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two worlds <!-- perhaps much of this is better left unsaid, unacknowledged. --> :~: The scent of fresh, uninhaled menthol milling about in my mouth with the aftertaste of cold beer calls on the temptation to place my problems in the hands of nicotine and alcohol, to calmly and indifferently shrug my head back and exhale a cloud of smoke out the door into the frigid night sky. Somewhere in the middle of Nowhere, New Jersey with only the flirtatious moon, three teammates and a co-conspirator coach to see, or care, I am watching her gesture with a cigarette perched between the two prongs of her right hand telling me to have one, just one won't affect my game. Just one won't kill ya, he joins in the cajoling, throwing his Parliament Lights at me from across the room. They land softly on the bed and I stare them down. The last time I held a cigarette in my hand was the night I quote unquote hit bottom, to be cliché about it, 15th December 2000 in B's room. When I gave up "the occassional cigarette while drinking", I also gave up an entire lifestyle that defined the trainwreck downward spiral that was my life in the year 2000. There is no question in my mind that hockey saved my from eventual self-destruction, the all too tempting sweet darkness, its sharp brilliant highs and paralyzing lows. Each of these worlds must exist in its own right, but never in the same place, never at the same time. When I push the pack of cigarettes away I reject the me that was and commit myself once again to pushing hard through, forward, upward and away from a past best left to memory. It breaks my heart to end a season this way, with a crushing, frustrating loss, the kind that makes me doubt my will and resolve, makes me wonder why I even bother to play this game; back where I started from that night well over a year ago: in a room with friends smoking, drinking, sharing stories and laughter. |
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