13. Colin
COLIN
I 've been sitting in the dining hall for twenty minutes, pretending to eat a sandwich while actually just tearing it into small pieces, and I still can't figure out what the fuck is wrong with me.
Everything should be good right now. Hockey's going well—I'm getting decent ice time, Coach seems happy with my progress, and we just won our third game in a row. My grades are solid. I'm not completely failing at college.
So why do I feel like shit?
"You look like someone killed your dog," Ezra says, dropping into the seat across from me with his lunch tray.
"I don't have a dog."
"It's an expression, genius."
"I know it's an expression."
"So what's wrong? You've been weird for like a week."
"I haven't been weird."
"Dude, yesterday you walked into the glass door at the library. Twice."
"That door is poorly marked."
"It has a giant 'PULL' sign on it."
"Whatever."
Ezra takes a bite of his burger and studies me like I'm a science experiment.
"This is about Savannah, isn't it?"
"What makes you think that?"
"Because you used to light up like a Christmas tree whenever someone mentioned her name, and now you get this constipated look."
"I don't get a constipated look."
"You're making the constipated look right now."
I realize I've been unconsciously frowning and try to relax my face, which probably makes me look even weirder.
"It's complicated," I say.
"How complicated can it be? You like her, she likes you, you're both single college students."
"It's not that simple."
"It literally is that simple."
"No, it's not, because..." I trail off, because I don't actually know how to explain what's been going through my head lately.
"Because what?"
"Because what if my dad's right?"
"Right about what?"
"About me getting distracted. About focusing on hockey."
Ezra sets down his burger and gives me a look.
"Colin, are you kidding me right now?"
"I'm serious."
"Your dad told you to stop seeing Savannah?"
"Not exactly. He just... he thinks I should be more focused on hockey."
"More focused than what? You're at every practice, you're playing well, you're contributing to the team."
"But what if I could be doing more? What if I'm not reaching my potential because I'm spending time on other stuff?"
"Other stuff like having a life?"
"Other stuff like... I don't know. Non-hockey stuff."
Ezra stares at me for a moment, then shakes his head.
"Dude, you're being an idiot."
"Thanks for the support."
"I'm serious. You're literally having the best month of hockey you've had since you got here, and you're worried that you're not focused enough?"
"Maybe."
"Maybe nothing. You know when you started playing better?"
"When?"
"When you started hanging out with Savannah. When you stopped looking miserable all the time. When you remembered that hockey is supposed to be fun."
"Hockey's not supposed to be fun. It's supposed to be competitive."
"Says who?"
"Says everyone. Says my dad. Says every coach I've ever had."
"Bullshit."
"It's not bullshit."
"It is bullshit, and you know it. You think Connor McDavid doesn't have fun playing hockey? You think he just grinds it out because it's his job?"
"That's different."
"How?"
"Because he's Connor McDavid."
"And you're Colin Grant. And Colin Grant plays his best hockey when he's happy."
I want to argue with him, but I can't because he's right. I have been playing better lately. But what if that's just a coincidence?
"What if I'm not good enough?" I ask.
"For what?"
"For college hockey. For whatever comes after college hockey. For any of it."
"Colin, where is this coming from?"
"I don't know. I just... what if my dad's right and I'm wasting my potential?"
"Your potential to do what?"
"I don't know. Be better. Be more focused. Be more dedicated."
"You are dedicated. You're here every day, you work hard, you're a good teammate."
"But what if that's not enough?"
"Enough for what?"
"Enough to... I don't know. Justify being here."
Ezra leans back in his chair and looks at me like I've lost my mind.
"Colin, do you want to know what I think?"
"Sure."
"I think you're scared."
"Scared of what?"
"Scared of being happy. Scared of admitting that maybe your life doesn't have to revolve entirely around hockey."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you found something good with Savannah, and now you're trying to convince yourself that you don't deserve it."
"I'm not?—"
"You are. And it's fucking stupid."
"Thanks for the pep talk."
"Colin, can I ask you something?"
"Shoot."
"When's the last time you smiled during a game?"
"I don't know. Why?"
"Because I've been watching you play for months, and you used to look miserable out there. Like you were just trying not to mess up."
"So?"
"So in the past few weeks, you've actually looked like you're enjoying yourself. You've been making plays, taking risks, being creative."
"What's your point?"
"My point is that whatever you've been doing differently, it's working. So why would you want to change it?"
I think about this. I have been enjoying hockey more lately. But what if that's the problem? What if I'm supposed to be more serious about it?
"What if enjoying it means I'm not taking it seriously enough?"
"What if taking it too seriously means you're not enjoying it enough?"
"That doesn't make sense."
"Neither does convincing yourself that being happy is bad for your hockey."
My phone buzzes with a text, and I check it automatically.
Savannah:
Study session tonight? I have flashcards for the Bio exam.
I stare at the message, and I can feel Ezra watching me.
"That's her, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"What are you going to say?"
"I don't know."
"Colin."
"What?"
"Are you seriously thinking about blowing off the girl you like because your dad thinks you should focus more on hockey?"
