Thursday, November 04, 2004
1989- Part 1 - Before The Storm - (Chapter 1)
1.
Up until the second week of February, the winter of 1989 had been the warmest on record in Connecticut in nearly a century. As late as the week before Christmas, temperatures had been hovering in the upper 50's, and only a sudden cold front in the last week of January had brought on any snow. So it was with some surprise that Jack Shanahan found it flurrying when he stepped out his front door to take his morning run. He was wearing shorts despite the 34-degree weather, and a hooded Holy Mother Hockey sweatshirt, and he pulled the hood up over his head as he stood on the front porch of his house. It was about five A.M., and still pretty dark. He strapped on his Walkman and began to jog down the path to the street, Miles Davis jamming in his ears.
Jack normally began his morning with a light tai chi regimen and a few minutes of calisthenic stretching. Unlike Charlie, he didn’t feel he needed to be on the rink every single day. Instead he spent time meditating and keeping his legs limber. But seeing as tomorrow was the final day he would ever put on a set of goaltenders pads and skates (or so it seemed to him), he’d decided to go out and make sure he was ready to play. His run took him through the darkened streets of Westville, past the Catholic grade school where he’d first encountered Bill, and on towards the ice rink where Charlie and Doug would be getting in their final skate before the game tomorrow. He assumed that Gary would probably be there, running them through their paces like some kind of insane drill sergeant. That worked fine for them, but Jack wasn’t like that.
He jogged down the hill, through Westville Village and into Edgewood Park at West Rock. Gary’s father had bankrolled the revitalization of the Edgewood rink, and in exchange, Gary had the run of the place whenever he wanted. He could see the lights of the outdoor rink as he closed on the fence. Gary’s voice came over the breeze to him.
“Again!”
Jack imagined Charlie and Doug sprinting up ice, swinging around the goal, and skating back to the blue line. He was glad that he was a goalie, and not a regular player, because he wasn’t much of a skater. He brought a certain zen-like calmness to his game, but don’t ask him to skate too far up the ice at one time. That was for the big guys to do, like Bill Ryan. He tried to imagine the gargantuan Ryan diving to stop a shot, and chuckled under his breath. Taking kendo had sharpened his reflexes enough that he had a .940 goals against average and was taking a 40-game win streak into the championship game. But there’d be no windsprints for him.
Gary Ablett was standing on the ice, whistle in hand. He was tired from being up half the night working on plays for the game, and because Charlie had insisted on watching a videotape of Prep whipping Hamden in the semi-finals. He was glad that vacation started at the end of the day today, because after this weekend, he was going to need some rest. He watched Charlie and Doug roughhousing as they skated back to the line, and shook his head.
“You guys done playing with each other? Or should I let you have the ice to yourselves for a while?”
Charlie rolled his eyes. “Dude, don’t be so uptight. We’ve got this game by the balls, man. It’s a cakewalk.” He looked over to the fence. “Hey, Yojimbo, what’s happening?”
Gary looked over to see Jack coming through the gate at the end of the rink. Ever the diplomat, Charlie had dubbed Jack “Yojimbo” because of his apparent mania for all things Japanese. Gary often wondered why Jack even played hockey. Jack walked across the ice to them.
“Morning, boys. What’s going on?” Jack looked around. “Where’s Ryan?”
Gary chuckled. “Come on. I can’t get Bill out of bed for real practices, you think I’m gonna get him down here for extracurriculars?” Bill Ryan was a defenseman on the team, and his chief role was to intimidate opponents who might be thinking of hitting Charlie. Gary looked at his watch, then back at Jack. “It’s getting close to time anyway. Why don’t you two take a quick lap, and then we’ll get out of here. We do have school today, after all.”
“No problem, “ said Charlie, “see ya later, Yojimbo.” He took off down the ice, surprising Doug, who was half-dozing on his feet. Doug took off after him, and the two yelled good-natured insults at each other as they skated around the ice. Gary and Jack walked off towards the lobby of the rink together. When they got to the door, Gary turned to Jack.
“Are you ready for the game tomorrow?”
Jack scratched his chin. “As much as I’m going to be. You know how I approach these things.”
Gary nodded. “I know. Hey, you are coming to the house tomorrow after the game, aren’t you?” Gary was having a big party since his parents were going to be away.
“Probably. It depends on the weather.” Jack drove a rolling pile of junk, a 1978 Dodge Aspen that was slowly rotting away. He’d been having good luck with it with the warm winter, but he wasn’t looking forward to driving it out to Bethany, particularly if it snowed.
