Skates, a Stick, and a Dream

by Bob Leroux

  “Aw, c’mon, Weir, that’s dumb. Nobody would have time in a game to think about that stuff.”

  “You’d be surprised, buddy boy.” Brian turned to stack some of the posters together and put them on his bureau. When he finished, he sat back down on the bed. “Anyways, I’m not going all the way down there to Hamilton and live with a bunch of strangers, just to play Junior B hockey.”

  “I guess you wouldn’t have gone to Toronto, either.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. If I thought I had a chance to make the Leafs, maybe. If we could have stayed together, maybe. But let’s face it, Billy, the last thing these guys are worried about is us playing together. And that guy Preston, the way he kept talking about Hamilton? What a great city it was? It just made me think about how much I like it here, in Munro Mills.” He frowned at the despair on Billy’s face. “I’m sorry, buddy, that I couldn’t keep up to you. And I’m sorry that it took me so long to figure it out. Probably if we could both go on the same team, if they would guarantee that, it would be a whole different deal.”

  “Yeah, maybe. But it won’t do any good to wish for that, will it?” Billy stared at the pile of hockey posters on the bureau.

  Brian raised a hand to Billy’s shoulder, hesitated, and then let it drop. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “I didn’t mean to let you down.”

  Billy straightened his back and announced, “Well, maybe I won’t go, either. To heck with them.”

  Brian frowned. He knew his friend well enough to know he was serious. “C’mon, Campbell. You worked too hard for this. Think about all those feedbags you hauled around the co-op. You’ve got to take your shot at the big time. Hockey is your life.”

  Billy shook his head. “It used to be your life, too. So maybe I’m not so sure anymore. Like you said, leaving Glengarry won’t be so easy. There’s my family, and all my friends. I’ll have to think about it, I guess. After all,” he sighed, “there’s a lot more to life than hockey, isn’t there?”

  Chapter 17

  Looking for the Magic

  There’s more to life than hockey. That’s what Billy kept telling himself, while the contract sat in the drawer of the buffet and he sweated out his annual spring cramming. Stuck in the house, studying for final exams, he couldn’t stop thinking of the pleasures he would be giving up if he committed himself to hockey in Ottawa. He knew he had a big problem. No sooner had his hockey career been launched than he had begun to wonder if he really wanted one.

  Billy Campbell was only sixteen going on seventeen, but as he watched the buds form on the lilacs outside his window and looked longingly at the open fields turning green, he realized he would have to make some hard choices. In the heat of the action, when the adrenalin was flowing, there was clearly no contest. But now, as he stared at a dull geometry theorem he should have learned in February, the sweetness of his victories on the ice were hard to recall and harder still to taste.

  When the exams were finally over and he got his results, he had only one mark under sixty: geometry. “No big deal,” he told his mother. “I won’t have to take it again.”

  “You’ll have to do better than that,” she warned him, “when you get to Ottawa. I don’t care what the hockey team says; if you don’t keep those marks up, you won’t be playing.”

  “Yeah, I know,” was the only reply she got out of him.

  She wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t told them he was having second thoughts about trying out for the Ottawa Nationals, but he’d been moody all spring. And they knew if he wasn’t talking hockey all the time, then he must be agonizing about it. The moodiness lasted through the summer, sometimes to the exasperation of his friends.

  There were long conversations over chips and Cokes, about the pros and cons of leaving Munro Mills. Brian already had his answer, a fact that irritated Billy every time they got together. It wasn’t helping him make up his mind, seeing how cheerful Brian was about his own decision.

  “C’mon, Campbell,” Brian said one July night at the restaurant, “will you lay off with the long face? I’ll bet that’s the reason the girls didn’t want to go out tonight. They’re tired of you acting like your dog just died.”

  “Buzz off, Weir,” Billy muttered as he stared at the french fry he was sloshing around in the ketchup. “I’m not in the mood for a lecture.”

