Rink Mitts

1.

The door to the boiler room opened a crack and brighter lights from beyond the dimly lit room sent a shaft of light across the concrete floor. A cacophony of noise rushed inside with the cold air and Alice instinctively froze in place half stooped on a bench reaching into a bag. 'What is this? It's too early? I've only just got here.' Half a dozen thoughts raced through Alice's mind as the door remained cracked open. She could hear some discussion right outside the door, mostly male, some laughter, she couldn't quite make out what was being said.

A thud against the door made Alice sit upright and alert. She wanted to look ready, but ready for what exactly she wasn't quite sure. The face of another girl around her size and around her age was being ushered into the boiler room. The silhouette of a man between the dim light of the boiler room and the brighter lights behind him. His hand on the upper part of the door as the girl lumbered in lugging her bag behind her. "This is Heather," a familiar voice came from a familiar face as Alice's eyes began adjusting to the changes in light.

Heather found a seat on the opposite side of the boiler room. There was a chipped up wooden chair like the kind you used to see in old schools and she sat down. The girls were quiet while they inspected each other for a second and Alice's eyes immediately went down to the floor where Heather had dropped her stuff. "You're a goalie," she nodded towards the pads that wouldn't fit inside the normal sized hockey bag, "you any good?"

...

The dads were congregating down by the glass talking amongst themselves blowing across the plastic lids of their Styrofoam cups and the women sat in groups in the stands with their to go mugs of coffee and tea that they brought from home. Little siblings ran around the walking track playing tag and walkers with headphones begrudgingly dodged the little wild bodies with their shrieking voices. These kids would somehow become invisible to their parents for the next hour and fifteen minutes.

All the important news would be shared first like the inverted triangle of a newspaper article. Parents at the rink talk in sync with their kid's shifts with their ears half on the conversation of dwindling details so their eyes and attention can divert to their kids coming and goings on the ice. This is how to talk at the rink, except for goalie parents. They don't talk to anyone once the game starts. Everyone goes home at the end of the night with half stories.

As the zamboni floods the ice in strips the boys push and jostle around the door along the boards as if there is a prize to being first on the ice. There should almost be penalties for kids waiting to get on the ice. Alice and Heather stand a few feet back from the melee unwilling to be punched in the back of the helmet for position. Alice gives Heather a sideways glance to see if she thinks these boys are as ridiculous as she does and her eye roll silently confirms that she does.

While they wait Alice really gets a chance to measure Heather up. She's a bit taller and she doesn't seem to either smile or frown. She'd been quiet in the dressing room while they got their gear on, but Alice figures that she was probably quiet too. She was usually the only girl so she usually dressed alone and waited quietly for the coach to come fetch her, or on occasion she would realize she had been forgotten and slipped out onto the ice in the midst of warm ups. She decided that Heather seemed pretty nice and had to admit their team had pretty decent uniforms.

"More and more women driving zambonis these days," a dad said between sips. "They'll let women do almost anything these days," a reply from the line along the glass added, "there's a woman electrician at work now." "Is she hot?" followed by synchronized group laughter from the dads as they watch the zamboni driver finish and jump down into the ice surface to shovel off the excess slush.