“Don’t worry about that. Just come back to the house with us after the game. You know I’ve always got room in the Jeep.”
“We’ll see, man. It depends on how the game goes.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Gary mused, “I don’t think Charlie intends to lose.”
Gary slapped Jack on the back, and then Jack jogged off. Gary watched him go, and then shook his head. Jack was an odd bird, that’s for sure. In the four years that they’d gone to Holy Mother together, Jack was the only guy on the hockey team that had never made the trip out to Gary’s house for the occasional team parties that Gary held. Not that he was insulted, mind you. A guy had every right to his privacy. But Jack was just, well, odd.
Charlie watched Gary and Jack walk off the ice as he lapped the back end of the rink and started skating back. Unlike the others, he took his early morning regimen very seriously. If Gary hadn’t been here, he’d probably have just skated laps and solo drills for an hour, then gone home and showered before school. Doug was good to have around for the practices most times, but today he just wanted to fuck around, and Charlie wasn’t having it. So he’d dusted Doug on the first couple of drills, trying to get him into it, but it hadn’t worked. He turned and skated backwards while taunting Doug.
“Come on, you puss, let’s go. Maybe I’ll have Coach replace you on the roster tomorrow with Chambers.”
Doug flipped him the bird, then dashed past him. “The day you replace me with some wet-behind-the-ears freshman is the day I let you hit it with my sister.” He skated towards the rink door, Charlie cursing up a storm behind him. Unlike Charlie, he had no ambitions towards anything greater then finishing out his career at Holy Mother with a letter in hockey and maybe a third state championship. He grabbed the wall, then nimbly sidestepped as Charlie skated up to hit him at the boards.
“Save that shit for tomorrow,” Gary yelled, “you’re going to need it.”
Charlie laughed, and then he and Doug walked off the ice and into the lobby of the rink. They changed out of their skates and then walked out towards the parking lot. Gary was already sitting in the Jeep, listening to NPR’s “Morning Edition”.
“You need a ride, Doug?”
“No thanks, Gary. I’ll just hoof it up the hill from here. No problem. See you guys in school.” Doug walked off and Charlie got into the passenger seat of the Cherokee. They drove off. Bob Edwards read the news in his quiet NPR tones, and Charlie dozed as they headed back to Bethany. He snapped awake when Gary nudged him.
“What, what? Jesus, man, don’t do that.”
“I asked you if you thought Doug was okay.” Gary turned off Route 63 and started down an unmarked country road. “He didn’t seem like he was that interested in practicing.”
“He’s fine. He and Kim were having issues, and he’s got his mind on that. Plus it’s that time of the year again.”
“Shit, I’d forgotten.” Gary turned the Cherokee into a long paved driveway that lead up to a huge manor house that sat on a hill overlooking most of Bethany. His parents weren’t home, so he parked the Cherokee right in front of the front door and shut the motor off. “I hope he doesn’t think I was giving him too much shit.”
“It’s fine. You know how he gets. He’ll probably write three songs about it before we get to the Mother today.” They went into the house together. “Look, I’m gonna take a quick shower in here okay. I don’t wanna walk all the way out to the Fortress.”
“No problem. Just watch out for Colette.” Colette was the French exchange student living with Gary’s family for the school year. Gary’s parents were away on vacation, and Gary had the run of the place(though he usually had the run of the place anyway.) Charlie went up the stairs to the second floor and headed towards the guest wing. He passed Colette’s room, noticing that her light wasn’t on yet, and walked down to the far guest room, which had a half bath with a stall shower. He stripped off his jersey and stepped into the stinging hot water.
Charlie Ferris was the most well known high school hockey player in the Northeast. His Holy Mother hockey team had won the state title two years in a row, and they were rolling their way towards another championship, which they would hopefully secure tomorrow. But he wasn’t a very complete person, he thought as he lathered up. French Canadian by birth, he’d moved to Connecticut with his mother when he was 10. They had left Quebec City to escape his father, an abusive “Hockey Dad” whose only interest was making sure his son was the greatest NHL player of all time. That his son just wanted to be a kid hadn’t occured to Jacques Ferris, and when Marie Ferris had bolted for the States with his meal ticket in tow, something snapped in Jacques’ head.
