in court about the danger and insidiousness of brain injuries courtesy of the Crown prosecutor during my trial. “He’s just forgetful, or something, can’t quite put words together and if it’s not treated, all of a sudden he’s in a coma or he has a fucking hemorrhage . . .”
“Rank, he’s fine, he had his helmet on.”
I stared up at Owen. “No he didn’t — it came off. I heard the crack.”
“It stayed on, Rank. You heard his helmet.”
“Bullshit,” I said, parsing my memory. My memory was insisting that the helmet had come off.
“He’s fine, trust me. Are you coming back to play?”
“I don’t know, Owen.”
“I would like it if you came back to play.”
“I threw up.”
“Do you feel better?”
I thought about it. “No.”
“You have to trust me that he’s okay,” said Findlay. “And you have to get up and come back to the game. Okay? And then you’ll feel better.”
It relieved me a little that he gave me a directive. That he told me what had to be done, and what would be the result. But I was still too scared to budge.
“You want me off this team,” I told him.
“No I don’t. Don’t tell me what I want.”
“This is what happens,” I explained. “This is what I make happen.”
It was the first time I’d said it out loud. Sylvie was a year into her grave, I was seventeen years old, and that was the first time I’d said it out loud.
07/06/09, 6:43 p.m.
Anyway. Findlay eventually got me off the bench. And I finished the game, and Chisholm really was fine. I kept on playing season after season, harder than ever, thinking that at some point if I could just get my blood whooshing loud enough in my ears, if I could just lose myself in the glory of a really great play, I could disappear into it like I used to — that little hatch in my mind would finally drop open again, flushing everything away but what was happening on the ice. But what do you know: just when I was ready to give up, an entirely different escape hatch revealed itself. My game got noticed. I was offered a scholarship, of all things, applied for a student loan on the strength of that, and next thing I know I’m on my way to university — where I met you.
Ready Adam? Because we’re finally getting to the good part — the part you’ll recognize. This is where I, the all-powerful author, get to explore my exciting new character. Let’s really zoom in on him, what do you say? What kind of narrator would I be if I didn’t ruthlessly delve into what makes good old Adam tick, warts and all — oh yes, warts and all! The insecurities, the conglomerate of loser qualities to which he is oblivious, the nerdy tics, the wincing attempts at self-aggrandizement. (And yes, I realize I’ve skipped over a significant detail, a key incident that occurred sometime between crushing Croft’s skull and packing for university, but I believe I’ve already outlined that particular scenario to you in one boiling regurgitative flush and just maybe I’d prefer not to go into it again, okay?)
And so, to begin.
Actually before I begin I feel like I should mention I ran into Kyle not long ago. I wish it could have been Wade, if it had to be anyone — Wade, I imagine, even after all these years, would have blearily stuck out his hand and rambled about his new speakers or his new Guns N’ Roses box set or his new insert-whogivesashit-here — but it was Kyle. And as you’ll recall, there is nothing bleary about Kyle in the least.
“Oh my freaking god,” said Kyle once we’d locked eyes the way teenagers once were rumoured to lock braces when making out. That is, we were stuck together, suddenly and inextricably. Kyle’s head jerked forward on his neck like a bird’s, his mouth fell open, and I knew there was no denying the mutual recognition. The next second he was loping over to me with that same easy, chest-forward stride he used on campus, the walk that made you think his grandfather must have founded the university or something.
Do you wonder where we were, Adam — Kyle and I, meeting up after all these years? I’ll tell you. We were at a Winners in downtown Toronto.
I had deked in off the street to get dry and maybe buy an umbrella because I’d been walking around downtown