Frozen Barriers (3 page)

On occasion, I see my friend Milton walking around the old Valley Forum. He’s worked here since I was a kid. He usually keeps to himself while working on the daily repairs around the rink. Sometimes, when I get here, he’ll still be on the Zamboni making sure I have a fresh coat of smooth ice. By the time I lace up my skates today, he’s just about finished, and I tell him good morning. It’s nice to have someone to talk to who won’t judge me for what I’ve become. Hell, it’s nice to have someone just to talk to.

I skate around the rink, warming up my legs and burning off the low-lying fog that is usually present on the ice surface early in the morning. The blades on my skates grind into the fresh coat of ice, allowing me to hear the crunching sound as I round each corner of the rink. I set up a net on the far end of the ice and drop about twenty pucks at the blue line near center ice. One by one, I slash my stick against the puck and aim for the net. They all go in, of course, it’s always easier to score that goal when a goalie isn’t standing in front of the net. After hitting the last puck, I hug the end of my stick between my Incredible Hulk sized gloves and sigh. This is my alone time. I have about twenty minutes each morning of free ice time, thanks to my buddy Dave who manages the front office and helps in the pro shop. He and I have been hockey buddies since middle school, so he lets me blow off some steam before all the Pee Wee League kids come in for practice.

Since my hockey days at Boston University, I’ve been actively trying to get drafted by the NHL. I’ve made a little progress, playing for the Manchester Monarchs just north of here in Manchester, New Hampshire. They are part of the American Hockey League and affiliated with the LA Kings. I’m not gonna lie; I would love to have been chosen on the Providence Bruins team, as they are an affiliate of the Boston Bruins, but beggars can’t be choosers, and right now, I’m just glad I’m skating anywhere in the league.

I have never turned a blind eye toward where I came from. This rink, this is where my heart is and always will be. It’s my sanctuary away from the team, the contracts, fans, booze, and well, eager women. It’s crazy that even Minor League hockey players seem to be something of value to the opposite sex. It’s here where I began my hockey career, moving from Squirt League to Pee Wee before starting high school hockey for Tewksbury. I managed a nice hockey scholarship to Boston University after being captain my junior and senior years and was named All-State Hockey Player my senior year.

On one of my days off from team practice and regular season games, I skate with the kids. It’s funny how they all look at me as though I’m the rock star of hockey because they come up to see me play in Manchester sometimes. I’ve been out of college now for three years and haven’t moved up in the hockey league since. It has always been my dream to make it big time, but if I’m dealt the cards I’m given, and this is the life I’m meant to live, then I’m not going to complain, because at the end of the day, I still have my family, friends, and in about fifteen minutes, a whole lot of smiling faces.

My mom, Grace, the eternal optimist, still believes I am meant to coach and stay in the area and to find the love of my life, settle down, and raise a beautiful family. I laugh at her ideas and often tell her that perhaps she has me confused with my sister Courtney. She’s constantly seeking out the love of her life just so she can settle down. With my schedule and coaching, I’m lucky if I have time during the season to even sleep. I’ve dated a number of girls since college; however, I believe it was my college girlfriend Becca who said it best when she dumped me.

I still remember the day after my last game at Boston University my junior year. This was my last chance to get drafted by the NHL. Becca was with me and a number of others in my dorm, waiting through each of the picks to see if my name was called. I had secured plenty of records at BU, and my junior year was the best by far. Coach kept telling me I had a great shot, and he’d be surprised if I wasn’t picked that year.

Team after team went up to the podium, but none of them called my name. Once the last team, and my last hope, walked up and off the stage, my NHL chances flashed before my eyes. Becca stayed by my side the previous two years and said she would stick by me no matter what because she loved me, and her feelings would never change. I thought I loved her too, but I was clearly thinking with my other head. She was my first sexual encounter, and although I wasn’t her first, she at least made hockey off-season manageable.

It wasn’t until I came out of my non-NHL draft haze that I realized she had disappeared. I went back to my bedroom and found her sitting at my desk playing with my iPod. She heard me come in and looked up at me when I shut the door. Quickly standing, she walked over to me. Placing her hand on my chest, she asked me to have a seat and that what she had to say wasn’t going to be easy, but it needed to be said.

“Jeremy, we need to break up.” Okay, I thought, that just came out of left field, but before I could interject, she continued, “I think you and I are moving in all the wrong directions. I mean, it’s been fun the past two years standing by you as the captain of the hockey team, but it’s clear you aren’t going to have a future in the NHL, and unfortunately, I just can’t sit around and wait for you to make it big time.”

I thought, What the fuck?! Is she for real right now? I stood up and demanded, “What do you mean you can’t sit around and wait? I thought you said you loved me and that your feelings would never change?”

