Picks and Sticks

by Michèle Muzzi

  “Hey, Jane! Take a shot!” George said, skating to his net. He passed her a puck. She circled around and rushed him as Mike tried to stop her. “You two — cut it out!” her brother demanded.

  “Give me my stick, Legs!” Trevor insisted with exasperation. She ignored him. She out-­deked Mike, drew back the stick, and murdered the puck. It rocketed over George’s shoulder, high and hard into the waiting net: beauty and power in one deft motion. The puck rolled out of the goal and came to a stop in front of George’s skates. Exactly, Jane thought with great clarity. That felt exactly right.

  Almost all noise in the arena ceased. Jane skated around the net. Al had walked onto the ice and was pestering Ivan about the pathetic ice conditions created by the figure skaters and their ruthless picks. But Ivan was staring at her. Most of the boys had stopped skating and were watching her, awestruck, sticks idle in their hands. Irina was standing. George sheepishly pushed the puck toward Jane. All that could be heard was the grating sound of Al’s voice.

  “Stupid toe picks. Can’t ya fill in these holes, Ivan? My boys are trippin’ all over the place … Hey, what the … hey you, git off the ice! What’s goin’ on, here, Mike? Git yer sister off!”

  Jane returned Trevor’s stick, caught Ivan’s eye, and hurried off. All the boys watched her go before they began to circle the rink again. She glared at her gaping mother as she came off the ice, put on her skate guards, and marched past.

  “Jane.”

  Not going to respond.

  “Jane!”

  Jane raced ahead, grabbed her bag out of the elite skaters’ dressing room, and disappeared into the regular dressing room that was filled with figure skaters who were changing. Deb followed her in.

  “Let’s go, Jane,” she said curtly. “Len wants you back here early tonight.”

  “I’ve got a test to make up after school.”

  “Well, I guess you’ll just have to jog back here as quickly as you can after that.”

  “You think it’d be fine if I just walk, Mom?”

  “Jogging builds up on-­ice stamina.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Jane, you’ve already embarrassed yourself once too often today. Let’s go.”

  “Because I fell hard, Mom? Seriously? You’re the embarrassing one.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t want a ride. I can jog to school. It’ll build up my on-­ice stamina.”

  “Rude girl,” Deb said, low. “What kind of example are you setting for these little girls in here?” The dressing room was deadly quiet — the girls with their heads down, cleaning their skate blades. Jane already had her skates off and was stuffing her bag with gear.

  “Jane?” prodded Deb.

  “Is there something going on between you and Leonard that I don’t know about?” Jane said loudly.

  “Jane! That — this conversation is totally inappropriate.”

  “Is there?”

  Deb’s eyes flickered around the room.

  “Get in the car,” she hissed.

  Jane breezed past her mother, her bag bumping Deb, and marched down the corridor. If Leonard and Deb had something going on, she wouldn’t be able to take it.

  They drove to school in silence as Jane devoured a sandwich. Eight-­thirty in the morning and they were both exhausted. Their car was spluttering. Finally out of the shop and it still sounds like it has a death rattle, thought Jane. Just like Leonard’s. She was so tired she started to giggle.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothin’. You’re just so mad at me. Mad and tired, mad and tired, all the time. That’s all we are.”

  “Be quiet, Jane.”

  Jane bit her tongue to shut herself up. She would really blow it in a minute. Already had. Why say anything to a woman as worn out as her mother?

  Movement in the library park caught Jane’s eye. Someone was lugging a huge hockey bag and stick through the path Jane had cleared earlier. She turned in her seat as they passed the walking snowman, searching for a face in the parka. It was Irina. She looked perfectly at one with the elements, as if she battled wet sleet and snow every day of her life.

  “Who’s that?” Deb asked.

  “Dunno.” Silence again. They turned off McMurray onto Church Street and drove straight past their house, St. Peter’s Catholic Church, and William Beatty, the elementary school across from it.