Charlie had been sitting in class at St. Andrew’s, half-listening to his teacher drone on about the Louisiana Purchase when they’d called him to the office. The principal was very grave, and tried to explain to Charlie that something terrible had happened to his mother, and his father was responsible. As it turned out, the old man had driven down from Quebec City, found his mom at her day job, and shot her with a .38, then turned the gun on himself. Thus, Charlie found himself an orphan.
He had been destined to return to Q.C., to people who he didn’t even know, when Gary’s parents stepped in. The Abletts were, well, damn rich, and Charlie and Gary were like brothers anyway. So the relatives in Q.C. were perfectly happy to let the Abletts adopt Gary(particularly after Burke Ablett sent a nice check their way), and Charlie moved out to Bethany. Ironically, after the old man did what he did, Charlie had become exactly what Jacques had wanted. Scouts had been at every game Holy Mother had played this year, and he expected more of the same tomorrow. And unlike Doug, Charlie was supremely motivated to win.
He turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, wrapping the towel around his waist as he did. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. He was just a shade under 18, but he already had a certain chiseled look about him. He worked out a bit, but he attributed most of it to good French Canadian genetic stock. He brushed aside a few stray hairs. “I am a winner,” he said to his reflection, “I’m a complete man.”
“No arguments there.” The voice from the doorway startled Charlie. Colette D’Amberville stood in the doorway in a pink bathrobe and slippers. “Are you finished yet, or should I come back after the intermission?”
“No, I’m done. It’s all yours, cherie.” Charlie liked having Colette around the house, because it gave him an opportunity to use the French that he’d spoken as a child until moving to the States. He was attracted to her, but he didn’t dare act on it because he was in a relationship with another girl, and besides, he didn’t want to get into it with her since she’d be going back across the water in a few months. “I’ll see you downstairs,” he said as he walked by her towards the common room he shared with Gary. As he walked away, he could feel her eyes on his back, but he didn’t turn around.
Doug watched the Cherokee drive off. He turned to trudge on homeward. He kind of wished that he’d said yes to Gary, but he needed the time to himself. He also wished he’d stayed in bed, but there was something about the early morning air that made him feel more alive then he’d been lately. Things had been going fairly well with Kim until she’d made the mistake of asking him about Dad. That had set him into a funk, as he never felt very happy at this time of year.
Unlike Charlie, Doug had only lost one parent, but it weighed on him a lot heavier. Doug O’Donnell Sr. loomed large in the life of his only son, and the fact that he was gone had driven Doug into a shell that he’d had a hard time getting out of. The only times he felt truly alive these days were out on the ice, laying into some poor kid who didn’t know why the kid they called “The Unholy Mother” was picking on him, or when Doug was playing with his band. He turned the corner onto Yale Avenue, and started the trudge down the street to his house. He looked at his watch. Mom probably wouldn’t be up yet, which was good. The last couple of days, she and Doug hadn’t been able to be in the same room together. That was because Doug was the spitting image of his father when his father had been his age, and his mom couldn’t deal with it.
As he passed the Masters house, he noticed that the light was off in Kim’s room, but he saw a shadow disappear from the window as he looked up. That was just as well, he thought. They were going through a rough patch right now, and the last thing he wanted to do was get her going again. He loved Kim, but he didn’t really know what to do about it. He was still a kid after all, and he was starting to get a lot of attention from girls after the shows that his band, Cerebus, would play. That was problematic, because he loved her, but he wanted the things that any hormone-addled 17-year old guy wants. He was looking forward to Gary’s party, not only because the band was playing, but because it was a chance to get out of the house for a couple of days.
He walked up the front steps of the house as the sun was just beginning to rise over the trees at the edge of the park. No one was moving, or so it seemed, as he took off his shoes and jacket and tiptoed through the living room. His uncle John, who’d been living with the family since Dad had passed on, was sleeping on the couch in the living room, and Doug paused to pull the blanket up over him. He walked down the stairs to his basement room and quietly got changed.
He picked up his backpack and went back up to the kitchen. As he poured himself a glass of orange juice, his mom came into the kitchen.
“What are you doing up and dressed so early?” His mother turned on the coffeemaker and pulled a mug out of the dish drainer.
“Five A.M. practice. Gary wanted me to prod Charlie, so I got out of bed early.” He stuffed a piece of bagel into his mouth.
“Like he needs you to do that,” Laura O’Donnell said as she sat down at the kitchen table, “That kid’s a dynamo.”
