My areas of conflict
Skkk-skkk-skkk.
Our team is down five goals to two, there's three minutes or so left in the game and at this point a comeback is unlikely but that's no excuse not to try. My skates flash through the fresh ice leaving long stride cuts in their wake and the puck dangles from my stick like it's on a piece of invisible thread. I cut inside, eluding a large defender and toe drag the puck out of his reach. He may be bigger than me, but I'm faster. I navigate around him, pull the puck back behind me and feel the flex of the stick as I prepare for the release. The shot flies, the puck hurtling through the air beating the goaltender on his glove side.
PING!
The small disc of vulcanized rubber caroms off the post and into the corner, bouncing off the boards. I check my six, and large defender is on my tail. I don't want to go into the corner with him on my back, he's twice my size, I remember to keep my head up, I get the puck and outlet pass into-
CRUNCH.
My body is pinned against the boards and they don't forgive- Anything that can survive being hit by a slapshot traveling ninety miles an hour is not going to be affected by my one hundred and twenty five pound body being stuck up on it like a poster. Craning my neck around wildly, I lose sight of the puck and hope my teammate managed to get my hurried pass because I'm in no position to help anyone. Large defender releases me, satisfied I am no longer a threat and lumbers off the ice for a line change. I drag my sorry skates back to the bench and pour water down my back. Rolling my shoulders as the play continues, all I can see in my mind's eye is a blinking neon sign reading the word "OUCH!".
Our team goes on to lose the game. I know it's a recreational league, but I still don't like losing. I hate being the loser.
Clap-clap-clap.
The audience comes together in a slow, synchronized hand clap. Eyes wide, there are maybe four or five hundred of them watching me now. The show has ballooned into something quite wonderful despite the pitch being nearly devoid of foot traffic a mere forty minutes ago. The first few minutes were like pulling teeth. Doing tricks, smiling, initiating conversation with the scant amount of passersby to convince them that I am in fact a skilled performer and not some raving lunatic who happens to know how a microphone works. My fight for legitimacy is over now, as the audience watches spellbound as I leap through the air with two burning torches, playfully asking them if they would like to see me extinguish the flames in my mouth. I know what they'll say. Of course they do.
Sssssssssssss...
My breath whistles through my teeth as I inhale deeply, the flames licking the torch handle that rests in my hand. I prepare to place the torch right down between my lips, remembering to watch out for the metal screws that affix the kevlar wicking to the handle of the torch. It should be obvious, but in the heat of the moment it's exceptionally easy to remember that metal that gets doused in gasoline and lit ablaze gets ridiculously hot, especially when it touches your lips. The audience falls silent, a little girl breaks the tension as she cries out:
"Don't do it!"
I smile at her and wink at the crowd as they laugh at her unintentionally impeccable timing. I lower the torch dramatically, kneeling under the flame. The wick and screws miss my lips and I hold the torch in my mouth for several seconds before extinguishing it by gently exhaling and closing my lips over the top of the burning wick. I do the same with the second torch on the other side of the audience to ensure everyone gets a full view, and stride confidently to the center of my performance space. Throwing the torches down victoriously, I bow and the living circle around me explodes with cheers, applause, and whistles.
I won the battle in every aspect. I had proven that I was legitimate. I had proven that I was worth watching. As the bills fluttered into my hat, I had proven that I was worth paying for and in the end, I was the victor.
-
Large defender comes up to me after our teams shake hands.
"Are you okay? I kind of got a little rough with you in the corner with about two minutes left there." he asks, putting a gloved hand on my shoulder.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I need to gain some weight, it's probably my fault for being half your size." I joke, and in the end I was fine anyways. I look down at his jersey and underneath the team name I notice a small patch reading "17th Wing". I look quickly at some of his teammates as they pass by and on each of their jerseys is an identical patch.
"Military team?" I ask.
"Yeah, our team is all guys from our wing. It's a nice distraction and gets you out of the barracks once in awhile." he says, smiling.
"That's cool. Well... Thank you." I say as I turn and join the rest of my team as we exit the ice surface. I wonder what they need to be distracted from, whether it's training or tours or being shot at or any of the insurmountable stresses put on military personnel.
Untying my laces, I wonder for a moment if he knew that I wasn't thanking him for checking to see if I was alright, I thanked him because at that moment I was talking to someone who volunteered to always make sure that the biggest conflicts in my life are on a stage or in a rink and not anywhere else.