  “I’ll try to make it back to the arena after school,” her mother squeezed out.

  “Why don’t you just sleep?”

  “I’m too excited these days.”

  Jane turned to look at Irina again, now on Church Street, watching her get smaller and smaller, a black speck against the great Canadian landscape. Jane wanted to be that small in her mother’s lens. Instead, she was magnified ten thousand times — or her figure skating was — the only happy thing in her mother’s life.

  There was no way she could tell her mother about the hockey practice. Deb would lose it completely. If she was going to practise her old hockey skills, her mother could know nothing about it. She and Leonard would go ballistic. It might even drive them closer.

  Strange how quickly she was committing to hockey mentally. A thought jarred her. She had left Mike’s stick on the top shelf. He would notice its absence immediately. Probably already had.

  Deb was watching her. Jane turned forward and ate. Often they talked despite their exhaustion, but Jane felt so distant from her mother now. She listened to the car rattle and to the windshield wipers squeak as they pushed aside the wet snow. The distance between them just seemed to be growing and growing the older she got, like a blizzard of feelings that couldn’t be shovelled aside, and just kept piling up. Soon she wouldn’t be able to make out her mother’s face two feet in front of her, the storm between them would be so thick.

  Jane realized she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything if she didn’t attack the subject head on.

  “Mom … please … can you just tell me if something is going on between you and Leonard?”

  “Jane …” her mother warned.

  “Please …”

  “… You mean something romantic …?”

  “Well, what else would I mean? You’re always taking Leonard’s side against me, agreeing with him, sticking up for him … sometimes I catch him touching you …”

  “Jane. Please … it’s … complicated. You know our history.”

  “Yeah. And it has never included romance. Ever. It’s just too gross to even contemplate.”

  “Jane!”

  “Sorry. But, come on!” The thought of Leonard as a stepdad was inconceivable. “Well? Are you going to answer me?”

  “No. Because I don’t know what’s going on myself.”

  “So, something is going on?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Her mother stopped the car in front of the school. Students were still entering or loitering outside. Jane grabbed her books and popped the last of her sandwich into her mouth.

  “Have a good day, sweetheart.”

  Jane hesitated. She swallowed and said, “I’m sorry I said that stuff in the dressing room. I … it was rude. But, can you please stop fighting with Leonard in public, Mom? It’s … it’s the fighting about training that’s really embarrassing. I can’t take it. And neither can Mike. And then Leonard always goes and touches you!”

  Jane didn’t wait around for a response. She got out, slammed the door, and ran into the school.

  She was feeling groggy and heartsick as she entered the gymnasium. She hated fights with her mother. It threw off her whole day. She felt especially guilty if they argued after her mother had spent a night cleaning and lifting old people. It was hardly fair. Jane glanced up at the clock. She was early for once — no post-­practice pep talks or strategizing with L
eonard this particularly heated morning.

  The enormous gym was her homeroom as the school was at capacity. The students sat in lines on the floor as they listened for morning announcements and attendance. Posters of various Aboriginal tribal bands surrounded her above the basketball nets. Students were divided into these bands as though into school houses, and she was in Salish, a peaceful tribe from British Columbia. It made sense, since her parents had come to central Ontario from B.C. I should study more about the Salish, she dreamed, staring up at the adorned heads of the various chiefs. She half-­listened to the conversations of the other kids and found herself watching Tina Tabobandung who belonged, for real, to the Ojibway tribe that lived out on the reservation on the large Parry Island.

  Jane’s eyes began to blur. She put her books down on the floor, laid her head on them, stretched out sideways, and battled sleep. Then she began to dream — her mother was twirling through the air, Leonard’s hands catching her out of a double-­twist throw above his head …

  She awoke to the opening strains of “O Canada.” She jerked her head back and wobbled to her feet. Trevor and George entered the gym and raced forward. They made it to their line beside Jane’s before the singing started. Jane, in a sleepy stupor, began to mouth the words.