“Yeah, well, you know Charlie.” He regarded his mother. She worked two jobs to support Doug and his younger sister, and he felt guilty about it. He knew that he should be working himself, rather then playing hockey and music, but he couldn’t keep his mind on anything except those two things. He was an unexceptional student and probably wouldn’t be going to college unless someone gave him a scholarship.
“Yeah, I know Charlie.” Laura got up and poured herself a cup of coffee. “You’re going to be gone all weekend, I take it?”
“Um, probably. Gary’s parents are out of town, and this is probably the final time we’ll really be together, you know?” Doug expected his mom to say that he couldn’t go, but she just shrugged her shoulders.
“I guess I understand. I was 17 once too, you know. Just don’t do anything stupid.”
Doug knew that “anything stupid” meant one of two things, the only two things that he’d ever get kicked out of the house for. Don’t get arrested, and don’t knock any girls up. The first was no problem, and unless things changed greatly in the next twenty-four hours, the second wouldn’t be an issue either.
“No problem, Mom. All is well.” He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll see you tonight when you get home.”
“I won’t be home until late, Doug. Carol Masters insists that I go out to some ridiculous 50's Sock Hop Singles Dance with her.” Laura tried to smile, but it didn’t quite work. “I don’t know if I can do it.”
“You’ll be fine, Mom. Don’t worry about it.” Doug picked up his backpack, and headed out to the front yard.
“Hey, man, what’s going on? You look cheery this morning.” Bill sat on the hood of his 1980 Olds Cutlass Supreme, smoking a cigarette. If someone told you that Bill Ryan was the best defenseman in Connecticut, you’d have to ask what they were smoking. He stood just a shade under six feet, ten inches tall, though four inches was hair. He was the tallest kid to ever play organized hockey in the state of Connecticut, and he used it to his advantage on the ice. The reputation that preceded him was one of a guy who’d tear your arms off as soon as look at you, mainly because he literally looked like a brick wall on skates. Of course, once you actually sat down and talked to him, he was quite a different story.
“You’d be cheery too if you’d been down in the park too, you lazy motherfucker.” Doug tossed his backpack into the back seat of the Brown Bomber and turned to Bill. “You ready for tomorrow?”
“Which part?” In addition to hockey, Bill played bass in Doug’s band. “I’m always ready to whip a little Preppie ass, and I’m as rehearsed as I’m gonna be on the set list. Just try not to toss me too many curves.” Bill sat down behind the wheel of the Olds, and they turned out of Doug’s driveway, headed for Holy Mother Academy. They rode in silence for a bit.
“Let me ask you something, Bill.”
“Hm?” Bill lit another cigarette as they waited for a light to change.
“Do you really think we have any chance of going anywhere?”
Bill snorted. “Dude. You’re kidding, right?” He blew a smoke ring and continued, “We’re just another local band who sprinkles an original song or two into a set consisting of the same dozen or so songs that everyone else plays. The only difference is that you’re a little more talented then most of the other kids out there.”
“I don’t know,” said Doug, “I just feel like I’m wasting my time somehow. I just want someone to listen to my music and go, ‘Hey, that’s really something’.”
“Man, that won’t happen if we continue playing Bon Jovi and Maiden covers.”
Doug nodded. “But I can’t book us if all we do is play King Crimson or Zappa-styled originals. No one wants to pay to hear that stuff these days. You do remember that $200 cash payment we made the last time we played over at the University Of No Hope, don’t you?”
“Here we go again with the commerce over art arguement. Look, I told you. We don’t have to noodle, we just need to get away from hair-bear metal. That’s all.” Bill tossed the cigarette out the window before turning into the driveway of Holy Mother. As they drove up, Doug noticed a banner hanging over the gym entrance door.
Good Luck Golden Boys
Kick Some Preppie Butt!
“Man, you know I hate that Golden Boy shit,” Bill said as he got out of the car. Doug had always assumed that that was because Bill tended to be considered an afterthought as far as the “Golden Boys” mantle was concerned. Any time Holy Mother made it onto the front page of the New Haven Register sports section, Charlie and Doug were usually front and center. The worst of it, though, the grand insult in Bill’s eyes, had come last year. The Register had named Charlie, Jack and Doug co-MVP’s in hockey for the year. And where was Bill? Second team. Never mind that, in Bill’s eyes, anyway, Charlie and Doug wouldn’t have had the kind of year they did if it weren’t for him.
“I know, Bill,” Doug said as he pulled on his backpack, “but it’s a big deal to the school, so deal with it.” They headed into the school.