Our team is down five goals to two, there's three minutes or so left in the game and at this point a comeback is unlikely but that's no excuse not to try. My skates flash through the fresh ice leaving long stride cuts in their wake and the puck dangles from my stick like it's on a piece of invisible thread. I cut inside, eluding a large defender and toe drag the puck out of his reach. He may be bigger than me, but I'm faster. I navigate around him, pull the puck back behind me and feel the flex of the stick as I prepare for the release. The shot flies, the puck hurtling through the air beating the goaltender on his glove side.
PING!
The small disc of vulcanized rubber caroms off the post and into the corner, bouncing off the boards. I check my six, and large defender is on my tail. I don't want to go into the corner with him on my back, he's twice my size, I remember to keep my head up, I get the puck and outlet pass into-
CRUNCH.
My body is pinned against the boards and they don't forgive- Anything that can survive being hit by a slapshot traveling ninety miles an hour is not going to be affected by my one hundred and twenty five pound body being stuck up on it like a poster. Craning my neck around wildly, I lose sight of the puck and hope my teammate managed to get my hurried pass because I'm in no position to help anyone. Large defender releases me, satisfied I am no longer a threat and lumbers off the ice for a line change. I drag my sorry skates back to the bench and pour water down my back. Rolling my shoulders as the play continues, all I can see in my mind's eye is a blinking neon sign reading the word "OUCH!".
Our team goes on to lose the game. I know it's a recreational league, but I still don't like losing. I hate being the loser.
Clap-clap-clap.
The audience comes together in a slow, synchronized hand clap. Eyes wide, there are maybe four or five hundred of them watching me now. The show has ballooned into something quite wonderful despite the pitch being nearly devoid of foot traffic a mere forty minutes ago. The first few minutes were like pulling teeth. Doing tricks, smiling, initiating conversation with the scant amount of passersby to convince them that I am in fact a skilled performer and not some raving lunatic who happens to know how a microphone works. My fight for legitimacy is over now, as the audience watches spellbound as I leap through the air with two burning torches, playfully asking them if they would like to see me extinguish the flames in my mouth. I know what they'll say. Of course they do.
Sssssssssssss...
My breath whistles through my teeth as I inhale deeply, the flames licking the torch handle that rests in my hand. I prepare to place the torch right down between my lips, remembering to watch out for the metal screws that affix the kevlar wicking to the handle of the torch. It should be obvious, but in the heat of the moment it's exceptionally easy to remember that metal that gets doused in gasoline and lit ablaze gets ridiculously hot, especially when it touches your lips. The audience falls silent, a little girl breaks the tension as she cries out:
"Don't do it!"
I smile at her and wink at the crowd as they laugh at her unintentionally impeccable timing. I lower the torch dramatically, kneeling under the flame. The wick and screws miss my lips and I hold the torch in my mouth for several seconds before extinguishing it by gently exhaling and closing my lips over the top of the burning wick. I do the same with the second torch on the other side of the audience to ensure everyone gets a full view, and stride confidently to the center of my performance space. Throwing the torches down victoriously, I bow and the living circle around me explodes with cheers, applause, and whistles.
I won the battle in every aspect. I had proven that I was legitimate. I had proven that I was worth watching. As the bills fluttered into my hat, I had proven that I was worth paying for and in the end, I was the victor.
-
Large defender comes up to me after our teams shake hands.
"Are you okay? I kind of got a little rough with you in the corner with about two minutes left there." he asks, putting a gloved hand on my shoulder.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I need to gain some weight, it's probably my fault for being half your size." I joke, and in the end I was fine anyways. I look down at his jersey and underneath the team name I notice a small patch reading "17th Wing". I look quickly at some of his teammates as they pass by and on each of their jerseys is an identical patch.
"Military team?" I ask.
"Yeah, our team is all guys from our wing. It's a nice distraction and gets you out of the barracks once in awhile." he says, smiling.
"That's cool. Well... Thank you." I say as I turn and join the rest of my team as we exit the ice surface. I wonder what they need to be distracted from, whether it's training or tours or being shot at or any of the insurmountable stresses put on military personnel.
Untying my laces, I wonder for a moment if he knew that I wasn't thanking him for checking to see if I was alright, I thanked him because at that moment I was talking to someone who volunteered to always make sure that the biggest conflicts in my life are on a stage or in a rink and not anywhere else.