  “Look, I’m sorry I can’t make it easier for you by signing up and going to Hamilton. If I thought it would help, I just might do it. But let’s face it, the chance of us playing together is shot, dead,” he smiled. “Flatter than Freddie the Frog on the freeway.”

  Billy looked up, suppressing a grin. “Where did you hear that?”

  “I dunno, on the radio, maybe. Now, how about it? I know you’ve got a tough decision to make, but do you have to act like you’re doing penance all summer? Or do you want me to do penance, too?”

  “Aw, I’m kind of over that. Being mad at you, I mean. I know all our big plans are shot. It’s just that it makes me wonder if I really want to leave everything behind, just to play hockey.”

  “Elaine, you mean?”

  Billy shook his head. “I guess I’m not as stuck on Elaine as you are on Susan, but you’re right. I’m sort of sad when I think of leaving her behind. She says she’ll wait for me to come back, at Christmas and stuff, but I’m not that stupid. They’ll be lined up at her door, the minute I’m out of town.”

  “Aw, I wouldn’t say that,” Brian protested in a tone that told Billy he was right.

  He tried to play it down. “Elaine wouldn’t be the only reason I’d stay, though. Heck, she might get tired of me next week sometime, and tell me to get lost.”

  “Then what is it?” Brian asked, glad for the change of subject. “Do you love Munro Mills that much?”

  Billy shoved himself back in the booth and shot Brian a challenging look. “Don’t say it like it’s a dumb idea. You’re the one who’s decided to stay here.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t have the same chance as you, to make it all the way. Besides, I didn’t say there was anything wrong with picking Munro Mills over Ottawa, did I?”

  Billy stared at his old friend, trying to figure out what it was they were really arguing about — and why he kept getting so angry with him. “Well,” he finally answered, “maybe I’ll stay home, too. I don’t know if I want to go to a new school with a bunch of strangers. They’ll probably think I’m a country hick. That time I spent a week with my aunt? I was real lonely; wanted to come home after a couple of days.”

  “You were only thirteen.”

  “Fourteen. And Ottawa sucked; everywhere you go, crowds of people, traffic, noise. Gave me a headache.”

  “You’ll get used to it. You got used to the crowds at the hockey games.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to get used to it. I love this town. It’s all I’ve ever known. I walk down the street and I know practically everyone, and they know me. I’ll never belong like that in a city.”

  That last statement came out like a question, and Brian decided he didn’t want the responsibility for answering it. “Well, it’s your decision. It’s not me who should give you the other side of the argument. I already chose Munro Mills.” He watched as Billy lapsed into glum silence, and felt compelled to add, “We’ll still be best friends, you know. And you’ll be back next summer, won’t you?”

  Billy gave him a long look, like he was trying to see the future stretched out before him. “Yeah, that’s what my parents say.”

  “Well,” Brian sighed, glad to be let off the emotional hook, “why don’t you talk to them about it? They lived in the city for a while. Do they know how much this is bugging you?”

  “Naw, they don’t care. All they’re worried about is whether I’ll flunk out or not, just like this spring. They’re afraid I won’t do my homework if I’m living in Ottawa.”

  “I doubt it.” Brian knew Billy’s parents had always worried about him more than he realized. “Your dad gave me good advice, a couple of times.”


  Billy’s head jerked up. “About what?”

  He grinned. “You know, carburetors, and painting.”

  “Go to hell, Weir.”

  “You go first and ring the bell.”

  They left it at that, reverting to adolescent insults, rather than dwelling any longer on this agony of growing up. Billy left Brian behind, and took the long way home that day. He walked past the Commercial Hotel on Main Street and thought about the old geezers who used to greet his father every time they passed, inquiring about this one and that one, while working their way up to borrowing a buck or two for a beer.

  He turned the corner at the post office, that grey stone building that dominated Main Street, where his father started taking him when he was old enough to reach the third row of shiny brass doors and open box sixty-two, scoop the letters out, and proudly pass them up. From there he headed south toward his old grade school, taking the same back streets he and Brian travelled every day for eight long years.