Up until the second week of February, the winter of 1989 had been the warmest on record in Connecticut in nearly a century. As late as the week before Christmas, temperatures had been hovering in the upper 50's, and only a sudden cold front in the last week of January had brought on any snow. So it was with some surprise that Jack Shanahan found it flurrying when he stepped out his front door to take his morning run. He was wearing shorts despite the 34-degree weather, and a hooded Holy Mother Hockey sweatshirt, and he pulled the hood up over his head as he stood on the front porch of his house. It was about five A.M., and still pretty dark. He strapped on his Walkman and began to jog down the path to the street, Miles Davis jamming in his ears.
Jack normally began his morning with a light tai chi regimen and a few minutes of calisthenic stretching. Unlike Charlie, he didn’t feel he needed to be on the rink every single day. Instead he spent time meditating and keeping his legs limber. But seeing as tomorrow was the final day he would ever put on a set of goaltenders pads and skates (or so it seemed to him), he’d decided to go out and make sure he was ready to play. His run took him through the darkened streets of Westville, past the Catholic grade school where he’d first encountered Bill, and on towards the ice rink where Charlie and Doug would be getting in their final skate before the game tomorrow. He assumed that Gary would probably be there, running them through their paces like some kind of insane drill sergeant. That worked fine for them, but Jack wasn’t like that.
He jogged down the hill, through Westville Village and into Edgewood Park at West Rock. Gary’s father had bankrolled the revitalization of the Edgewood rink, and in exchange, Gary had the run of the place whenever he wanted. He could see the lights of the outdoor rink as he closed on the fence. Gary’s voice came over the breeze to him.
“Again!”
Jack imagined Charlie and Doug sprinting up ice, swinging around the goal, and skating back to the blue line. He was glad that he was a goalie, and not a regular player, because he wasn’t much of a skater. He brought a certain zen-like calmness to his game, but don’t ask him to skate too far up the ice at one time. That was for the big guys to do, like Bill Ryan. He tried to imagine the gargantuan Ryan diving to stop a shot, and chuckled under his breath. Taking kendo had sharpened his reflexes enough that he had a .940 goals against average and was taking a 40-game win streak into the championship game. But there’d be no windsprints for him.
Gary Ablett was standing on the ice, whistle in hand. He was tired from being up half the night working on plays for the game, and because Charlie had insisted on watching a videotape of Prep whipping Hamden in the semi-finals. He was glad that vacation started at the end of the day today, because after this weekend, he was going to need some rest. He watched Charlie and Doug roughhousing as they skated back to the line, and shook his head.
“You guys done playing with each other? Or should I let you have the ice to yourselves for a while?”
Charlie rolled his eyes. “Dude, don’t be so uptight. We’ve got this game by the balls, man. It’s a cakewalk.” He looked over to the fence. “Hey, Yojimbo, what’s happening?”
Gary looked over to see Jack coming through the gate at the end of the rink. Ever the diplomat, Charlie had dubbed Jack “Yojimbo” because of his apparent mania for all things Japanese. Gary often wondered why Jack even played hockey. Jack walked across the ice to them.
“Morning, boys. What’s going on?” Jack looked around. “Where’s Ryan?”
Gary chuckled. “Come on. I can’t get Bill out of bed for real practices, you think I’m gonna get him down here for extracurriculars?” Bill Ryan was a defenseman on the team, and his chief role was to intimidate opponents who might be thinking of hitting Charlie. Gary looked at his watch, then back at Jack. “It’s getting close to time anyway. Why don’t you two take a quick lap, and then we’ll get out of here. We do have school today, after all.”
“No problem, “ said Charlie, “see ya later, Yojimbo.” He took off down the ice, surprising Doug, who was half-dozing on his feet. Doug took off after him, and the two yelled good-natured insults at each other as they skated around the ice. Gary and Jack walked off towards the lobby of the rink together. When they got to the door, Gary turned to Jack.
“Are you ready for the game tomorrow?”
Jack scratched his chin. “As much as I’m going to be. You know how I approach these things.”
Gary nodded. “I know. Hey, you are coming to the house tomorrow after the game, aren’t you?” Gary was having a big party since his parents were going to be away.
“Probably. It depends on the weather.” Jack drove a rolling pile of junk, a 1978 Dodge Aspen that was slowly rotting away. He’d been having good luck with it with the warm winter, but he wasn’t looking forward to driving it out to Bethany, particularly if it snowed.
