The Sound of Ice

38

"George," I announce, leaning against the wall. "I think something's wrong with me."

George continues sweeping the floor, but looks up at me with a concerned look on his face. There's a hockey lesson going on on the ice, and the kids look to be about four or five years old. 

"What do you mean?" asks George. He's wearing his black rain jacket. I'm not sure if I've ever seen him in anything else. 

"I don't know."

"Hey, talk to me."

Yeah, talking. I haven't been very good at that lately. "I don't know."

George sets the broom against the bleachers and leans against the wall beside me. He sighs deeply, and I look out at the little kids, flailing around on the ice. When he finally talks, his voice is warm. "You're under a lot of pressure right now."

"I guess."

He waits for me to talk. God, talking is so hard. All the words are stuck inside of me. 

"I can't sleep," I finally say. "There are lots of people talking about me. You know, online and stuff."

"Hmm."

"And... like, writing to me."

"Writing to you?"

"Yeah, like letters."

"I see."

"Most of them are really nice. One person said they almost killed themselves, but I like, gave them hope. But I don't... I can't be..." I stare at the ground.

"Most of them?"

"Well, a couple haven't been nice."

But I don't show Sam those. I don't show anybody those. 

"I see."

"And everyone either loves me or hates me. And I don't like either. I just want to play hockey, you know? I didn't want..."

"I know. It's a lot."

"Yeah." I sniff and stuff my hands in my pockets. "And I've just been really... anxious. And stressed."

"Why can't you sleep at night?"

"I don't know. My brain won't turn off."

George breathes deeply, and I bite my lip. I hate my brain at night. Sam getting beat up. Words ringing in my ear. People committing suicide. My father. My father?

"And I want to do the right thing. But I don't know what to do. I don't want to make a mistake."

"Cameron."

"And everyone's like, watching me. Um. And I just - I want to be a good person." I bite my lip again.

"Cameron. You are a good person."

"But I don't know what to do."

"You're only seventeen."

"Almost eighteen."

George smiles. "Almost eighteen. Cameron... I don't want you to be stressed like this. You don't need to be. So many people are rooting for you. And not in a... pressuring way. We just enjoy seeing the young man that you are becoming."

"Not everyone," I whisper.

"Not everyone."

"I'm gay." I stuff my hands deeper in my pockets and blink at my running shoes. "Shit, George. This is so hard."

"I'm here for you. Your family's here. Sam is here."

"But in a few months, I'll be moving away, probably. To whichever team drafts me. Then what? I'll have no one there, I won't know who I am..."