  George belted out the anthem, jarring Jane into reality. He was the class clown, always had been. Smiling at him, she thought about her day ahead. She had four, forty-­minute classes before and after lunch, a math test to make up after school, then a four-­hour skating practice to endure. Bed at nine o’clock, eight-­thirty would be better. She snuck a peek at George as they sat on the hard floor. He pantomimed her hockey swing and goal, flopped down, then pretended to celebrate her victory like a crazy fan.

  The announcements came on. The first one took her completely by surprise. It was Mr. Marsh, the principal, who usually avoided doing them.

  “If you see Jane Matagov in the hallway or class today, congratulations are in order. Yesterday, at our very own arena, she blew away the competition and won the junior figure skating championships for the entire district. We have a very talented athlete in our midst, and she needs to be celebrated for her achievements. Let me be the first to say: ‘Congratulations, Jane!’”

  All eyes were on her. Mrs. White, the homeroom/gym teacher, along with Trevor and George, began clapping. Soon, it seemed as though everyone was surrounding her, pounding her on the back or hugging her if they could get near. George was more or less directing traffic, and had people lined up behind him trying to get to her.

  The rest of the announcements were ignored, and when the bell rang, Jane realized she had mostly been hugged by the boys; the girls had held back. A few female figure skating friends, like Wendy and Barb, were smiling at her and giving her thumbs up as they left the gym; snobs like Cindy Callow and Teresa Russo walked out, completely avoiding her. One girl hesitated in the gym doorway, a new girl who was at least 5’10”, but she just stared openly and left. Tina was waiting, though, and squeezed her shoulder. That was a lot, considering how silent and undemonstrative she was.

  When Tina left, Jane was alone in the gymnasium. With a sinking feeling in her gut, she realized Mr. Marsh’s announcement had probably served to alienate her from the female half of the student population.

  Jane grabbed her books off the floor and hurried to math class, her day already a bust.

  Jane left her last class of the day feeling very low. Girls with fake smiles had battered her spirits, which were already bruised anyway. She had absolutely no desire to return to the arena and skate for Leonard; she hadn’t even studied for the math test she was about to take. She entered Mr. Williams’s room, took the paper from him, and settled into a desk. She lingered over each question, delaying the inevitable jog back to the arena.

  After each problem, she looked out the frosted windows and kneaded her sore calves, dreading the upcoming run. She sighed. Leonard sent her running in the most impossible weather, providing her with cleats and boots so she could strengthen her legs in the snowdrifts. And her mother would monitor each incremental improvement in strength and stamina, and ask for more. It seemed to be working. Despite Jane’s resentment, she could jump so high.

  Jane finished the test and walked slowly to the gym’s girls’ locker room, where she bundled up in long underwear, a jogging suit, and her parka and mitts. The new, big-­boned girl from homeroom and English class was there, sweating as she completed a round of sit-­ups. Jane was in no mood to engage her, but she couldn’t exactly ignore her either: they were alone. As she wrapped a scarf around her neck, Jane said, “What’s happenin’? How many of those you doin’?”

  “Hundred.”

  “Cool.”

  Puffing through her workout, the girl said, “You must be some skater. District champion, no less.”

  “Yeah,” Jane countered, “I must be something else.”

  The girl continued to crunch her stomach. The conversation was over.

  Once outside, Jane attached the cleats to her running boots, watching her breath as she stretched. The snowstorm of the early morning had passed, and she looked up, feeling the icy cold that had drifted in with the Northern Ontario blue sky, the kind of cold that stuns your lungs. It was probably zero degrees Fahrenheit with the sun still out.

  Jane took off and plowed straight through the snowdrifts, determined to keep warm. As she became invigorated and adapted to her pace, she found herself longing for the pond, wanting to go straight there and lose herself in memory. It would make her late, but she could always blame the test. She steered for it, running with great energy down the middle of the cleared road. She saw the pond in the distance and two figures on it passing a puck, one with white-­blonde hair down her back underneath a red helmet. The sight made Jane ache. She stopped abruptly and turned around. They were back at it, and she could not join.

