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Mattymo · 10-29-2008, 10:15 AM

January 4, 1911

"Hey where ya headin?" asked Jacky as they left work and walked outside, winter darkness settling in.

"Umm, I was just going to head home like usual," replied a down-trodden Francis.

"Oh c'mon, you always just go home. I'm heading over to the park to watch the Blueshirts play. You should come along!" exclaimed Jacky as he grabbed Francis coat and pulled him along.

"The blueshirts? What's that?" asked Francis, confused.

"Hockey kid! If you are going to live here, you have to get into hockey. They were supposed to play in the NHA this year but they haven't finished building Arena Gardens yet. They will next year though. They're really good."

With that, the two pushed on through the light flurries, still dressed in their work clothes, hardly enough to withstand the cold.

Jacky was a large man of 37 years with a long, thick beard. Born in near-by Hamilton, he moved to Toronto with his wife and two children about five years ago to find work. He'd been in the mailroom ever since.

By the time the two arrived at the outdoor rink, the match had already begun. Large wooden bleachers stood on either side with fans both young and old yelling, clapping and making all sorts of noise. It reminded Francis of the school team's games he was not allowed to participate in.

They met up with three friends of Jacky's who were also hockey fans.

"Hey guys, this is the kid I was telling you about," Jacky said, in matter-of-fact tone of voice.

The guys acknowledged Francis with nods of their heads. One of them held out a small bottle.

"Vodka," said another of the men, "to stay warm."

Francis took the bottle and looked at it. He had never tasted vodka before. Just then Jacky, sensing Francis' discomfort, grabbed the bottle, took a gulp, then gave it back to his friend.

"We already had quite a few drinks tonight," Jacky responded, rescuing Francis from sure redicule.

They then turned their attention to the game in front of them. Francis was amazed at how graceful these men were on the ice. Skating from one end to another without breaking a sweat, swatting at the puck, crashing into one another, it was beautiful.

The game lasted about an hour with the Blueshirts victorious by a 4-2 count. With his extremities stinging from the bitter cold, Francis had been ready to go home since halftime.

As the stands emptied, Francis said goodbye to Jacky and his pals and headed home. However, he couldn't walk more than ten steps before he saw these long blonde locks waving in the swirling winter wind.

"Helen?"

"Francis! Hi!", Helen exclaimed, shocked to see him. "What are you doing here? You like hockey?"

"This was my first game, but it was really neat," he responded, all the blood rushing to his face, "I'm so glad to see you. I thought you were still on the train. How was your Christmas?"

"I just got back this afternoon and rushed to get here," she said, looking over toward the hockey players, "I…"

Just then, a tall handsome man with a trimmed beard, still in his hockey clothes, walked up to Helen, put his arms around her and kissed her. She pulled away uncomfortably.

"Francis, this is...this is my boyfriend, Jon," Helen said quietly, unwillingly, staring down at the ground. "Jon this is Francis, a friend of mine I met on the train."

"Hey kid," responded Jon, sweat still beading off his forehead. He quickly turned his attention back to Helen. "You ready to get out of here?"

Francis just stood there, speechless. Helen had never mentioned Jon, never mentioned any boyfriend. And to boot, he was older, probably 24 or 25, and seemed to be about a foot taller than Francis.

"Have a uh…Have a good evening," Francis finally mumbled as he turned and walked away, his smile gone.

Helen opened her mouth, but no words came out. She slumped her shoulders, grabbed Jon's hand, and off they went.

10-29-2008, 10:15 AM	#5 (permalink)
Mattymo All Star Starter Join Date: May 2002 Location: Colchester, CT Posts: 1,443 Thanks: 0 Thanked 5x in 4 posts	January 4, 1911 "Hey where ya headin?" asked Jacky as they left work and walked outside, winter darkness settling in. "Umm, I was just going to head home like usual," replied a down-trodden Francis. "Oh c'mon, you always just go home. I'm heading over to the park to watch the Blueshirts play. You should come along!" exclaimed Jacky as he grabbed Francis coat and pulled him along. "The blueshirts? What's that?" asked Francis, confused. "Hockey kid! If you are going to live here, you have to get into hockey. They were supposed to play in the NHA this year but they haven't finished building Arena Gardens yet. They will next year though. They're really good." With that, the two pushed on through the light flurries, still dressed in their work clothes, hardly enough to withstand the cold. Jacky was a large man of 37 years with a long, thick beard. Born in near-by Hamilton, he moved to Toronto with his wife and two children about five years ago to find work. He'd been in the mailroom ever since. By the time the two arrived at the outdoor rink, the match had already begun. Large wooden bleachers stood on either side with fans both young and old yelling, clapping and making all sorts of noise. It reminded Francis of the school team's games he was not allowed to participate in. They met up with three friends of Jacky's who were also hockey fans. "Hey guys, this is the kid I was telling you about," Jacky said, in matter-of-fact tone of voice. The guys acknowledged Francis with nods of their heads. One of them held out a small bottle. "Vodka," said another of the men, "to stay warm." Francis took the bottle and looked at it. He had never tasted vodka before. Just then Jacky, sensing Francis' discomfort, grabbed the bottle, took a gulp, then gave it back to his friend. "We already had quite a few drinks tonight," Jacky responded, rescuing Francis from sure redicule. They then turned their attention to the game in front of them. Francis was amazed at how graceful these men were on the ice. Skating from one end to another without breaking a sweat, swatting at the puck, crashing into one another, it was beautiful. The game lasted about an hour with the Blueshirts victorious by a 4-2 count. With his extremities stinging from the bitter cold, Francis had been ready to go home since halftime. As the stands emptied, Francis said goodbye to Jacky and his pals and headed home. However, he couldn't walk more than ten steps before he saw these long blonde locks waving in the swirling winter wind. "Helen?" "Francis! Hi!", Helen exclaimed, shocked to see him. "What are you doing here? You like hockey?" "This was my first game, but it was really neat," he responded, all the blood rushing to his face, "I'm so glad to see you. I thought you were still on the train. How was your Christmas?" "I just got back this afternoon and rushed to get here," she said, looking over toward the hockey players, "I…" Just then, a tall handsome man with a trimmed beard, still in his hockey clothes, walked up to Helen, put his arms around her and kissed her. She pulled away uncomfortably. "Francis, this is...this is my boyfriend, Jon," Helen said quietly, unwillingly, staring down at the ground. "Jon this is Francis, a friend of mine I met on the train." "Hey kid," responded Jon, sweat still beading off his forehead. He quickly turned his attention back to Helen. "You ready to get out of here?" Francis just stood there, speechless. Helen had never mentioned Jon, never mentioned any boyfriend. And to boot, he was older, probably 24 or 25, and seemed to be about a foot taller than Francis. "Have a uh…Have a good evening," Francis finally mumbled as he turned and walked away, his smile gone. Helen opened her mouth, but no words came out. She slumped her shoulders, grabbed Jon's hand, and off they went.