It was at her response that I realized women are out for one thing and one thing only. Are you ready? Here’s her response. “Oh, Jeremy, I never loved you. I just told you that in the hopes you would someday make it to the NHL, and you would marry me and support me while I looked good at your side. I mean, I heard all the talk about you being the next big thing in the NHL, but after today’s draft, well, I can’t just sit around anymore. I need to find someone who can give me what I want, and you aren’t it anymore.”

Deep Breaths. In and out. Fuck being calm! “Get out! Get the fuck out! Don’t you ever think about seeking me out in the future when your plan goes to shit. You just totally summed up what you were to me all these years, a bad lay and even shittier girlfriend.”

She walked out of my room and out of my life. Good riddance! She may have been a nice body with long blonde hair and a nice rack, but in all honesty, she wasn’t ever wife material. And after that moment, I didn’t think anyone would ever be.

My phone started ringing in my pocket, and I pulled it out to see my parents on the caller ID. I answered, knowing full well why they were calling. But after listening to Becca’s nonsense the past half an hour, I needed to talk to the people that really loved me for me.

I heard Dad on the other end of the line. “I saw the draft on TV, Son. Sorry, kid, I know what hockey means to you. But at the end of the day, you know you will still walk away from all of this with a great degree in Business Management. With that backbone, you will have an endless amount of opportunities if hockey isn’t in the cards for you professionally.”

“Thanks, Dad. I know I just have to keep working hard this next year and see what happens in the future.”

My mom piped in and tried to change my train of thought, “Jeremy, be happy with the life you choose. It may not be what you dreamed of at the moment, but you can always change. Be happy with a life you can change to your needs. If you were contracted into the NHL and you weren’t happy with that, how long do you think you would have had to be unhappy for?”

Shit, Mom had a point. I’d always wanted the big NHL contract, but it wasn’t something I could try on for size, and if I didn’t like it, return it for a refund. No. NHL meant contracts that have a legal binding over your head and your life. If I didn’t like what was going on, I couldn’t legally just walk away. It’s funny how one minute my life was depending on one thing, but in the next, I had all the support in the world from my family telling me maybe this was a blessing in disguise.

That was four years ago, and all these years later, I look back and laugh. I’m happy with what I do, and I’m living my life without regret. I check the clock and realize the kids will be in the locker room soon, so I better go gear up. As I make my way back to the locker room, I turn the corner and nearly run right into a petite little blonde wearing a spandex skating outfit and leggings over her skirt. She’s got her earplugs in and must not have heard me coming. I wonder what she’s doing here so early. They have another rink on the other side of the building, but typically figure skaters aren’t here this early in the morning. I stand off to the side and allow her to go by toward the exit. When I glance at her again, she’s already well past me as she walks out the front door. Funny, that almost looks like Emily Cameron. No, it can’t be. I haven’t seen her since that night back in high school. I’m quickly brought out of my trance by a bunch of screaming eleven-year-olds in the locker room. I chuckle and walk toward the sounds, thinking,
Yeah, this is my happiness. These kids are my heart and soul, and no NHL contract would have ever brought me that.

2005

High school was always a difficult time for me. I hardly spent time amongst the other students in my grade at Andover High School. Most of the time, I ended up having to make up classes because I was out so much for training and competitions. It was no wonder after my freshman year of getting almost all incompletes in my classes that my parents were forced to home school me with a tutor. Apparently, no amount of bargaining with the school principal would allow student athletes any special benefits.

My tutor worked odd hours just so my parents could ensure my training never suffered. Imagine. My education took a backseat to my skating. I really couldn’t make this shit up as the years progressed. I could hardly contain my anticipation for the day I turned eighteen. I was sure at that moment I would break free of the prison sentence I seemed to be serving all those years.

It was also even more troublesome when I began developing and maturing into my adult body. My mother would get upset at the fact that she couldn’t control my little growth spurt. My breasts came in, hips turned out, and I grew to an above average height of five-foot-seven. In the skating world, this was the worst possible scenario. Jumps became even more of a challenge. The taller I became, the harder it was to judge my landings.

Mother was less than impressed. She insisted on extended training sessions to ensure I was on the right path to success. More coaching sessions were involved and increased gym time to make sure the Cameron
image
stayed intact. She never wanted to have me put forth any bad image that would come back negative to my father’s business.

I rarely had time to socialize with my friends that I grew up with at the rink. Up until high school, I trained with my only three friends at the Valley Forum. Suzanne, Lily and Morgan were my link to the outside world and gossip. Being tutored at the house never allowed me to have any friends like the normal kids that were my age. I was at least allowed a computer, which kept me in touch with my girls by email and MySpace. I never had much time for phone calls, but I was able to drop them texts here and there just to see how things were going when I wasn’t around the rink.