“Don’t worry about that. Just come back to the house with us after the game. You know I’ve always got room in the Jeep.”
“We’ll see, man. It depends on how the game goes.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Gary mused, “I don’t think Charlie intends to lose.”
Gary slapped Jack on the back, and then Jack jogged off. Gary watched him go, and then shook his head. Jack was an odd bird, that’s for sure. In the four years that they’d gone to Holy Mother together, Jack was the only guy on the hockey team that had never made the trip out to Gary’s house for the occasional team parties that Gary held. Not that he was insulted, mind you. A guy had every right to his privacy. But Jack was just, well, odd.
Charlie watched Gary and Jack walk off the ice as he lapped the back end of the rink and started skating back. Unlike the others, he took his early morning regimen very seriously. If Gary hadn’t been here, he’d probably have just skated laps and solo drills for an hour, then gone home and showered before school. Doug was good to have around for the practices most times, but today he just wanted to fuck around, and Charlie wasn’t having it. So he’d dusted Doug on the first couple of drills, trying to get him into it, but it hadn’t worked. He turned and skated backwards while taunting Doug.
“Come on, you puss, let’s go. Maybe I’ll have Coach replace you on the roster tomorrow with Chambers.”
Doug flipped him the bird, then dashed past him. “The day you replace me with some wet-behind-the-ears freshman is the day I let you hit it with my sister.” He skated towards the rink door, Charlie cursing up a storm behind him. Unlike Charlie, he had no ambitions towards anything greater then finishing out his career at Holy Mother with a letter in hockey and maybe a third state championship. He grabbed the wall, then nimbly sidestepped as Charlie skated up to hit him at the boards.
“Save that shit for tomorrow,” Gary yelled, “you’re going to need it.”
Charlie laughed, and then he and Doug walked off the ice and into the lobby of the rink. They changed out of their skates and then walked out towards the parking lot. Gary was already sitting in the Jeep, listening to NPR’s “Morning Edition”.
“You need a ride, Doug?”
“No thanks, Gary. I’ll just hoof it up the hill from here. No problem. See you guys in school.” Doug walked off and Charlie got into the passenger seat of the Cherokee. They drove off. Bob Edwards read the news in his quiet NPR tones, and Charlie dozed as they headed back to Bethany. He snapped awake when Gary nudged him.
“What, what? Jesus, man, don’t do that.”
“I asked you if you thought Doug was okay.” Gary turned off Route 63 and started down an unmarked country road. “He didn’t seem like he was that interested in practicing.”
“He’s fine. He and Kim were having issues, and he’s got his mind on that. Plus it’s that time of the year again.”
“Shit, I’d forgotten.” Gary turned the Cherokee into a long paved driveway that lead up to a huge manor house that sat on a hill overlooking most of Bethany. His parents weren’t home, so he parked the Cherokee right in front of the front door and shut the motor off. “I hope he doesn’t think I was giving him too much shit.”
“It’s fine. You know how he gets. He’ll probably write three songs about it before we get to the Mother today.” They went into the house together. “Look, I’m gonna take a quick shower in here okay. I don’t wanna walk all the way out to the Fortress.”
“No problem. Just watch out for Colette.” Colette was the French exchange student living with Gary’s family for the school year. Gary’s parents were away on vacation, and Gary had the run of the place(though he usually had the run of the place anyway.) Charlie went up the stairs to the second floor and headed towards the guest wing. He passed Colette’s room, noticing that her light wasn’t on yet, and walked down to the far guest room, which had a half bath with a stall shower. He stripped off his jersey and stepped into the stinging hot water.
Charlie Ferris was the most well known high school hockey player in the Northeast. His Holy Mother hockey team had won the state title two years in a row, and they were rolling their way towards another championship, which they would hopefully secure tomorrow. But he wasn’t a very complete person, he thought as he lathered up. French Canadian by birth, he’d moved to Connecticut with his mother when he was 10. They had left Quebec City to escape his father, an abusive “Hockey Dad” whose only interest was making sure his son was the greatest NHL player of all time. That his son just wanted to be a kid hadn’t occured to Jacques Ferris, and when Marie Ferris had bolted for the States with his meal ticket in tow, something snapped in Jacques’ head.
