Sixteen

Some people are pressed into the Army for service.

In Long Bay, you’re pressed into curling and you damn well better never complain because the history of it is way too thick and rich of a history to be ignored. You hear all those stories about The Donald Foley (and you love watching Julie roll her eyes and Amy grin proudly when his name gets brought up) and there’s stuff about your Dad too that you’d rather ignore because you’re sixteen and what sixteen year old boy gets along with his father?

You’ve got Francis telling you about how you’re the next great Cutter (and Jesus, before the first Cutter is even done curling. What’s that about?) And there’s Nug who just bought the local bar even though he’s only a few years older than you. He’s already getting ready to name the drink after you. He says he’ll call it The Cut of the Rink. It’s not exactly genius, but you’re not exactly Buddha, bringing about world peace. You’re just some son of a guy who’s a renowned curler and they’re just hoping something passed along in his genes.

And then you’ve got your teammates. You’ve got guys you’ve known since you were pretty much in pre-school and none of you are even into your junior year, but your futures are mapped.

And it’s Golden Broom, Golden Broom, Golden Broom (say it three times and spin around, maybe it’ll come true).

There’s James Lennox, but he’s just Lennox. He’s only James to the few girls who he’s working on, trying to get into their skirts (a few of the plaid kilts from the Catholic school down the way, but most of them are from their own public brand of education). He deals drugs by the chainlink fence of the tennis court and has a group of guys he smokes with casually. They’re nameless to you because Lennox promises that they don’t matter. They’re just The Guys.

There’s Neil Bucyk, the tall and gangly guy who has a few girls after him (not that he’d ever realize it, guy was thick when it came to the female persuasion and settled for some really bitchy girls, just because they were forward about wanting him). He hung out with his roses when he wasn’t working out in gym class for the third year in a row. He liked his easy credits and always said that jogging was an easier way to an A than Calc.

And there’s Eddie Strombeck, who’s been with Lily as long as you can remember until really, they’re EddieAndLily now and you have to separate them in the halls with a throat-clearing when you round the corner to get to your locker by Mr. Latin’s math room and Miss McCarthy’s physics lab (and you love that class and not because you love physics but because Miss McCarthy has the best calves this side of the Canadian Shield).

And the four of you are supposed to make a rink together because that’s what everyone else says because of the way you played during Gym Class. Apparently, you’ve got talent and that means you’ve been sentenced to service with Donald Foley, three times a week (four times, pending on just how good you become).

So that’s why you’re here in the local Long Bay rink at six in the morning (Jesus Christ, who invented this hour and can they be shot for it?) with a set of rocks, three teammates, and a coach who’s looking at you like you’ve slept with his daughter, when really, you’re just imagining it in your head and maybe you haven’t picked which daughter it is yet. Amy’s got the smile, but Julie’s got the breasts.

And Lennox is still high from something he smoked at three in the morning and Eddie’s got this hickey on his neck that’s obviously from drive-in night and Neil’s not even awake and isn’t bothering to hide it.

And you? You’re just staring at the rock at your feet and you’re wondering how far you can throw it on your first try. Maybe it’ll slide down the ice just so and it’ll tuck right onto the button. Maybe it won’t be fireworks and ecstasy like your Dad is always going on about (oh, God, Scotland this and curling that and sometimes, you wish he wasn’t any good at the sport and he could just be your Dad).

You don’t really hear what Donald’s saying because it all sounds like a bunch of motivational stuff that you’ll probably hear again and again. You just crouch down to pick up the stone and polish the smooth granite with your bare hand, feeling how it sort of freezes all the sensation in your fingers. You hear Lennox asking what you’re doing, but then he’s off about something on the ice and you’re settling into form.

You close your eyes.

And then you do hear Donald. You really hear him. “The purity of the heart is to will one thing.”

And you throw.