When it got to the quote from Wayne’s father, I could hear the words in my head, ‘You’ve got to behave right. They’re going to be watching your every move for each little mistake on and off the ice. Remember that. You’re a gifted, special player and you’re on display. What you do reflects on me. They’re going to be out to get you.’
It wasn’t Walter Gretzky saying them, though. It was my father. He had my brother by the shoulders and he was staring at him as he repeated the words that I had heard over and over for most of my young life. My brother was staring back at our father, believing every word that came from his mouth. He was so trustful, so brainwashed, hopeful and willing to please. He was a hockey machine, a robot of sorts, with no emotional rights to anything but the pursuit of a little black hockey puck. Our father was the King and he was preparing him to go after the Holy Grail. Everything in his life and, through necessity our lives, was focused on him being drafted into the NHL. Each meal that he ate, any move that he made, all emotions he felt, the slightest breath that he took for every day of his life was designed and controlled by our father to make him a hockey super star. It was just that way. We all knew that he was special because we knew that we weren’t. We all knew that there was only one thing in his life and one person that our father couldn’t control and it led to deadly consequences for all of us.
Just then, a slight flash of light on top of the grandfather clock in the corner distracted me. There, sitting in all its glory, was that damn arrogant black cat with the amazing green eyes! Something like a charm was still sparkling under her chin and it dawned on me that a stray wouldn’t have a collar. She stared at me and I could have sworn it was with humoured contempt. I glanced away for a second to ring for Frederick and when I looked back, she was gone.