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Luke Madden is a NHL superstar. But when an injury sidelines him, he's required to undergo physical therapy. With a stable family and girlfriend, Luke has all the resources he needs. Or so he thinks. As it turns out, there are...
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Luke
Home.
I miss it.
Almost as much as I miss the privilege of privacy.
There are so many levels to homesickness. I miss Olivia and my cat, Gretzky. I miss the comfort of my bed and the familiar smell of my sheets. Then there's the miscellaneous aspects—the café, the grocery store with my favourite strawberry jam, the distant view of the Rockies. The privacy of my life outside of hockey, where I could drive to Banff and go hiking. Make love to my girlfriend without worrying about my injuries and how my body will function in the future.
Everything's been clouded by the disadvantages of medical injuries.
As I continue to churn through these emotions, a memory of my childhood skitters to the forefront of my mind. Prior to my name being well known throughout Canada's hockey world, Kate, me, and the rest of the family spent the day at Cherry Beach here in Toronto.
Although my eyes have not left the bright lights of the arena reflecting through the window, thinking about the memory brings a smile to my lips but also leaves a bittersweet taste on my tongue. It's like iced tea on a hot summer day—refreshing, but not enough to curb the heat and fatigue that lingers.
However, anything's better than focusing on hockey or my injuries. So I let the memory come to me. Cherry Beach is one of the most rustic-looking beaches in the Toronto area: the sand is rough, there's a 1930s lifesaving station, an ice cream truck, and, overall, feels very laid back. All I could smell was charcoal barbeques, musky lake water, and coconut sunscreen. My hands were sticky with the classic popsicle I'd eaten while we played cards. Cribbage is a big game in our family, but when the heat became too much, we went swimming. We were at that beach until the sun set.
While the memory distracts me, it makes me wish I was at the beach as opposed to being here. I understand the need to heal and return to hockey, but I'm exhausted, mentally and physically. After today's activities, I feel like I've run a marathon. Which is a little self-deflating because I'm an elite athlete.
Glancing around the cafeteria, I curl into myself even more than before. Despite being vocal and acting like a leader on the ice, this is unfamiliar territory for me. I don't know anyone or how this space functions. Plus, I'm familiar with snakes hiding in the daisies. Meaning, many people could try to befriend me because of my fame. Every so often, I catch someone staring at me, their lips parted and eyes filled with shock. They know who I am and what team I play for. Luckily, no one has swarmed me to have questions about my injuries answered or to ask for autographs. But their stares and whispers make me uncomfortable, and it's getting to my head.
I shouldn't be letting it get to my head. It's basic fan behaviour. But I feel too vulnerable to deal with fans at the moment. Without a knee injury, at least I can run or push against them. There's an escape route that'll get me the hell out of here. With my limited mobility, I'm close to a carcass in the desert, laying here and ready for the vultures to pick at.
