After a career-ending fight, ex-professional-hockey-player-turned-Zamboni-driver Chase Cassidy has never looked back at the sport. He's perfectly content cleaning the ice between periods and chatting with fellow staff members, and running a pub outs...
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Five months later...
Chase
I catch my reflection in the glass and have to pause. The visor of my helmet is dotted with droplets of water and my cheeks are pink from the subzero temperature. With no one in the stands yet, my reflection is as clear as looking in the mirror; I can see everything from my jersey to the strap beneath my chin to the hockey stick in my hands.
The most prominent aspect to note is the large "C" on my chest.
After removing one glove, I tuck it under my arm and use my bare hand to trace the outline of the letter. Part of me is expecting it to burn my hand. The other feels a strong sense of pride reverberating through my veins. Although I've been prepping all summer for this moment, it feels surreal. Even after all the exhibition games, standing on the ice doesn't feel right. Wearing the "C" makes me feel like an imposter. As much as I belong here, I still feel like a stranger. I'm hoping that will change once the puck drops. Otherwise, I'll be riddled with anxiety all season.
Hence the reason I came in early. To see if a quick skate would ease some of the anxiety. It's helped a little, but not enough to curb it.
Behind me, I hear skates scraping against the ice.
"Like what you see, Zam Man?" Lennon teases.
"Shut up, Lennon," I mutter. "I don't drive the Zamboni anymore."
"Okay, Captain," Lennon grins.
He's trying to lighten the mood, but it's not working this evening. This moment is bittersweet. The first time my skates scraped against the ice was when I was eighteen. I was young, coming off of the high of being signed to my dream team. Remembering that moment and then what followed feels like a loss, but I have to focus on what's happening now. I'm older, but my passion for hockey hasn't changed. I'm physically and mentally fit to return.
But despite all the good things, I'm allowed to feel a little sad for my younger self.
"Hey," he says, giving me a nudge. "You good?"
"It's a lot," I admit, staring up at the empty seats. My gaze travels from one side to the other. Soon, this arena will be filled with fans and the opposing team will be on the ice. It already feels claustrophobic enough. I can't imagine what it'll feel like in an hour. When my gaze falls on Lennon, I frown. "How did you know I was here?"
Lennon's expression is sheepish. He rubs the back of his neck. "Spencer. She said you might need a friend. She doesn't know what it's like to start a season. What the pressure is like. Especially when you're captain." He pauses, frowning. "I guess that's unfamiliar territory for me, too. Katzy, Cromwell, and me were alternates last season since there wasn't a captain. But I would assume it's a similar situation. There's a lot riding on your shoulders, eh? It makes it hard to breathe. Especially when the fans are depending on you to lead this team to victory."
