Picks and Sticks

by Michèle Muzzi

  “Don’t you need help with all this stuff?” Trevor asked.

  “Nope,” George snapped. “Hurry up.”

  Ivan said, “Remember. Ice on injury. George, you go in and get for her.”

  “Will do,” George said.

  Ivan and Trevor got back in the car and drove off. George and Jane stood on the street corner, moments from her house. “Here. Let me take this off,” George said gently. He helped her shrug off Ivan’s coat so she could get out of her jersey, but she found it too painful to lift her arms. “OW, OW, OW, OW, OW,” she breathed. “Let’s just go.”

  George flung the coat back on her, and they made their way down the quiet street, Jane’s blades scraping on the plowed pavement. George pulled the tippy sleigh with one arm, and tried to hold her steady with the other. Jane concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, her mind flitting between pain and Ivan’s dilemma.

  “We gotta do something for Ivan,” she fretted. “This is terrible. He can’t be without a job.”

  “Why am I saddled with such an idiot for a father?”

  “I have come to the conclusion that most parents suck.” Jane breathed in sharply. She stopped.

  “Oh, man. You okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Let’s keep going. If I stop, I’ll lie down in a snowbank and freeze to death.” She moved forward gingerly. “Like my mom,” she continued. “I think she’s forgotten about my dad or something.” She tried to breathe deeply into the ache, and looked up into the sky. White clouds were rushing past the moon. Beyond them, she saw a falling star blaze across the night.

  “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “It’s like she’s in love with my figure skating coach.”

  “That, for sure, is not true! I mean, really, who could be? He’s such a goof.”

  “Leonard’s got nothing on my dad.”

  “Exactly,” said George softly. “Except he’s alive.”

  Stung, Jane stared at him, then looked directly at the moon and listened beyond the wind for soothing voices. Nothing.

  What Mom’s really forgotten about, knows nothing about, Jane thought — is me.

  7

  Irina’s Truth

  GEORGE AND JANE made it to the house. They could see shadows flitting behind the living room curtains. Jane pointed to the side path, and they crept around to the back. George stashed their hockey bags, the net, and the sleigh in the shed, then carried her figure skating bag to the side of the house. Jane huffed her way to the back stoop and managed to sit down. Pain seared through her. Her breath came short. George took off her skates, running back to the shed to retrieve her boots from her hockey bag. In the momentary pause, Jane looked again at the sky. The stars were unnaturally big and bright. She had forgotten to wish for a miracle on the last falling star, and prayed for another. George rejoined her, and they rested on the stoop for a moment, looking up, while Jane gathered the courage to take off Ivan’s coat, her jersey, and the equipment underneath.

  “I just wish it could be different somehow,” she sighed. “Be what it was. Dad didn’t care what people said, he let me play, he coached me, he … he …”

  “He what?”

  “Loved me. No matter what I did.”

  “So then, I don’t know, be like him. Stop caring what other people think and do what you want.”

  “Easy to say. Is your dad gonna let you do what you want?”

  “No. But my dad’s mental.”

  “So’s my mom. When it comes to figure skating, she’s obsessed.”

  “Can’t you tell her this stuff about your dad?”

  “I’ve tried … She’s got her own stuff.”

  “Yeah,” George said. “So does my dad. My mom … ran off screaming about two months ago, not to be heard from since,” he confessed. “My dad’s gone kinda berserk … like that scene tonight … Man, I’d like to think he didn’t mean any of that about you girls, but I’m pretty sure he actually believes that bit about girls polluting the game of hockey.”

  “I heard about your mom through the grapevine. I’m sorry.”

  “From who?” Jane didn’t answer. “Ah, it doesn’t matter,” George said. “We live in a small town, right? Everybody knows everybody’s business. Please … just … don’t tell anyone else. I’m just … telling you.”

  “I won’t. Has she written you?”

  “Not a word.”

  Jane looked at him, her rib muscles going into spasms under the coat. “Now that really sucks.” They were silent for a moment.

  “Let’s not get too morose,” George said. “I’m just thinkin’, you’ve played hockey now. It’s kinda like you’ve honoured your dad’s memory or something. Maybe that’s enough. I mean, it’s very cool. Already.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.” Maybe he was right. But I need to keep playing, Jane thought, I can’t stop now. She shifted her weight, and her rib became spasmodic again. “Can we try to get me out of this equipment?” she begged.

  “I’ll go get your bag. Why did we put it in that stupid shed in the first place?” The back porch light flicked on as George got up. He reacted and pulled Jane to standing. She stifled a yelp, and they moved as quickly as she could, fearful of discovery. She shuffled to the shed behind George. Their fresh footprints glistened. They watched Deb try to open the little-­used back door, but it was stuck by ice and snow. “Jane?” she called. Then they saw her turn back and speak to someone in the kitchen. Huddled in the small enclosure, Jane panicked. “Leonard’s there with her.”

  “Could be my dad, come to tell.”

  “Either way it’s not good. But I’ve got to face it. Get me out of this equipment, and let’s get inside. I don’t care if it hurts. I’m freezing. I’m barely hanging on.”

