Chapter 6 Evan #2
"The Olympics, yeah. It's also the last time I had a roommate. The U.S. section of the Village was too full." Almost out of nowhere, the anger breaks, and his face falls. "Fuck." It's a desolated murmur this time, not the outraged growl of moments earlier.
I'm not as superstitious as many, so I can’t claim to empathize with his problem, but I can at least understand he has one.
What's more, superstitions can turn into self-fulfilling prophecies—all the more so when they're broken.
If he's this upset by the time he goes onto the ice tomorrow, he'll do the precise thing he's so afraid of.
The sound of skates scraping across the ice, the yelling of coaches, is the sound of home.
We're in a little pocket of stillness, midway through the practice time, and the background noise spells comfort.
It's as good a time as any to work on the problem.
So I stand, move up a few steps, and settle into the chair next to him.
He doesn't react, head held in one hand.
"Ok, so we're stuck together for the week, and that's apparently not going to change.
What can we do to make it work for you? Or at least be less difficult? "
The tiger isn't a tiger anymore, or, if it is, it's one that's been caged into a tiny corner of its enclosure and has given up in defeat.
He shrugs, and it's a hopeless motion. He doesn't raise his head to look at me, to acknowledge I'm sitting next to him now.
His hand moves to the chair on the other side of him, picking up his phone, and he stares down at it, silent.
As if he's willing the last text to be a joke, or for it to come to a magical, different conclusion.
Trapped tigers are more dangerous, aren't they?
I can't just leave him, though. Hesitantly, making no sudden moves, I reach out and cover his phone with my hand.
When he doesn't stop me, I slide it away from him, setting it in my lap.
It's not going to help him right now, but maybe I can.
Now I'm a handler, trying to urge him out of the corner and into the play area.
“Stefan.” I keep my voice light, as coaxing as I can make it.
“We'll do whatever we need to do. It'll be all right.”
“No, it won't.” He sounds so defeated, my heart hurts.
"It will." I can't know if what I'm saying is true, but—I have to believe I'm right. I do believe I'm right. Stefan can do anything, including break physics. A stupid room situation isn't going to break him. "When you have your own room, what does your routine look like?"
Another sad shrug. "I don't know, the usual, I guess."
"Ok, but what's your usual?" He still hasn't argued about my taking his phone, so I slip it into my pocket, then glance down at his feet.
His shoes are on; one is tied, the other still unlaced.
It's ridiculous, maybe a little infantilizing, but I lean down to tie it for him.
He doesn't appear to mind, though, just sits, watching me.
This might feel like home, but we can't stay here all night, and I'm clearly not going to fix things immediately.
"Come on, let's get out of here. It's cold, and both of us need a shower. "
Stefan lets me lead him out of the room. He's so completely passive. It's wrong. Stefan is too vibrant, too vital, to look this—this broken. I'd never have thought he could break, but maybe all his strength makes him brittle. Too reliant on routine and custom.
I give him until we’re back in our room. Then I sit him down on his bed and move to my own, across from him. "All right, you're done."
"What?" He blinks up at me, face pinched, then glances around the room. A little frown furrows his brow, but he doesn't say anything else.
"All this sucks, but... You're done." I make my voice as gentle, yet firm, as I can. Like I’m talking to my little brother when he was a toddler. Which is maybe also demeaning, but in this moment, Stefan appears as fragile as one.
"Done with what?" The pinch between his eyebrows deepens.
"Done feeling sorry for yourself. You are Stefan Petryk. Nothing is going to stop you. Not even an annoying Canadian roommate."
"You're not annoying."
His response, almost automatic, gives me a little thrill, but I file it away for later. "That's not the point. The point is, you're stuck with me. So let's make it work."
"Right." A few more blinks before his face clears. He sits up straighter and meets my eyes. "Fuck them."
Not sure who ‘them’ is. Alexandre, I imagine, but who else? Doesn't matter; I'm not about to argue with him. "Exactly. So what do we need to do?"
He looks around the room again. "I need to go to bed early and sleep. At least you don't snore."
It makes me snort a little. "And hence the not annoying. Got it." I'm trying to keep this as light as possible, now he's starting to pull out of his sulk. Don't want to lose him.
"I know it's asking a lot, but maybe you could leave early tomorrow? So I can meditate." He sounds hesitant, as if I haven't been asking him to tell me how to help him for the last half hour.
"Yeah, no problem. What time?"
"Is it too much to ask for the room by seven?" The ever-confident, even cocky, Stefan I know from interviews is not supposed to sound like this; I can’t decide if it makes me angry or sad. He might not be depressed anymore, but he's not himself. I miss the laugh from earlier.
"Seven is fine. It’s when the breakfast bar opens anyway." It's not much earlier than I would have left on my own. I'm in an early group tomorrow, so I have an early warm-up to go with it.
"Thanks." His brooding mask comes undone for a moment as he tries to smile at me. It comes out flat, but the attempt is what matters. "I really appreciate it."
"Hey, a rising tide lifts—something. What is the expression?"
The smile twitches up a bit. He knows how it ends. "Probably something that doesn't fit with our line of work."
When we grin at each other, it's almost a real one on his part. Success. I’m getting the hang of handling this particular tiger. Maybe, with time, we can even go a step further and be friends for real.
Assuming he succeeds in getting the U.S. three spots at the Olympics. I'm terrified to consider what might happen if the sabotage works. Tomorrow is going to be huge.