Charlie had been sitting in class at St. Andrew’s, half-listening to his teacher drone on about the Louisiana Purchase when they’d called him to the office. The principal was very grave, and tried to explain to Charlie that something terrible had happened to his mother, and his father was responsible. As it turned out, the old man had driven down from Quebec City, found his mom at her day job, and shot her with a .38, then turned the gun on himself. Thus, Charlie found himself an orphan.
He had been destined to return to Q.C., to people who he didn’t even know, when Gary’s parents stepped in. The Abletts were, well, damn rich, and Charlie and Gary were like brothers anyway. So the relatives in Q.C. were perfectly happy to let the Abletts adopt Gary(particularly after Burke Ablett sent a nice check their way), and Charlie moved out to Bethany. Ironically, after the old man did what he did, Charlie had become exactly what Jacques had wanted. Scouts had been at every game Holy Mother had played this year, and he expected more of the same tomorrow. And unlike Doug, Charlie was supremely motivated to win.
He turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, wrapping the towel around his waist as he did. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. He was just a shade under 18, but he already had a certain chiseled look about him. He worked out a bit, but he attributed most of it to good French Canadian genetic stock. He brushed aside a few stray hairs. “I am a winner,” he said to his reflection, “I’m a complete man.”
“No arguments there.” The voice from the doorway startled Charlie. Colette D’Amberville stood in the doorway in a pink bathrobe and slippers. “Are you finished yet, or should I come back after the intermission?”
“No, I’m done. It’s all yours, cherie.” Charlie liked having Colette around the house, because it gave him an opportunity to use the French that he’d spoken as a child until moving to the States. He was attracted to her, but he didn’t dare act on it because he was in a relationship with another girl, and besides, he didn’t want to get into it with her since she’d be going back across the water in a few months. “I’ll see you downstairs,” he said as he walked by her towards the common room he shared with Gary. As he walked away, he could feel her eyes on his back, but he didn’t turn around.
Doug watched the Cherokee drive off. He turned to trudge on homeward. He kind of wished that he’d said yes to Gary, but he needed the time to himself. He also wished he’d stayed in bed, but there was something about the early morning air that made him feel more alive then he’d been lately. Things had been going fairly well with Kim until she’d made the mistake of asking him about Dad. That had set him into a funk, as he never felt very happy at this time of year.
Unlike Charlie, Doug had only lost one parent, but it weighed on him a lot heavier. Doug O’Donnell Sr. loomed large in the life of his only son, and the fact that he was gone had driven Doug into a shell that he’d had a hard time getting out of. The only times he felt truly alive these days were out on the ice, laying into some poor kid who didn’t know why the kid they called “The Unholy Mother” was picking on him, or when Doug was playing with his band. He turned the corner onto Yale Avenue, and started the trudge down the street to his house. He looked at his watch. Mom probably wouldn’t be up yet, which was good. The last couple of days, she and Doug hadn’t been able to be in the same room together. That was because Doug was the spitting image of his father when his father had been his age, and his mom couldn’t deal with it.
As he passed the Masters house, he noticed that the light was off in Kim’s room, but he saw a shadow disappear from the window as he looked up. That was just as well, he thought. They were going through a rough patch right now, and the last thing he wanted to do was get her going again. He loved Kim, but he didn’t really know what to do about it. He was still a kid after all, and he was starting to get a lot of attention from girls after the shows that his band, Cerebus, would play. That was problematic, because he loved her, but he wanted the things that any hormone-addled 17-year old guy wants. He was looking forward to Gary’s party, not only because the band was playing, but because it was a chance to get out of the house for a couple of days.
He walked up the front steps of the house as the sun was just beginning to rise over the trees at the edge of the park. No one was moving, or so it seemed, as he took off his shoes and jacket and tiptoed through the living room. His uncle John, who’d been living with the family since Dad had passed on, was sleeping on the couch in the living room, and Doug paused to pull the blanket up over him. He walked down the stairs to his basement room and quietly got changed.
He picked up his backpack and went back up to the kitchen. As he poured himself a glass of orange juice, his mom came into the kitchen.
“What are you doing up and dressed so early?” His mother turned on the coffeemaker and pulled a mug out of the dish drainer.
“Five A.M. practice. Gary wanted me to prod Charlie, so I got out of bed early.” He stuffed a piece of bagel into his mouth.
“Like he needs you to do that,” Laura O’Donnell said as she sat down at the kitchen table, “That kid’s a dynamo.”
