The Tales of a Future Hockey Wife

Chapter 57: Hamlet

~Eleanor~
~June~

Why did I agree to come to this? No matter how much I love Shakespeare, I should have stayed home. I should have sold the tickets to someone on campus before the schoolyear ended. We could have even made profits. I have been feeling off for the last few days. The end of the year exams have really drenched the little energy I had left. I am still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I am completely done with school. I never have to enter a school as a student ever again. No more classes, no more professors, and, most importantly, no more exams. For someone whose definition has come from school for such a long time, it's hard to cope with that fact. I have to figure out who I am outside of school. I have to find new ways to be proud of myself since I can't get that feeling by getting good grades anymore. You know that feeling when you so badly want something to end but when it does you wish it would never have? That's how I'm feeling right now. I want to go back to my first year of college or my first day of high school. As the arrival of our still unnamed baby girl gets nearer, I wish upon every star I see to go back to simpler times where all I had to worry about was how I would have time to do both math and history homework before my TV show starts.

Technically, we still have two weeks before her arrival, but she scared us last week. As Ben and I were cooking dinner, I started having these huge cramps as if I were on my period, times one hundred. My mind immediately went to contractions, so we went to the hospital. "Your body is practicing," said the on-call gynecologist. "It's getting ready for the real thing. If it ever happens again, time your contractions. If there regular or grow closer, it's most likely the real thing. Come back then, ok?" She was really nice even if she sent me home without a second look. I have to admit that the contractions had stopped upon her arrival, so her diagnosis was pretty clear, but still, I was freaked out, she could have been more reassuring. We came back home and have been laying pretty low since then. Tonight, is actually the first time I go somewhere other than the store. I really wish I could have stayed home tonight, but when I saw the way Ben's face lit up when he remembered that the show was tonight, I couldn't take that away from him. He too has been pretty much locked at home since the playoffs ended about a month ago. Even if he was able to lead his team to the final, they unfortunately lost in six games against the Niagara Ice Dogs. He was amazing, though. He's the one who scored the most goals in the entire series this year, and he was given the best scorer award at the annual Major Hockey ceremony two weeks ago. I know he felt like he had something to prove after his injury, but I don't think he realizes that he proved everyone who thought he was unable to make it wrong a thousand times. He was just so focused on impressing the recruiters that he forgot to enjoy his last season with the Spitfires. Maybe, one day, he'll regret it, but, for now, he is still obsessed with his statistics and his ranking. He compares himself with other players in Canada and in the US to try and measure his chances of being drafted in the NHL whose entry draft is in two days. His agony is almost over while mine could still take two weeks until going away. Now that I think about it, maybe coming to the theater was a good idea, even if I feel like the biggest whale in the ocean. It will take our mind off of our problems even if only for a couple of hours.

He really got us great tickets. I try not to think about how much it cost him as I make my way in the middle of the fifth row. I notice that the space between the fourth and fifth row is bigger which is good since I will probably have to go pee a couple of times during the play.

"You'll have to take notes of what I missed when I'll go to the bathroom," I joke as he sits next to me. We both have been doing tremendous efforts to get along in the last two months. I wouldn't say that we have been tiptoeing around each other, but we were both really careful not to hurt the other's feelings. I went to a few home games when I felt good enough, he encouraged me during my exams even picking me up after, I let him go to the bar with his friends after games more willingly even if it meant I wouldn't get enough sleep, etc. We fell into some sort of a routine of pleasant conversations and sincere laughs mixed with stroller and diaper shopping. We avoided each subject that could end up in an argument like baby names or what he'll do if he doesn't get drafted. We have been around each other pretty much 24/7 after I quit my job at the bookstore in March. I just couldn't bear to stand up for long periods of time and kneeling down to unload boxes was an absolute contraindication since week 24. Overall, it's been good, even if I wish we could be ourselves completely like it was before.

"Of course, I'll even film it," he answers with a wink. We think of tonight as our last night out before the baby comes. I know that I'll only feel worse until then, meaning I probably won't be in the mood to go out much, and there is the draft ceremony that Ben will be obsessed with in the next few days, so this is it.

"Don't do that, they'll throw you out with me," I argue, laughing. He shrugs as he leans in to press his lips against mine in a soft kiss.

"Look around, I think we are the youngest people here," he whispers in my ear. He's right, all around us are people older than forty. The woman next to Ben gave him a surprised look as she sat in her seat.

"We lower the average age in here. Not everyone our age is mature enough to enjoy Hamlet." He smiles, pulling out his phone. The play is supposed to start any minute now, but many seats remain empty. I guess most people from Windsor are not mature enough to enjoy Hamlet.

"With the three of us, we have an average age of 13," he claims as the light from his phone disappears. I scrunch my eyebrows, not understanding his math. "20 plus 19 plus 38 divided by 40 all of that divided by 3 equals 13 point something. I did it right, right? Math was never my forte." I laugh a little too loudly for a theater filled with Shakespeare lovers which causes a few to focus on us for a moment. I ignore the pain in my stomach as I continue laughing.

"If that's how you want to count it, then yes, you're right." I lower my voice as the lights go out meaning that the play is about to start. I shift in my seat to get rid of the pressure in my abdomen, thankfully, it goes away.

About an hour into the play, the pain comes back, harder. I try to focus on the characters moving on the stage to get my mind off of it, but it only lasts a few minutes. I grab the armrests to relieve some of the pressure by transferring the pain elsewhere, but it doesn't help. I noticed a clock over the emergency exit sign when we first walked in. I look for it and check the time, it's twelve-past-eight. Next one comes at twenty-five-past-eight. That's thirteen minutes. It stabilizes there for a while, and then goes down minute by minute. It's a quarter to ten when I can't stand it anymore. I have managed to keep my pain in check, but with a contraction every five minutes for about thirty minutes now, it's getting harder and harder. I take one last look at the stage where Ophelia is singing and handing out flowers. The first time I read Hamlet, my favorite character was Ophelia because of how much her upbringing looks like mine. Ophelia's father and brother took great care of her after her mother passed away. Only difference is that it worked for her, she stayed naïve and childlike while I saw right through it. I used to love hearing Ophelia sing, but, at the moment, I can't focus on anything else than the pain I feel. At ten-to-ten, my hand goes from the armrest to Ben's arm. I grip his wrist hard, making him turn his attention from the stage to me.

"Something wrong?" he whispers. I nod, unable to speak. I point to the door and he nods, finally understanding. He grabs my arm to pull me up from my seat. As soon as I get up, the pain multiplies by ten. I hold on to Ben's arm even harder, my nails digging into his skin. I catch a glimpse of him as we pass under the emergency exit sign, his eyes are open wide, worry trace every single one of his features, and his mouth is set into a straight line. I would probably look the same if I weren't in such pain. I would probably be more stressed out about the fact that this baby is coming if I weren't so concentrated on wanting the pain to end.

"Is the bag in the car, Ben?" I manage to mutter as we make our way into the parking lot.

"What bag?" he answers, his mind completely elsewhere.

"The bag with everything in it." I packed a bag with clothes for him and for me, a few pajamas Josephine's sister sent us, and a few hygiene products about two weeks ago. I specifically told Ben to put it in the trunk, but I have no idea if he actually did it.

"Yeah, of course, I put the bag in the car like you asked me," he replies without looking at me. I roll my eyes; he didn't put the bag in the car. I know when he's lying and it's not these contractions that will make me lose my observation skills. He helps me get into our car as I feel something wet drip. There was a towel in the bag, but I guess we'll just have to get the car cleaned.

"Just drive, Ben."

Here she is, baby Johnson is on the way 😱