"It's not that simple."
"It literally is that simple."
"No, it's not, because what if he's right? What if I need to be more focused?"
"More focused on what? You're already doing everything you're supposed to be doing."
"But what if I could be doing more?"
"Like what? Sleeping at the rink? Eating pucks for breakfast?"
"I'm serious."
"So am I. Colin, you're eighteen years old. You're allowed to have interests outside of hockey."
"What if those interests interfere with hockey?"
"What if they make hockey better?"
"How could they make hockey better?"
"By making you a more well-rounded person. By giving you something to think about other than hockey pressure. By making you happy."
"Happiness doesn't win games."
"Misery doesn't win them either."
I look at my phone again. Savannah's waiting for an answer.
Me:
Can't tonight. Hockey stuff.
I send the text before I can change my mind, then immediately feel like shit about it.
"Really?" Ezra says, reading over my shoulder.
"I need to focus."
"On what?"
"On hockey."
"Colin, you don't have practice tonight. You don't have a game. What hockey stuff are you possibly doing?"
"I'll figure something out."
"This is insane."
"It's responsible."
"It's self-sabotage."
"It's prioritizing."
"It's being an idiot."
My phone buzzes again.
Savannah:
Oh, okay. Everything alright?
Me:
Yeah, all good. Just busy with team stuff.
Savannah:
Okay. Good luck with whatever you're working on.
I can tell she's confused, maybe even hurt, but I don't know how to explain what I'm thinking without sounding crazy.
"You know what your problem is?" Ezra says.
"I'm sure you're going to tell me."
"Your problem is that you think you have to choose between hockey and everything else."
"Don't I?"
"No, you don't. Some of the best players I know have girlfriends, hobbies, interests outside of hockey."
"Maybe they're not as serious as they should be."
"Or maybe they're more balanced than you are."
"Balance is overrated."
"Says who?"
"Says my dad."
"Your dad isn't living your life."
"But he knows hockey."
"He knows his version of hockey. From twenty years ago."
"Hockey hasn't changed that much."
"Hasn't it? Because I'm pretty sure the most successful guys these days are the ones who can handle pressure, think creatively, and work well with others. Not the ones who live and breathe hockey twenty-four hours a day."
"How do you know that?"
"Because I've been playing hockey my whole life, and I've seen what happens to guys who make hockey their entire identity."
"What happens?"
"They burn out. They get injured and have nothing else. They turn into your dad."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means your dad is projecting his own regrets onto you."
"His regrets?"
"About his career ending early. About not having anything else in his life when hockey was over."
I want to argue with Ezra, but what he's saying makes sense in a way that's uncomfortable to think about.
"So what am I supposed to do?"
"You're supposed to live your own life instead of trying to live his."
"But what if he's right about me not being focused enough?"
"Then you'll figure that out. But Colin, you can't spend your entire college experience worried about reaching some theoretical potential that might not even exist."
"What if it does exist?"
"What if it doesn't?"
"What if I'm wasting my talent?"
"What if you're wasting your happiness?"
I put my head in my hands because this conversation is making my brain hurt.
"I don't know what I want," I say.
"Yes, you do."
"I really don't."
"Colin, three weeks ago, you were miserable. You were playing scared, you had no friends, you were just getting by in your classes. Now you're playing well, you're happy, you have someone who cares about you. What part of that suggests you should change anything?"
"The part where my dad thinks I'm not reaching my potential."
"Fuck your dad's opinion."
"Ezra."
"I'm serious. Your dad isn't the one playing hockey. You are. Your dad isn't the one living your life. You are."
"But what if?—"
"No more what-ifs. Here's what you're going to do."
"What?"
"You're going to text Savannah back and tell her you're an idiot. You're going to go study with her tonight. And you're going to stop sabotaging the best thing that's happened to you since you got to college."
"What if that's not the right choice?"
"What if it is?"
I look at my phone again. No new messages from Savannah, which probably means she's giving me space to deal with whatever hockey stuff I claimed to be busy with.
"I don't know how to text her back."
"Start with 'I'm sorry.'"
"And then what?"
"And then tell her the truth."
"What truth?"
"That you like her. That you want to see her. That you're just scared of screwing things up."
"What if she doesn't want to hear from me?"
"What if she does?"
"You're really going to keep doing that, aren't you?"
"Until you stop asking stupid questions, yes."
I pick up my phone and start typing.
Me:
Actually, change of plans. Hockey stuff can wait. Want to study together?
Savannah:
Are you sure? I don't want to interfere with team responsibilities.
Me:
You're not interfering with anything. I was being weird. Sorry.
Savannah:
We all have weird moments. Same place as usual?
Me:
See you there.
I put my phone down and look at Ezra, who's grinning like he just won the lottery.
"See?" he says. "That wasn't so hard."
"Ask me again after I explain why I've been acting like an idiot."
"You don't have to explain anything. Just don't do it again."
"Do what again?"
"Push away good things because you're scared they're too good to be true."
Maybe he's right. Maybe I have been pushing away good things.
Maybe it's time to stop doing that.