will be the best ever. You don’t need to look at the puck, you need to shoot it, you don’t need to think about the play, you just make it, and you will be better than Gretzky, no Belarusian pixie will stand in the way of my son, yes?
Yes, dad.
Oh and Joe knew his father was more than a little miffed that Gretzky still reigned supreme. Joe knew that his father was certain he could do more, he could be better; he should have done something differently. Well sometimes, some dreams couldn’t be realized. So being smothered with celebration of his talents, yes it sometimes bothered him, he didn’t want to say he felt inadequate, but he certainly didn’t rise to the level his father, and maybe he had envisioned for himself.
But then there are mornings, like today, when he picked up the newspaper on the airplane, smelled it’s crisp, dusty freshness, flipped to the sports section and found that little corner, that little list he had pretended to care little about. In fact, he had downplayed it in the press when informed that Peter Forsberg had been voted into the starting line up of the all star game for the Western Conference. Of course Pete deserves it, the fans love him, it will be fun to watch him…. And on and on… And he even joshed that the vast majority of Peter’s voters perhaps wore bunny ears, the reporters had laughed and the quote had gotten some air time on a few stations and Joe had felt overall pretty good about that.
Of course at the time Joe had thought that, his stomach zinged as he pulled the paper closer to his nose to make sure, he had assumed that, he frowned, well really he would have thought that the powers that be would have at least given him… hm… Well hell. Now he felt kinda empty.
He put the newspaper on his lap and folded his hands over it. Well now what did he do? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been, well of course as a younger player, a few years back, he’d always found things to do. But lately, well he’d gotten used to it, making the plans, Debbie excited, getting tickets for family and a few close friends. “Eh huh.”
Well Dad’s not gonna be happy, that’s for damn sure. Joe reached for his cell phone and noted that the battery had gone dead, probably sometime last night. Well thank God for small blessings. He couldn’t imagine that he’d just say brightly, “Yeah Dad I read the paper. Hey now I’m one of the slugs isn’t that great?”
Swift Current, 1987
The first time Joe had any sort of experience with sex happened just a few years ago, when he’d just come to the Broncos. The older players on the team treated him like a beloved little brother almost immediately, calming Joe’s initial fears that he’d be kicked around and hazed like some of the other kids he’d heard about. In fact, Joe thought now that most of those stories he’d heard about frightening painful initiations were just that, stories. And the coach, Graham James, was a wonderful guy, he never yelled at anyone, and he didn’t cuss or glower like Dad sometimes did, and he just seemed to do everything right when it came to making a kid comfortable.
Joe fast felt content on the team, he felt like he belonged somewhere. Not long after he joined the team, however, he did get an idea of how deep their natures could fall. Dirties, slits, puck sluts, puck bunnies, that’s what everyone, and not just the players, called the girls that hung around the practices in too much make up and tight clothes, or the ones that gazed and mooned after them during lunchtime. Really, Joe didn’t think any of them were that cute or pretty, and about all of them smoked too and he couldn’t stand that smell.
The funny thing about sex, Joe fast found out, was that his perception of it as something sterile and essential between a man and wife, or something glossy and backlit with weird saxophone music. Basements and billet bedrooms, adults never seemed to be around at that time, and Joe remembered that first time the guys dragged him into a closet, piled one on another like dogs overrun in a kennel.
You’re gonna love this Joey.
It’s pretty hot.
This is what you do when you’re a man!
Pinched and stifled, Joe stayed quiet, on the bottom of the pile, peering through the slit in the closet door. Within the minute one of the older boys from the team led in a girl, Joe recognized her from Math class, she was giggling and whispering and pulling away from him. But I love you, he said over and over, I love you, it doesn’t matter. Joe frowned, as far as he knew, the boy didn’t like her; he always talked horrible about her. And now he loved her.
He wanted to say something but he knew that would lead to a sure discovery and possibly being cut off from the team. Now there would be a permanent stain, not being a team player. So he sat with them, and watched, the hot breath of someone at his neck, wanting to slug that guy, wanting to push all of them away. What he witnessed was how ridiculous sex looked, poor pathetic bouncing bottoms, odd noises, even weirder sounds, stupid words, pale, squishy bodies, and everything just didn’t look right. In fact, he wanted to laugh. What the hell was the big deal?
But as the moans increased, and the movements became more rushed, and their bodies finally found a more fluid rhythm Joe felt his body prickle with sweat and he began to feel, well, just nice, real nice. So it looked stupid, it felt nice, that had to be the final verdict on that one.
And then someone coughed.
Within the instant the girl had shoved the boy off her, she cried out in horror and began fumbling for clothing, sobbing. The boy pleaded innocent but by then everyone in the closet was laughing; they tumbled out, pointing and laughing at her. Joe felt his cheeks turn red because the girl had stopped getting dressed and instead put her hands over the back of her head and sobbed harder to the ever increasing laughter. The boys even grabbed her underwear tossing it to each other and taunting its cleanliness.
Stop it! Joe screamed, Stop it now!
