Chapter Text
The day bled in an array of red, orange, and pink, a golden layer over the state of Utah. Five hours in this beat up car, and I was ready to get out.
We took an exit off of the highway, and entered Redrock. It was a small town, but maybe that is what I needed.
Red dust coated the tires of the car, occasionally kicking up a pebble making it hit the metal.
There were two churches in the entire town. One Mormon church, and one non-denominational church. I liked my old church, I did not want to switch where there would be totally different people and different ways of worshiping.
There was an ice rink right on the outskirts of town, “REDROCK RINK” hanging above the entrance, in faded blue letters.
“You know, Spence. This change will be good for you. A new place to call home. New teammates. We can start fresh.” My mom smiled at me, but I did not smile back. She said we, like she was the one affected by the incident.
At the rink, I saw a handful of people walking in and out of it. This red head boy with a bad case of helmet hair, highfiving this tall black haired boy as he was leaving. The tall guy looked popular. This was confirmed, when three teenage girls came up to him, suddenly deciding they wanted to skate too. Dickhead.
Mom put her blinker on, turning right. “I enrolled you at this high school right here,” she pointed to this yellow and teal high school, “Canyon Ridge High School” hung on a sign that definitely needed to be repainted. “It has a strong academic program, and I even looked into some clubs you might like there. I have a feeling you’ll fit in just fine” I took a deep breath.
“Smile! You’ll fit in just fine, Spencer. You are stressing about nothing. They would be blessed to have you.” She grabbed my cheek, “Now! You have your skates? Gear? Food?” I mumbled something that slightly resembled a yes, before she sent me off to try out for the Salt Lake Rattlers all those years ago. I should’ve stayed home.
“You said that last time.” And I was going to make sure there was not a second time.
The car ride was silent for the rest of the drive home.
We reached a white house with a gray roof. It was bigger than our last house; somehow, the inside felt smaller. Less lived in I guess.
I walked up the stairs with my bag slung over my shoulder. I chose the second biggest room, letting my bag fall to the floor in the empty room. The walls were bare, chipped paint from the previous owners in trivial places.
Redrock was too small. It made me claustrophobic. Everything felt too squished together. I hadn't even met anyone, and I already knew everyone knew everyone.
I made my way down the stairs to help my mother unload the rest of the boxes from the moving truck. By the time we were finished, it was late into the night — my room was just a display of brown boxes, “THIS SIDE UP” printed on them, even if it wasn’t the right side up.
I had a life in Salt Lake City… till I didn’t. I was good, I was really good, and now I had to start from square one.
I decided to unpack one of my boxes, to make the rest of the night useful. The box I ended up unboxing was a mountain of my old gear, and my old team's poster. I kick the box, before quickly regretting it, taking a sharp breath in, like that would erase the pain of a stubbed toe.
I rummaged through my bags till I found my toothbrush and toothpaste, and I dragged myself to the bathroom. The cold water sent a jolt through my body, and I could feel the minty water move throughout my mouth, gurgling till I spat it out.
I don’t even bother changing out of my jeans and “SALT LAKE RATTLERS” hoodie. God, I wish I could burn it. But instead, I pulled it closer to my skin. It smelled like the old rink, a combination of chemicals, ice, and sweat, yet I could not miss it more. I slid down my wall, pulling out my phone.
The blue case was warm on my palm; it had faded to blue on the edges over the years. I unlocked my phone, “0013” — my jersey number. Or, was my jersey number. I put in the number almost reflexively, as if the number 13 defined my life. Unlucky.
I scrolled through my camera roll, stopping on a photo of my old team right after winning regionals. My smile was genuine. The guys looked as if they actually liked my presence.
I had one notification. “First day down. Remember, I only want winners.” It was my dad. I stared at it for a long time. Longer than I should’ve before I switched my phone off, and the screen went pitch black, killing the only light left in my room. Why was he always like that? Not even checking on me. Nothing I did seemed enough for him.
I eventually felt the force of gravity on my eyelids, and fell asleep, my body sprawled out onto the previously untouched carpet. Tomorrow, I step back on the ice.
I’m supposed to survive it here, but surviving doesn’t mean living.