  On Victoria Street, at the long cement walkway that led to the big front door of the red brick building, he thought about that first week of school when his mother came to wait for him every day at that same spot. And he remembered that look she had on her face as he ran toward her, that sad-happy smile of hers that said, “I really missed you, but I have to let you go.”

  And then he passed St. Joseph’s Church, stone walled and slate roofed, the biggest, tallest structure in town, where they still went every Sunday, where his mother still demanded he kneel up straight and follow the Mass in his prayer book. He smiled at the memory of all those Sundays he stood around after Mass, below the wide front steps of the church, waiting for his mother to finish visiting with half the town, impatient and frustrated at the same time as he was proud she had so many friends.

  From there, he made his way past the mayor’s house and smiled at the sight of the long, white-picket fence he and Brian had lifted out and laid across the road last Halloween. And he smiled again at the image of his studied silence at the kitchen table the next day as his father talked about the brazen pranksters who had moved the mayor’s fence.

  At last, he reached the McCray house, just three doors down from his own, with the yellow shutters and the big grey veranda where the widow McCray sat on summer afternoons and waved a cheery hello every time he passed. She was there again today and he waved back, smiling at how comfortable it made him feel — and wondering what it would feel like to leave all this behind.

  He didn’t tell his parents about everything he felt along that walk. Like his father, he had trouble sharing those kinds of feelings. But he did try to tell his father what was bothering him, mainly because Angus cornered him in the garage one day and pressed for an answer.

  “Are you ever going to tell us what’s bothering you, son? I know it’s got something to do with this damned hockey business. Sometimes I wish I’d never let you play in the first place.”

  Billy decided not to dispute that last declaration. He knew when his father used words like damned, he was not in the mood for splitting hairs. He tried, instead, to answer the first question. “I’m just worried, is all, whether I’m really cut out for playing professional hockey. I’m just not sure, anymore.”

  “Well, look, son. I had a long talk with Tony Stanton, and he said that you — ”

  “You did?” Billy interrupted, a little surprised.

  “Yes, I did,” his father asserted sharply. “Your mother and I have been very worried about you. Does that surprise you?”

  Billy ducked his head. “No, I guess not.”

  “Anyways, Stanton told me that the contract we signed doesn’t mean as much as you think it does. All you have at this point is a chance to try out for a junior team. If you play top-notch hockey and stay healthy for three years, you might be invited to the professional team’s training camp. But the point is, you shouldn’t build this into more than it is. You’re not committing twenty years of your life to a team, you know. You’re just deciding if you want to try out for Junior A.”

  Billy studied his father’s eyes. He wasn’t sure if he was following him. “You mean, you think I won’t make it? Or . . .” he hesitated, “you think I shouldn’t go?”

  His father shook his head. “I’m not saying that at all. I’ve made up my mind to let you make your own decision, end of story. All I’m saying is, cross your bridges when you come to them.”

  “Huh? Which bridges?” Billy wasn’t sure he wanted to know what he meant.

  Angus smiled. He sensed what his son was afraid of. “You’re not really making a decision about the rest of your life, even if it feels like it. Not yet. You just have to decide if you want to move to Ottawa, live with your aunt, go to a new school, and try out for a hockey team.”

  “Oh, gee,” Billy huffed. “It sounds so easy, when you put it like that.”

  Angus laughed. At least the boy was getting some of his spirit back. “Did I say it was easy?”

  Billy shook his head. “No, I guess not. That’s the trouble, though. Every week that goes by, I feel more like I want to stay in Munro Mills, where I really belong.”

  “I know what that feels like. Your mother and I made exactly the same decision, when we moved back here to raise our family. Is that what you want? Live here and raise a family?”

  Billy blushed. “Jeez, Dad, I’m hardly even going steady.”