They all looked at him. What’s up with you Sakic?
Joe clenched his fists and went to the offending male, the one who had brought her into this trap and swinging he knocked the guy off his feet, even though he had already the hulking forearms and shoulders of a grown man.
Sakic what the…
Joe narrowed his eyes, stepping on his throat and with one hand he reached for the underwear, which the now silent boys tossed to him. All he could hear was the girl’s sniffling. Here you go. He handed the underwear to her. Now get dressed and go home.
I can’t.
Get out of here all of you!
Funnily enough, the other boys obeyed, silenced, not necessarily shamed, but silent, they slunk out. Joe didn’t say anything else to her, she didn’t look at him as she cried and she left.
After that the boys never left her alone, spreading rumors and taunting, and really Joe couldn’t do much about that. But as for their relations with him, Joe had thought they would have frozen him out but instead they listened to him often, included him in more things, and treated him with more respect.
You’ve got a leader’s balls, Sak-itch, that boy told him, his throat bruised with a shoe print. I’m glad I’m graduating before I ever really knew you punk. You’re gonna take them all away from me.
Why’d you get so bent about Joe? Sheldon Kennedy, his line mate said to him with an odd half grin. They’re only puck bunnies. Tits with legs, Joey, tits with legs.
Perhaps they were a little right about that. Girls rubbed up against him at parties, pressing soft breasts into his back, into his chest, hands on his thighs, fumbling around. It felt so nice that Joe felt the urge to take them into dark corners and have sex with them, but the image stuck in his mind of how embarrassing and dorky it looked. And he didn’t want his whole team watching either. The farthest he ever got was getting drunk and groping and kissing and clinging to a girl in a spare bedroom, but when she belched in his face, spewing beer and cigarette fumes, he got sick and puked on her.
So much for that.
The thing is, he couldn’t really concentrate on chasing girls, getting laid, watching guys get laid and getting drunk like all the rest of the guys. Dad had plans for him and that didn’t include having farting contests in the locker room, jerking off in the showers, playing outlandish pranks on the fresh fish and diddling girls between classes. Somehow, Joe didn’t see becoming successful in the NHL included being adept at those things. Well, at least becoming a successful star in the NHL. Any old slug adept at standing the opposition at the blue line could probably make a professional hobby doing those things on the side.
Ah so I’m a star not a slug that means no beer fart contests for him. And in a way, that made Joe kind of sad. They called him “Saint Joey” sometimes or “The Monk” things like that, and although coach and teammates both respected and liked him a lot, he knew he could never really be a complete part of them. It made lonely.
The absolute salve in his soul came with that cute little brunette Debbie, at first just watching her in her cute sweaters and skirts and knowing her labeled as off limits because she was a good girl. When that wasn’t enough, taking her, kissing her, claiming her and holding onto her sufficed. The guys sometimes hinted that they wanted him to “show her off” meaning they wanted to sit in the closet for her sake, each time the offending mouth fell from his fist bloodied and cracked.
When Joe finally did make love to her, it was in her bedroom, on her time, away from any of those boys. And how did she treat him after? Ignored him! Now there’s were Joe was confused. What the hell had he done wrong? He hadn’t raped her had he? He rolled it over in his head, and she’d told him she loved him, he made sure he’d been as gentle as he could and considering his own inexperience it surprised him that he’d clocked longer than six minutes. Or was six minutes too long? Had he hurt her? Had he?
After a month of him not returning phone calls, of avoiding him at school, it dawned on Joe that she was done with him. Well so much for good girls, so much for being good. Hurt and angry, Joe actually did give a few girls the time of day after practice. He grinned at them, their ugly tight clothes, their over permed hair, and he let them come to him, from behind from in front.
Sugartits bah, more like used bags of water still, he did feel good. Not as good as that beautiful moment with Debbie, but more like that dirty, stinky way in the closet. Perhaps that was all that there was for him all that… The kiss grossed him out, but he forced himself to kind of like it, just for the sake of…
Oh is that your little girlfriend. One of them sneered.
And here is where Joe wanted to hit both of those girls and grind them into the sand for even breathing, and while he was at it, check himself in as well. He pressed his hands into that girl’s soft belly and pushed her off. Yes, heartbroken, Debbie stood there. Joe’s guts felt slippery and loose, he wanted to buckle and fall, Debbie this isn’t what you think it is.
She dropped her sweater and ran.
In chasing her, in thinking that perhaps he’d screwed everything up for good, Joe made a vow to himself. Even if he’d lost her, he wouldn’t go back. He couldn’t. Debbie represented the light and clean that the rest of his teammates seemed to have forgotten. He needed her. He needed that.
The difference in the slugs and the star was as simple as decency and remembering to brush your teeth at night. Simple as being faithful and trustworthy of the girl who gave you her heart. He’d bruised Debbie, and when he caught up to her, felt her trembling anger, her hurt confusion, he had to reaffirm to her that he did indeed love her, and she would have to trust him.
Whether she
realized it or not, Joe had promised to himself, that for her, he’d always be a
star.