New Skates
Nothing hushes an old broad locker room like “Wearing new skates today…”
Someone asks, “Husband?” (Wives and girlfriends know better.)
“Yep. Christmas.” Teammates sigh, some gently shake their heads.
In the Old Broad Hockey world, “new skates” translates to huge discomfort, a disruption to those sacred kid-free, work-free, question-free minutes we’ve been aching for all week. New skates means shin splints or tongue bite, feeling the blisters form as you jump more clumsily over the boards, maybe peeling off your socks between periods to stop the cramping. For the first few games in new skates, your brain is in your feet, not on the forecheck or sizing up the 5-hole. You hurt in your soles, as well as your soul.
Last week, my favorite Sharpening Guy broke it to me: I have maybe two sharpenings left on my old skates; “Maybe two, if we don’t clamp the blades.” Quick math: six more games, maybe eight if I play D in a few. My Grafs have seen 1200 games since December 2010, a week after my ex-husband moved out, a gift to myself because I was ready: ready for change in my world, ready to be better and faster and abler. They suffered, zipped up in my gear bag for days, smooth slicks of unaired sweat smelted onto their linings; knotted broken laces ringed with rusty eyelets. Still, they held me together.
My new skates have been sitting by the back door since last February, silver-on-jet-black boots, glistening with promise. Since last February, they’ve been moving ever closer to my bag in the car. Maybe I’ll wear them for Friday’s game; maybe wait ‘til Sunday’s. Maybe I need to wear them to bed in hot socks so they are better molded to my purpose and new hopes.
When the time comes – be it tomorrow or in eight games – I’ll pat my old girls like I’m putting down a dog; I’ll say goodbye, reflect. But, it’ll be okay. I’ll get used to the new girls, and they’ll mold to the older me. Blisters will turn to calluses, that familiar smell will rise up from their insides, proclaiming them mine. Like so many things for me now, “new” won’t be part of who they are.
After all, my (new) husband gave ‘em to me.
Jennie Cook