not because someone was a twerp about Danny Cleary
These little blessings would suffice
2010-11 Oilers: Hemsky, Omark.
Notes: After Philip Appleman's O Karma, dharma, pudding and pie
They have been drinking for several hours.
It had been a sort-of party at first, much of the team over with their wives, girlfriends, dates, and whoever else. They had not got very wild, mostly small knots of conversation across the open first floor, drinking reasonably and talking quietly. It is the kind of party that people who are tired go to, and it has been a long time, winter deep in, sunk to the ground and this morning Omark looked out the window, nothing itself but snow. It is not all bad; the shadows had resolved, the unploughed snow in the parking lot not as deep as it had looked. The winter is not as long as it is back in Sweden, but people seem to settle into it, like a blanket, pulled close in and hotter for it.
When everyone had been here, it had almost been an agony. The women mostly stayed close in, fretful that this might have been the injury that would end it, and his teammates are thinking the same thing, only their problem is that they are too close, that there is no other body to stand near, that they can be nothing other than themselves. The game has been rough, hurting each of them squarely, which is to be expected. He has been playing longer, professionally, than some of them; Hall had stood close by Eberle, shaking with touches of fear as Eberle dragged his knee slightly. Omark wants to tell Hall that this is nothing new, injury is nothing, it is the easiest way to hurt and the quickest to come back from.
It is not something he could say, he found. Hall knows, or must imagine that he knows this, it's a stupid sort of thing to say and they're both better than that. They had left anyway, the wind sneaking in the open door, while everyone waved off. Now it is just Hemsky and himself, the quiet fully fallen. There was not much to do, and they have been on the couch, drinking, as the radio clips along, following some court decision. Omark supposes that it had been on during the party, under the music and talking, a line out to the world. When he had lived with his parents, they had their favoured stations; his mother in her office with the computer running the international news with clipped accents filtering in over piano music, and his father's woodshop where the radio always ran, slow updates and talk over the sounds of carving and sketching. This makes him feel like that, like he is at their home again, contented and tired after school and hockey.
Hemsky shakes his glass, the ice clicking and settling. "You are still awake?" Omark comes back to himself, nods. "Good. It was not so much for you, then."
"Of course not. Not like some parties. Not like Moscow, have you ever been there?" Hemsky does not answer, staring out in mid-distance. "Oh, well. It's awesome, fun. They take that seriously, at least." He thinks about it, all the bright lights and money and people who very much wanted in. Russia had been good, but it was not even close on ice. Better than Oklahoma, but Edmonton is where he wanted to be, to play here, among the very best. Even as they have skidded, falling, and simply unable to rise out of this, it is where he wants to be, to play.
"Do you want to stay the night? Practice is late, at eleven." Hemsky states, like he does not really have any opinion either way, like this is the sort of thing he offers all the time.
The snow falls steadily.
He would have to dig his car out, struggle with the ice and the drivers on the road back, fall asleep in the wide hotel bed with its white comforter, carefully-chosen white walls, and nothing between them to keep the room apart, so that it does not fall in under the weight of snow, of expectation. "Would you mind?"
Hemsky shakes his head. "No, there's plenty of space. We could drive in together, tomorrow, then."
Only dig one car out, and it would be good, to drink coffee together, standing in the kitchen before the sun has climbed up. "Thanks, it should be good." He stands up, and nods. It is a good idea, not anything new. Hemsky has his eyes closed, like this evening was very tiresome.
Anyway, the story goes on for a little, but I am so dispirited about the Oilers and hockey generally that I'm not working on it any longer, so. There we are. Happy birthday to me, let's choke on mediocre misery.
Tomorrow I will be seeing Kate. faded-lilac BLING ON.
2010-11 Oilers: Hemsky, Omark.
Notes: After Philip Appleman's O Karma, dharma, pudding and pie
They have been drinking for several hours.
It had been a sort-of party at first, much of the team over with their wives, girlfriends, dates, and whoever else. They had not got very wild, mostly small knots of conversation across the open first floor, drinking reasonably and talking quietly. It is the kind of party that people who are tired go to, and it has been a long time, winter deep in, sunk to the ground and this morning Omark looked out the window, nothing itself but snow. It is not all bad; the shadows had resolved, the unploughed snow in the parking lot not as deep as it had looked. The winter is not as long as it is back in Sweden, but people seem to settle into it, like a blanket, pulled close in and hotter for it.
When everyone had been here, it had almost been an agony. The women mostly stayed close in, fretful that this might have been the injury that would end it, and his teammates are thinking the same thing, only their problem is that they are too close, that there is no other body to stand near, that they can be nothing other than themselves. The game has been rough, hurting each of them squarely, which is to be expected. He has been playing longer, professionally, than some of them; Hall had stood close by Eberle, shaking with touches of fear as Eberle dragged his knee slightly. Omark wants to tell Hall that this is nothing new, injury is nothing, it is the easiest way to hurt and the quickest to come back from.
It is not something he could say, he found. Hall knows, or must imagine that he knows this, it's a stupid sort of thing to say and they're both better than that. They had left anyway, the wind sneaking in the open door, while everyone waved off. Now it is just Hemsky and himself, the quiet fully fallen. There was not much to do, and they have been on the couch, drinking, as the radio clips along, following some court decision. Omark supposes that it had been on during the party, under the music and talking, a line out to the world. When he had lived with his parents, they had their favoured stations; his mother in her office with the computer running the international news with clipped accents filtering in over piano music, and his father's woodshop where the radio always ran, slow updates and talk over the sounds of carving and sketching. This makes him feel like that, like he is at their home again, contented and tired after school and hockey.
Hemsky shakes his glass, the ice clicking and settling. "You are still awake?" Omark comes back to himself, nods. "Good. It was not so much for you, then."
"Of course not. Not like some parties. Not like Moscow, have you ever been there?" Hemsky does not answer, staring out in mid-distance. "Oh, well. It's awesome, fun. They take that seriously, at least." He thinks about it, all the bright lights and money and people who very much wanted in. Russia had been good, but it was not even close on ice. Better than Oklahoma, but Edmonton is where he wanted to be, to play here, among the very best. Even as they have skidded, falling, and simply unable to rise out of this, it is where he wants to be, to play.
"Do you want to stay the night? Practice is late, at eleven." Hemsky states, like he does not really have any opinion either way, like this is the sort of thing he offers all the time.
The snow falls steadily.
He would have to dig his car out, struggle with the ice and the drivers on the road back, fall asleep in the wide hotel bed with its white comforter, carefully-chosen white walls, and nothing between them to keep the room apart, so that it does not fall in under the weight of snow, of expectation. "Would you mind?"
Hemsky shakes his head. "No, there's plenty of space. We could drive in together, tomorrow, then."
Only dig one car out, and it would be good, to drink coffee together, standing in the kitchen before the sun has climbed up. "Thanks, it should be good." He stands up, and nods. It is a good idea, not anything new. Hemsky has his eyes closed, like this evening was very tiresome.
Anyway, the story goes on for a little, but I am so dispirited about the Oilers and hockey generally that I'm not working on it any longer, so. There we are. Happy birthday to me, let's choke on mediocre misery.
Tomorrow I will be seeing Kate. faded-lilac BLING ON.