Love is Blindness

Chapter 18; Mysterious Voices and Fruity Breakfast

It was 2001. Or at least I thought. I was standing out on the ice of the Joe with my sneakers, jeans, and an old Reebok T-shirt. That's what I saw staring down at the fresh, shining ice. I lifted my head up towards the boards to see my reflection in the glass. Now I had my equipment, skates, and a Red Wings jersey that read H. YZERMAN. I looked down again to see my old stick in my hands and a puck was pushed towards me from no where. I took the puck and began skating around the ice.

The wind blowing my hair off my face, the speed, the feel of the puck at the end of my stick all just sent chills down my spine. After taking a few laps with the puck I began to take shots at the net. They went in every time and I longed for more of a challenge.

I retrieved the puck from the netting and circled the net, skating down to center ice. I stopped and turned toward the once empty goal. Standing in the crease was one of Detroit's many legends. Terry Sawchuck smiled at me then crouched down into a position that let me know that he was ready for me. I replied with a smile as I took off toward him, skating to his glove side, then at the last moment, did a spin- o- rama and took a shot at his stick side, going into the top shelf. I rejoiced as I remembered the feel of scoring. And what felt more incredible was that I put one past the infamous Terry Sawchuck.

As I made my way back to center ice, where a puck was awaiting me, my stare wandered from the puck to a figure on the other side of the arena skating towards me. I stopped at the puck and the figure continued towards me.

"Thought you could use some help there," the voice of Gordie Howe spoke to me.

I smiled at Mr. Hockey- young and wild as he motioned for me to faceoff against him.

"I'm not a center though," I told him.

"That does not matter. Have faith in yourself. You've seen enough hockey games to know how to win this battle."

We leaned over the puck as our sticks slashed together. I got to the puck first and got it behind me, bolting towards it.

Gordie and I passed back and forth to try and confuse Terry when another favorite of mine skated in to the rescue to score the goal. Ted Lindsay picked off a pass from me and got one in the net. I stared in awe at the fantastic goal I had just witnessed.

We continued to play and one by one some of my favorite players approached to join us. Sergei Fedorov was next. Then Brendan Shanahan, Igor Larionov, then finally one of my favorites, Vladimir Konstantinov. When he was on the ice that sent me over the edge. I loved watching that man play back before the accident in '97. He loved me. We'd talk during intermissions, before and after games. Sometimes my dad would ask him to watch me when no one else could. We still keep in touch to this day.

We all got a game going. Mike Vernon had showed up too and was playing in net on the other end of the ice. I looked up to the once quiet stands to see 20,066 fans screaming, cheering, and jumping up and down as our game progressed. I had a sudden burst of energy as I took in the appreciation from the thousands of fans. This was what I dreamed of when I was younger. To play in front of the adoring fans of Detroit. To play with my heroes of the sport.

I continued to look around until I realized that something was missing. There was one hero of mine that I had longed to play in front of a crowd with, but never got the chance to be on skates with him. When we'd won Cups I'd be out on the ice with him but I hadn't helped to win it with him. That's what I desperately wanted. Everything else was flawless. Babs and even Scotty Bowman appeared behind the bench, looking as if they were waiting for something. Then I saw the figure of the man I'd longed to see. He walked down the alley way to the ice. He skated out to me and stopped. My dad looked down at me with a smile.