74. Natalie
Natalie
I want to die.
With a giant spotlight centered on me, I use the flagpole like a walking cane and get back to my feet.
The crowd cheers.
I want to disappear. I want my whole person to vanish into nothingness, leaving nothing but a puddle of this goddamn Blizz suit behind.
With my arms trembling from exertion and rioting nerves, I lift the flag high above my head and wave it back and forth in big movements.
The crowd gets louder.
Torn between laughing and fucking sobbing, I carefully skate the rest of the way to center ice.
I have no idea which way I’m supposed to face, so I turn to face where I think the home bench is. The visibility is better than I expected in this bobblehead, but it’s still far from great.
My arms start to really shake.
Why is waving a flag so hard?
Finally, the spotlight leaves me, and I lower the flag.
If I’m going to make it off this goddam ice without falling again, I need a break .
The announcer’s voice bounces through my skull as the opposing team enters the rink, and that’s when I realize we’re playing Chicago.
Just perfect.
I prop the end of the pole against my hip and straighten my arms so the flag is jutting up and out. Then I sway, the flapping fabric following the movements.
It’s the best I got right now. And if anyone is focused on me at this point, that’s their problem.