“Yeah, well, you know Charlie.” He regarded his mother. She worked two jobs to support Doug and his younger sister, and he felt guilty about it. He knew that he should be working himself, rather then playing hockey and music, but he couldn’t keep his mind on anything except those two things. He was an unexceptional student and probably wouldn’t be going to college unless someone gave him a scholarship.
“Yeah, I know Charlie.” Laura got up and poured herself a cup of coffee. “You’re going to be gone all weekend, I take it?”
“Um, probably. Gary’s parents are out of town, and this is probably the final time we’ll really be together, you know?” Doug expected his mom to say that he couldn’t go, but she just shrugged her shoulders.
“I guess I understand. I was 17 once too, you know. Just don’t do anything stupid.”
Doug knew that “anything stupid” meant one of two things, the only two things that he’d ever get kicked out of the house for. Don’t get arrested, and don’t knock any girls up. The first was no problem, and unless things changed greatly in the next twenty-four hours, the second wouldn’t be an issue either.
“No problem, Mom. All is well.” He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll see you tonight when you get home.”
“I won’t be home until late, Doug. Carol Masters insists that I go out to some ridiculous 50's Sock Hop Singles Dance with her.” Laura tried to smile, but it didn’t quite work. “I don’t know if I can do it.”
“You’ll be fine, Mom. Don’t worry about it.” Doug picked up his backpack, and headed out to the front yard.
“Hey, man, what’s going on? You look cheery this morning.” Bill sat on the hood of his 1980 Olds Cutlass Supreme, smoking a cigarette. If someone told you that Bill Ryan was the best defenseman in Connecticut, you’d have to ask what they were smoking. He stood just a shade under six feet, ten inches tall, though four inches was hair. He was the tallest kid to ever play organized hockey in the state of Connecticut, and he used it to his advantage on the ice. The reputation that preceded him was one of a guy who’d tear your arms off as soon as look at you, mainly because he literally looked like a brick wall on skates. Of course, once you actually sat down and talked to him, he was quite a different story.
“You’d be cheery too if you’d been down in the park too, you lazy motherfucker.” Doug tossed his backpack into the back seat of the Brown Bomber and turned to Bill. “You ready for tomorrow?”
“Which part?” In addition to hockey, Bill played bass in Doug’s band. “I’m always ready to whip a little Preppie ass, and I’m as rehearsed as I’m gonna be on the set list. Just try not to toss me too many curves.” Bill sat down behind the wheel of the Olds, and they turned out of Doug’s driveway, headed for Holy Mother Academy. They rode in silence for a bit.
“Let me ask you something, Bill.”
“Hm?” Bill lit another cigarette as they waited for a light to change.
“Do you really think we have any chance of going anywhere?”
Bill snorted. “Dude. You’re kidding, right?” He blew a smoke ring and continued, “We’re just another local band who sprinkles an original song or two into a set consisting of the same dozen or so songs that everyone else plays. The only difference is that you’re a little more talented then most of the other kids out there.”
“I don’t know,” said Doug, “I just feel like I’m wasting my time somehow. I just want someone to listen to my music and go, ‘Hey, that’s really something’.”
“Man, that won’t happen if we continue playing Bon Jovi and Maiden covers.”
Doug nodded. “But I can’t book us if all we do is play King Crimson or Zappa-styled originals. No one wants to pay to hear that stuff these days. You do remember that $200 cash payment we made the last time we played over at the University Of No Hope, don’t you?”
“Here we go again with the commerce over art arguement. Look, I told you. We don’t have to noodle, we just need to get away from hair-bear metal. That’s all.” Bill tossed the cigarette out the window before turning into the driveway of Holy Mother. As they drove up, Doug noticed a banner hanging over the gym entrance door.
Good Luck Golden Boys
Kick Some Preppie Butt!
“Man, you know I hate that Golden Boy shit,” Bill said as he got out of the car. Doug had always assumed that that was because Bill tended to be considered an afterthought as far as the “Golden Boys” mantle was concerned. Any time Holy Mother made it onto the front page of the New Haven Register sports section, Charlie and Doug were usually front and center. The worst of it, though, the grand insult in Bill’s eyes, had come last year. The Register had named Charlie, Jack and Doug co-MVP’s in hockey for the year. And where was Bill? Second team. Never mind that, in Bill’s eyes, anyway, Charlie and Doug wouldn’t have had the kind of year they did if it weren’t for him.
“I know, Bill,” Doug said as he pulled on his backpack, “but it’s a big deal to the school, so deal with it.” They headed into the school.