  Angus laughed some more. “Fine, but your decision still has to be based on what is important to you. Your mother and I had a dream to live in a small town and raise a family — and have our own business. Coming home to Munro Mills seemed to fit the bill for us. But it might be different for you.”

  “But I like Munro Mills, too. Just as much as you guys do.” When his father didn’t respond, he added, “All my friends are here, everything I’m used to.”

  “I know, but . . .” Angus hesitated, not wanting to say the wrong thing. He knew what he wanted the boy to choose, but he didn’t want to be responsible for talking him out of his dream. He finally ventured, “It’s scary, leaving everything behind. But even if you stay in Munro Mills, your friends will change, and the things you like most — ”

  Billy jumped in, “How can you say that? Brian will always be my best friend.”

  His father smiled, wondering how much reality his son was ready for. “I know. You two grew up together and did everything together, so you have a special friendship. But Brian will change over the years, and develop new interests. And you’ll change, too. And you’ll make new friends. That’s what happened with your mother and me. We’re happy here, and we still feel we made the right choice, but we do have some regrets.”

  “What do you mean?” Billy was puzzled. He had never heard his parents talk about things like regrets. Maybe this was some big secret they’d been holding back.

  His father smiled again at his son’s innocence. “Oh, you know. In a small town, your kids often have to go away to get more schooling, and most of them never come back. And there’s places your mother and I might like to see, trips we’d like to take. And there’s things we’d like to have, like new cars and cottages. But you don’t get rich looking after your neighbours’ cars in a small town. Sometimes you have to accept less, to get more.”

  “Huh?” Billy was reminded why he avoided long talks with his father.

  “Anyways,” his father went on, “it seems to me that’s what you’ve got to decide.”

  “What?” Billy asked, not sure he was following.

  Angus answered patiently, “First, what do you want to do more than anything in the world? What is your dream?”

  “Well, I thought it was to play hockey, for the Maple Leafs. But now I’m not so sure. I’ve been thinking a lot, since the season ended, and Ottawa seems so far away from Munro Mills and the Leafs.”

  Angus smiled to himself. He knew his son well enough to know that his attitude would be entirely different if there was ice in the arena and a game that night. “Billy,” he finally said, “let’s im
agine something. Let’s say it’s next November, and you’ve decided to stay home — and not go to Ottawa — and I come home and tell you there’s ice in the arena? What would you do?”

  “Well, I’d get my hockey bag out and get my stick ready, and I’d go down — ”

  “Don’t forget,” Angus interrupted, “you’re not on a midget team anymore, and there’s no junior team in Munro Mills.”

  “Well, I’d go over to Brian’s, and we’d organize a game, or something . . . I guess.”

  “You see what I’m getting at? It looks like you’ve got two different dreams. One dream is to finish growing up here in Glengarry, with all your friends, with that feeling of belonging that is so important in life, maybe working with me and Dave, maybe settling down with a local girl and raising a family — all the things you see happening for the people you love. But you have that other dream, too; that dream about playing the game you love, finding out how far your talent will take you. And that means taking on a whole new world, with big possibilities and big risks.” He watched his son’s eyes as he followed the logical path his two dreams might take, then recognized his enduring problem and cast his eyes downward again. “You see it, don’t you? You have two different dreams for your life, and one doesn’t fit with the other. You have to make a choice. You can’t have them both.”

  Billy looked up again. “What if I make the wrong choice?”

  Angus laughed. “Welcome to the world of adults. Life isn’t really about making choices, Billy. It’s more about living with the choices you’ve made. That’s the hard part. But count yourself lucky. A lot of people would give their right arm for the choices you have.”

  “But then they couldn’t play hockey.”

  “I didn’t mean . . .” Angus started to say, then caught the grin on his son’s face. “Anyway, I don’t expect you to like it. You asked for answers and all I can give you is questions.”

  “Mom says you always do that.”

  “She oughta know. Still, knowing the right questions can be half the battle.”