  George seemed to swallow her panic and grew nervous himself. “What have you done to yourself? Man, it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t been standing in goal — ”

  “Where else would you be? You’re the goalie!”

  “Clearing the net for you,” George said gallantly. They were nose to nose as George removed Ivan’s coat for her and lifted her arms. He couldn’t look at her now. “OW, OW, OW, OW, OW, OW,” Jane intoned. The jersey was next. He slid it over her head, checking her face. “Okay so far?”

  Jane grinned. “It actually feels kinda good.”

  His fingers moved down to untie the laces of her shoulder padding. As he undid them and gently slid the pads off, she kissed him on the cheek. He flushed red and carried on. There was a dicey moment when he had to take off her boots, exposing her bare feet, to remove the socks covering her shin pads, but they got through it, and George continued his steady and careful work until she was free of equipment.

  “Where are my coat and jeans?” Jane asked, shivering in long underwear and boots.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Well, she’s gonna notice that!”

  “Maybe Mike picked them up.”

  George threw Ivan’s coat back over her, retrieved the figure skating bag, and they walked to the front of the house, steeling themselves. Deb opened the door the moment their boots hit the stairs. Leonard stood behind, pinch-­faced and glaring.

  “Al called — ” Deb began before they had entered the hall.

  “I had to,” Jane said, cutting her off. “Just know I had to be there.” Jane stepped into the house and bent to remove a boot, but stopped halfway down. Even the adrenalin of the moment could not dull the pain. She stood as naturally as she could in the freezing doorway.

  “Jane, I’m trying hard to understand where your head is at. I’m trying — but this is insane. You are going to undo all we’ve worked for, all these years — ” Deb said.

  “Do we have to talk about this with Leonard here?” Jane interrupted again.

  “Leonard’s got a lot to lose, too. He’s put in years of work with you, and
you are throwing it all away. You are not being fair, to either of us.”

  “You’ve got that right,” Leonard rumbled.

  “Now, Gerald Finch feels confident that you are the next best representative for the senior division, even though you’re only fifteen. But you’ve got to prove that you are, Jane. Running around and playing hockey whenever you feel like it proves you are not committed. You’ve got to commit — ”

  “Mom, please, can we just talk about this tomorrow? I’m — ”

  “No! We need to have this out right now!”

  “I think Jane is just a little — ” George began.

  “Be quiet, George. You should go home. This isn’t your business.”

  Instead, George stepped in, closed the screen door, and set the skating bag inside the closet.

  Jane’s breath was shallow. She was so cold. George stepped closer to her and held her arm. “Look,” Jane said, “it’s … it’s impossible. That new choreography’s going to take some time … there’s too much pressure — ”

  “You can’t get nervous, Jane,” her mother pressed. “That’s death. You’ll just have to take it, moment by moment.”

  “You think it’s so easy to just change an ending? I’m not nervous. I’m panicking!” Jane stopped herself. She couldn’t let herself lose it. She was hurting too much.

  “How long has this hockey playing been going on?” her mother continued. “How long have you been lying? Bud’s godforsaken special place …”

  It was the second time Deb had said it. Jane couldn’t take it. “Well, at least there, I feel calm, Mom. At least there, when I skate, I’m calm!”

  “We’ll help you through the pressure of the competition, Jane,” Deb soothed. “We both will.”

  Jane felt a sigh swimming from deep, deep within, stroking past her injury, preparing to surface. She couldn’t drown it or dunk it back under.

  “I’m sorry, Mom … I’m just so tired of …”

  “Of what?” Jane couldn’t speak. “Of what, Jane?”

  Jane wavered in the doorway, George standing resolutely beside her.

  “Of living your dream,” she said.

  Deb looked stunned. “You’re not.”

  “I am, Mom. I am. Yours and Leonard’s.”

  Jane watched her mother sway. She knows it’s the truth, she thought miserably. “I don’t think I can do it for you. Anymore. And even if I wanted to … I don’t think I could win it for you. I … I love you, Mom, but it’s too much …”

  “Please. Let’s not argue,” Deb said hoarsely. “Please, listen a second.” She sat down on the couch. Jane could no longer stand. She left George, and eased herself to sitting beside her mother, boots dripping slush on the carpet, rib seizing her. Deb grabbed her hand, gripping her fingers.

  “I know it’s easy to get distracted from a dream, especially at your age,” Deb said. “I know. I’m a fine example of that. I was eighteen, on top of the world. I thought I knew what I was doing … Then I got pregnant.”

  Jane stopped breathing.

  “What?” she asked into the silence.

  “I met your father and that was it.”

  “That was why you didn’t compete at Canadians?”

  “I fell madly in love. It was great, I’m glad I had you guys, but there were consequences … I always wished … at least you are a solo skater. I let Leonard down, too.”

  Deb was staring down at Jane’s dripping boots, avoiding Leonard’s eyes. “Sorry,” Jane said. Deb reached down and took them off herself. She tossed them to George, who set them upright.

  Jane sat dully for a moment. “Did you move here because you were pregnant?”

