Page 64 of He Has Game (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
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Even though wehaven’t broken off our relationship, I never see Finn now because of the playoff bubble. We attend all the games as the weeks and wins go by and my only contact, even though it’s not real contact is his acknowledging look at the end of each game as he’s heading off the ice. It’s as if we need the boards and glass between us as a shield to prevent… what? More heartache? Or as I suspect for Finn, to prevent him from going any further with our relationship, from acknowledging that we’ve had something real.
I can’t stand the absence of contact, of closure between us, that limbo-like feeling in my heart. At the very least, I need for him to know how I feel. So I send him a letter, a note of apology and tell him everything between us was always real for me, including our friendship, so if he ever needs a friend or a word of encouragement I’m there for him. Mary promises she’ll deliver it and she does, but I never hear back.
Then one day during the final series in between game two and three, I run into him at the coffee shop, our coffee shop.Awkward. He says I look skinny. I admit I’ve lost weight and he looks concerned, but he moves on without giving an inch.
At the end of the next game, he looks my way and it’s the most warmth I get from him, the only meaningful positive in our relationship through to the last game.
When we lose game six, the only good thing about it is that the Brawlers will have a chance to win the cup at home at the Garden. And I’ll see him one last time.
Taking our seats along the boards to the right of the bench the idea that it’s game seven of the Stanley Cup finals and we could win—Finn could win, make his dreams come true—piles onto my already frayed nerves.
All my anxiety and excitement about the game and overwrought sadness about the end of the season races towards me like a meteor careening to the earth and heading straight for my head.