  HOCKEYSKATE

  4

  The Hockey Skates

  JANE SLAMMED her mother’s car door shut and bolted for the school entrance. Late again. She’d have to sign in and would get a detention from the secretary for sure, which would flip Leonard out and practice after school would suck all around. Lateness was the bane of her existence.

  As she slipped on the snow and tried to catch her tumbling books, she narrowly missed crashing into Irina who stood before the entrance of the high school. It was winter quiet — crisp, white, muffled, crinkly quiet. Irina seemed to be searching for the courage to enter. The winter girl stood in a giant parka with strange stockings on her legs, but they didn’t detract from her beauty. Irina’s face always shone with such radiance. A latecomer ran past them; all was silent and empty again. The wind whispered around Jane’s ears. Her voice matched the weather’s mood. “You coming in?” she asked.

  “Yes … I try to …”

  “You haven’t been here, right? You want me to take you to the office?”

  “Hmm. Yes. I … I think so.”

  Irina stopped just steps into the high-­ceilinged foyer. She was toting a bulging, lumpy hockey bag.

  “You want me to carry that?” Jane asked.

  “NO,” Irina said, brushing Jane’s hand away. Her voice echoed back from the ceiling. Silence again. This girl could live in silence, Jane thought. She knew that language was a barrier, but being taciturn seemed to be Irina’s natural state.

  “Why Papa not take me here?” Irina burst out, lamenting, and Jane, moved by the girl’s fear, felt an impulse to hug her. She thought better of it.

  “Come on,” she said, and Irina tossed her hair back, flung the heavy hockey bag over her shoulder, and they strode toward a hallway leading out of the foyer.

  Irina lugged the bag through the deserted corridor for a minute, then she slowed, her initial bravery flagging. A tall, lanky boy walked past them in jeans and a tie-­dyed T-­shirt. He winked, then stared at Irina’s stockinged legs. Jane took a good l
ook at her. Irina was clad in a wrinkled school uniform under her unzipped parka.

  Jane couldn’t help herself. “What are you wearing? We mostly wear jeans here.”

  Irina froze. “Forget it,” Jane said gently. “You can wear something cool tomorrow.”

  “I … I am new here,” Irina whispered.

  “Yes, I know,” Jane chuckled. “Come on,” she said, glancing up. “Here comes Mr. Williams. I’m supposed to be in his math class.”

  They ducked into the office, but Mr. Williams was on his way in. “You are missing another quiz, Jane,” he said, picking up his attendance. Then why aren’t you monitoring it? Jane thought. Ugh. She was cranky with everyone. “I’m sorry,” she said aloud, “I’m just going to sign in. I’ll be right there.”

  “No, you won’t,” the secretary, Mrs. Blackburn, interrupted. “Mr. Marsh wishes to speak with you about your punctuality, Jane. Remember he said, ‘Next time, you and I will have a little chat’?”

  “Uh. Yes,” Jane said.

  “Time to chat. Have a seat.” Mrs. Blackburn turned her attention to Irina. “Can I help you?” she asked kindly, her gaze falling on Irina’s uniform.

  “Excuse … I am in school to … day.”

  “Yes. All right. Are you new, sweetheart?”

  “Yes. New,” Irina forced out.

  “Do you have any documentation?”

  “Sorry. Excuse me?”

  “Papers? Do you have …?” The woman picked some papers off her desk and waved them around.

  Irina nodded and dug out some documents she had tucked in the hockey bag. The secretary looked at them, confused. She stood, scraping her chair back, which made Irina flinch. “Excuse me. I’ll just go speak with the principal,” she said. “Wait there, Jane.”

  Jane had nothing to do but observe Irina, who seemed to be shaking now. Irina took a deep breath. She turned to the pictures of important-­looking men on the wall.

  “That one’s Mr. Marsh,” Jane said, pointing.