  “Not right away. But eventually … we came here from Kelowna after your father played in Russia for the Packers. Your father got a forestry job. And Leonard followed me to Ontario, too, still hoping, maybe, after you two babies were born …”

  “You never told me or Mike, right? Mike doesn’t know this.”

  Deb didn’t answer. She pressed on. “Trust me, Jane, if you let go of your dream, and want it back again later, you’re not likely to find it.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom, but it’s your dream. Always has been.”

  “That’s true. I can admit that. But somewhere along the way it became yours, too.”

  “You just want that to be true.”

  “I can see it in your face when you are skating, darling. You are joy itself.”

  Jane tried to breathe normally. She was sinking dangerously low into the couch. “Do you think a person can only have one dream?” she asked.

  “Something always has to give way.”

  Leonard broke the tenuous connection between Jane and her mother. “We need a commitment from you right now, Jane, or I’m going to drop you,” he threatened.

  Deb glared at Leonard and stood up. “Leonard.”

  “Pardon me?” Jane asked.

  He dramatically strode to the closet and got out his mink coat. “Just decide, Jane,” he hissed. “Figure skating or hockey — it’s very simple.”

  “Leonard.”

  “Just decide,” he repeated, throwing on his fur. “I’m sick of this. Why are you even catering to her, Deb? I want an answer right now.”

  Jane felt sick to her stomach; she couldn’t think straight. With her mother’s imploring face before her, her resolve crumbled. “All right. I’m sorry I’ve … disappointed you, Mom. I’ll … I’ll drop the hockey.” She pushed herself up, a huge effort. George stepped forward to help, but she shook her head at him.

  “That’s settled, then,” Leonard said, then paused. “You look awful, Jane. Are you all right?”

  “Just tired.”

  “You still have the morning off. It’s late. I’ll have an even better new half-­minute figured out by the after-­school practice.”

  “Okay, Leonard,” Jane agreed. “But can you be nice now?”

  Leonard seemed to soften. For a moment he looked as though he was going to touch her cheek — a peace offering. “We’ll see,” he allowed, then breezed past her. George opened the screen door for him. “Good night,” George said. Leonard nodded at him, strode out, and was swallowed by the crisp night.

  “George …”

  “Yes, Mrs. Matagov?”

  “You’d best get home. Your dad was in quite a state when he called.”

  “Yeah. Okay. Sorry about that. See ya, Jane.”

  Jane couldn’t look at him. “Tell your dad there won’t be any more girls’ hockey to worry about. Maybe that’ll help Ivan.”

  “Okay.”

  George left and Deb shut the door behind him. She walked to her daughter and tried to embrace her, but Jane shrank back. Deb reached for a newspaper and busied herself cleaning the melted slush on the carpet. “What was that about Ivan?” she asked, glancing up at her swaying girl.

  “Nothing.”

  “My goodness, Jane, you look dead-­tired. Go up to bed.”

  Jane lay still in her bed, listening to the rhythm of her injured body. Sleep eluded her. She heard Mike return and go into the kitchen. The sound of ice cubes, breaking their molds, tinkled in her ears. In a moment, he crept into her room, a tea towel in hand.

  “You awake?”

  “Yeah.”

  “George put ice on your ribs?”

  “He didn’t have the chance.”

  “Here, then. Ivan said to put ice on your ribs. I would’ve said heat, but he insisted on ice. Guess he knows more than me. Is it swollen?”

  “It’s spasming every thirty seconds.”

  “Show me where.” He helped her lift the blankets and her undershirt. “Man. What have you done?” he exclaimed softly, awed by the spreading colours.

  “Who knows.”

  He positioned the ice-­filled tea towel and said, “Ivan sai
d to go over there, first light. I’ll take you. Did Mom notice?”

  “I don’t think so. She was too busy making sure I remain a figure skater for the rest of my days. Do you have my coat?”

  “No.”

  “Great.”

  “Listen, Jane,” Mike began, tentatively sitting on her bed. “I think I may have figured out something about Ivan and Irina. She kinda let somethin’ slip. I mean, she said something really strange, and then she dropped her hockey bag, and ran ahead and wouldn’t let me come in. Neither would Ivan. Irina was crying and kind of hysterical. I couldn’t understand her. They shut the door on me. I had to leave her equipment on the stoop.”

  “What did you figure out?”

  But there was a tapping at the window. George swung suspended in front of it, Romeo-­style, high up on a ladder. Mike unbolted the window and fought to slide it up. Through the frosty screen, he snapped, “What are you? Nuts? Get down from there.”

  “Just checkin’ on her. Go to your own room, Mike, I need to talk to her. Jane, Jane, can you hear me?”

  “Yeah. You’d better be quiet,” she said, trying to lift her head.

  “Where’d you get that ladder?” Mike demanded to know.

  “None of your business. Get lost, Mike.” Mike reluctantly left, but Jane could sense him hovering in the hall.

  “Jane,” called George, “you okay?”

  “Very average at the moment. But thanks for the visit.”

  “There’s something I forgot to ask you.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

  “Will you go out with me?”

  “Why don’t you beat around the bush a little, George?”

  “I figure we don’t have much time. My position is a little unstable here. I need to get it out and go.”