Chapter 6
There’s this picture of me, the only one I have of myself…before. I’m sitting on the floor in a room all by myself, a pacifier in my mouth and a chunky plastic little red car in my hands. I’m wearing a plain light blue t-shirt and some faded blue jeans. The focal point of the picture for me, is my eyes. They look so sad, as if even at that age—just shy of two years old—I knew something wasn’t quite right, that something was missing.
The picture was taken at my third foster home in New Orleans, or so I was told. I don’t remember that time at all.
I kept the photo in the drawer of my bedside table and would periodically pull it out and try to figure out what little me was thinking, what was truly behind his tiny eyes. Doing so sent me down an uncomfortable rabbit hole full of unanswerable questions, the chief one being: who? As in, who the fuck am I? Other questions included:
Why didn’t my parents want me?
Why would my birth mother just…leave me, leave me and never look back?
Shit was fucked all the way up and I hated caring about it.
But I did care, just not enough to seek the answers. Or at least not yet.
Miss Iesha’s wedding was coming up, and I couldn’t miss it. So, I needed to start working on pushing this abandonment shit to the back of my mind. I eventually got adopted and had a good life. I’d been in the NHL for more than ten years. I had plenty to be thankful for…didn’t I?
“…so, you don’t like corn? I don’t think I’ve ever met a soul who didn’t like corn,” she said.
I shrugged, my eyes on her. Another FaceTime call from one Ishmia Désir, my new…friend. “I just don’t like it.”
“Interesting. I don’t like yogurt. It’s a texture thing,” she divulged.
“How do you feel about frozen yogurt?”
“Love it. Not as soft as regular yogurt.”
“I see.”
“Mr—Orlando, how’d you learn to play hockey?”
“Uh, when I was like twelve or thirteen, my mom decided she wanted me to learn every sport. I happened to fall in love with hockey.”
“Really? You learned in NOLA?”
“Naw, Baton Rouge. A retired pro player taught the fundamentals, had his own little mini league for teens. I learned a lot, skipped college, headed straight to the minors, eventually ended up in the NHL. I played with the Hurricanes, the Avalanche, and the Sharks before the Sires.”
“Wow! So, no college? Seriously?”
“Yeah…you shocked?”
“A little. You just seem like the college type.”
“My mother thought so, too. I didn’t agree.”
“Hmm, I wanted to go to college. Never had time with my career and all, but I’m big on learning.”
“I hear you.”
“Shit, I gotta take this incoming call. Talk later?”
“Sure.”