Alternative

October 18, 2008 at 9:29AM

I usually stay in bed as long as I can on the weekends, but I feel energized when I open my eyes today. There seems to be potential for the day, even though I have no real plans.

A text. 

Nico, a former friend, from way back.

I haven't heard from him in a while. He's asking if I'd be up for playing some ball hockey. A bunch of the guys are getting together, and they need more players. I start typing without really thinking.

Definitely. What time?

I wonder if this will come as a surprise to him. He's asked me to play sports a handful of times in the last year and I haven't ever agreed until now. We don't have much in common anymore, but he's pretty persistent about it. Ball hockey actually sounded kind of fun.

Nico, Jeremy and Dave, who are all going to be there, used to be good friends of mine. We all went to the same elementary and middle schools. They were the popular guys—good at sports, did well in school, girls liked them. And I used to be one of them. I actually fit in, held my own. Sometimes I felt like I might actually be the leader of the pack; I was probably the best hockey player out of all of us. But things started to change in middle school. They were just as cool as they used to be, had the same level of confidence, but I was starting to crumble, to reveal that thing. A ball hockey game in gym class led to a stick to my left eye, which made me cry in front of everyone; I turned down alcohol at a party because Mom had convinced me that it was dangerous; I gave this girl Mackenzie a heart-shaped box of chocolates, not knowing that she was already dating Nico, which made me look ridiculous, made everyone embarrassed for me. 

There was something missing with me. Something wrong. And this just became clearer to everyone as we got closer to high school. So, I stopped trying. I avoided Nico, Jeremy and Dave, and other friends, and decided that if I just kept clear of them, they wouldn't have to reject me to my face. We could just go our separate ways, and I could pretend that it was really my choice.

As I approach the outdoor, concrete rink, I see Nico and Jeremy look up and notice me. They both tilt their heads up to acknowledge me and then quickly go back to chatting with Dave, whose back was turned to me.

Walking towards them, I start thinking about Beth: this little secret I have. The idea of me dating someone would probably shock these guys. I wonder if any of them would try hitting on her if they got the chance. She was just as cute as girls they dated. Much cuter, in my mind.

When I get down to the rink, Nico and Jeremy ask me where I've been, why I switched schools. I hadn't actually told anyone I was leaving my old school. 

I guess I didn't think anyone would notice.

"Just wanted to mix it up," I say, trying to be as nonchalant as possible.

It seems like they aren't really buying it, but they don't press.

We throw our sticks into the centre and divide the teams up. I'm definitely on the weaker team, but I secretly relish it because it gives me the chance to lead the charge. I like being the underdog.

Nico plays goalie for the other team and isn't letting anything in. Their team's defense is clearly way better. But I'm determined to score.

About twenty minutes in, I take the ball off of Jeremy and line up a slapshot that I'm sure will get past Nico. But it hits him square in the mask.

He rips off the mask and looks at me like he's about to explode.

"Dude, what the hell are you doing?"

Shit. I suddenly realize that slap shots probably aren't allowed in ball hockey. I knew that, hadn't I? How had it escaped me? I blurt out a weak "sorry," which he seems to accept, and we carry on with the game.

I think I hear a couple guys mutter something about me. Maybe I'm just being paranoid. It was an easy mistake to make and Nico's fine. He has the mask on for a reason.

As the game goes on, I lose myself in it. Pouring sweat, racing across the court. And I'm doing well. I remember that I'm actually good at this. I may be a bit of a weirdo socially but on the ice/concrete/field, whatever sports arena, I'm okay. I feel strong, demonstrating a talent I rarely get to showcase anymore. I'm not even worried about getting hurt; nobody can mess with me.

I'm so absorbed in the game that I totally forget about the slapshot incident and actually take another one. 

This one hits Nico directly in the mask again; and this time, he full-on charges at me.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he screams, moving to tackle me. A few of the other guys hold him back.

"Why don't you just go home, man?" Jeremy says.

I look over at Jeremy, stunned, unable to form a proper sentence...

"That was, uh.... I made... sorry."

Nico looks like he wanted to rip my head off.

"I told you no slap shots and you just did it again. Are you trying to start something or just fucking stupid?"

"Nico... I said I was sorry, man."

"Go home, dude."

I nod and turn away silently. It feels like my legs aren't working, but I carry them forward as best as I can.

How did I so completely mess up? I hadn't actually meant to hurt Nico: I was just into the game. Overzealous or whatever. Maybe it had been too long since I'd had a chance to play. Subconsciously making up for lost time or something.

It doesn't matter. Those guys probably didn't want me there to begin with. Why did they even invite me? Just so they could get to an even number of players or something? I was just another body, useful for the game, but not even worth having there, ultimately more trouble than I was worth.

I turn back towards them as I leave the park and can see them huddle around Nico, probably talking about what a dipshit or asshole or loser I was. I don't know what insult perfectly encapsulated me, but I could imagine any of them being used. The meaning didn't need to be exact, just had to be a clear separation between me and them. They were the good, popular guys and I was the outcast who was better off alone, at some random alternative school, never to be seen or heard from again. 

Whatever. Screw them.

Walking back home. Approach the house.

Mom steps out, about to take Hank for a walk.

She's eyeing my hockey stick which means I'll have to say something about the game, and if it doesn't sound completely honest, I'm going to face a stream of tough questions.

"Were you playing with Nico and those other guys down at the park?"

"Yep."

"How was it?"

"It was good. Our team lost, but I had fun. Realized it's been too long since I've exercised."

"Well, you're so good at it. It's a shame you don't play anymore."

"Yeah."

"As long as you wear a helmet on the ice, you should be fine to go back to hockey. I know you were worried last time—"

"Okay, can we not talk about it?"

She looks irritated after this last comment.

"Whatever. Just trying to be helpful. I have to walk Hank."

Hank jumps up towards me, but she pulls him away, eager to get on with the walk.

Back inside, I draw a bath for myself and make it hot enough so that my skin burns a little bit.

Things have been going well with Beth, I was generally feeling pretty good. But I still can't even manage a short, simple interaction with Mom. Why did we get on each other's nerves so much?

Maybe I just hated the way she looked at me sometimes. Like I was someone who needed help. Someone who struggled and would continue to struggle throughout their life. 

I don't want to be that person. I don't want to be looked at that way.