Chapter 186: Patty XX—Reveille-Toi
They weren’t being cooperative, impudent bitches. What had he done wrong to them? What had he forgotten to do? Well he didn’t see why he should apologize if he had done nothing wrong that he could think of.
“Why so quiet?” he asked the posts after the whistle blew, he bent over and slid back into the net, his back pressing against the bottom of the crossbar. He reached out with one of his blockers, patted the silent steel. “Reveille-toi.”
“You think she’s more special than I am?”
Patrick’s eyes widened. That was the first thing he had heard from them other than “piss off” today. “What?” he asked.
“Always with the whore… always with the past… forget the past! That’s the only thing that makes her special to you.”
Patrick narrowed his eyes. “Shut up!” he snapped. “If that’s all you can talk about.” There was a deep silence. Patrick sighed, “I would be the only goaltender with posts that are jealous of his wife.”
The game was getting rough. Patrick did his best to forget his posts, to stay focused on the task at hand and that was in keeping watch over the crease. It seemed as if everyone was taking a party in his crease, lounging in it. Fat smelly bodies everywhere, it was getting tiring. Losing patience, Patrick shoved the butt of his stick into a red ass, he didn’t know who it was, he didn’t care, and he put his weight into sliding the fat bastard out of his crease.
“I catch
you doing that again
Patrick didn’t glance at the referee, he watched the Red Wings on their line change and he yelled in the ref’s direction, “As long as they keep away from my crease, yes?”
Patrick felt his breathing slow, his pulse quicken and he saw the Russians collecting passes from each other. Larionov would pass, Fedorov would shoot, and it was a two on one. He noticed the enormous number four backing into him, protecting him and he blessed Rob Blake. Take Fedorov, Robbie, Patrick wanted to scream. He didn’t need to, Fedorov collected a pass from the older Russian and as he did Blake slammed the weight of his body into him. Both of the men fell into the ice.
Fedorov slid towards him and Patrick kept an eye on him as he picked up the loose puck but he dropped it when the Russian slammed into him, he felt the screaming protesting pain in his hips, a blinding tweak in his knee.
Patrick growled and he jammed the butt of his stick into the inner thigh of the thick red leg in front of him and he PUSHED! Fedorov was barely out of the crease when Patrick saw the referee holding up his arm for a delayed penalty, “Dammit!” he snarled.
He sat up and as he did he saw the Wings defenseman, the Swedish one, telegraphing a heavy shot. Patrick fell to his knees and felt the comfort of the puck as it thwapped against his pads but it didn’t last long before the rebound was captured by Shannahan and he heard the screams, the noise, the music, the red light of the goal.
Patrick closed his eyes, saw the red of his anger. He took a deep breath. It is nothing. It is kitten piss. It is nothing. It will pass. Like the discomfort of a needle when it pierces… it is nothing…
Patrick sat quietly in the locker room during the intermission. They were angry with him. Of course, it didn’t have to matter; they were only one goal down. It was manageable, he saw the faces of his teammates, and he saw their smiles, their optimism and their resolve. Why should he worry.
“Oh shit man I think I’m gonna pass out!”
There was some laughter and Patrick looked to see the grin on Footie’s face as he was hunched over his lap. “I’m serious!” Foote moaned, “I think I didn’t have enough water earlier…”
“We’re only one down boys keep up the energy it’s good to see it!” Coach Hartley trumpeted. “Keep it up!”
“Ungh..” Foote moaned and he fell back on the bench, his eyes closed.
Patrick frowned and felt the worry. The other guys jumped up too.
“Adam!” They were all yelling.
“Hey Wake up Footer,” Danny Hinote exclaimed, “Wake up man!”
“Open your eyes dude!”
“Reveille-toi,” Alex Tanguay said in a shaky voice.
Patrick sniffed and looked at Hinote’s glistening eyes, his soft flesh, his soft lips. A baby face with pudding sweet skin. Michele was sweet on him, more so than she was with other boys. She was so descriptive when she spoke of him, there was a certain purr in her voice… she could have had him by now, but she let him go…
Foote was brought around with smelling salts, there was water for him to sip, he revived quickly. There wasn’t too much to worry about after all. Patrick sat back on the bench and glanced at Hinote as he was talking with Drury, both of them grinning, something irresistible about the boy’s humor.
Drury. He had never been jealous of that boy, he had known about him, had not been jealous. Michele didn’t know what she was talking about sometimes. Her angry eyes flashing as she snarled at him, slapped at him, accusing him of something he was not feeling. He saw Drury’s eyes sparkle and crinkle as he smiled. The boy rarely had a true smile to flash and when he did show one it made him look old, unused to a smile. Dreary Drury.
Patrick looked at Hinote again and his stomach felt a boil. There was something different about this boy. What was it? What was the charm?
One goal, two goals, it was that easy. Patrick was irritated to say the least as the second period wore on. The Wings had scored two more goals and the world was noisy with cheers for his head. Cheers for his blood.
Patrick was in a high dudgeon by the time he noticed the boy. No it wasn’t Danny, but it was the same sort of soft skinned creature, delicate features, a girl’s soft mouth. Devereaux, he saw the name. The look of the boy irritated him.
The players were pressed into the corners scrumming for a puck and Patrick noticed the boy lagging back, not wanting his soft skin to be mussed up. Patrick felt contemptuous, angry. “Afraid to muck it up with the boys chaton?”
Patrick’s eyes widened. He hadn’t said that. He reached a hand back and patted the goalpost.
“Eat shit chickenhead!” the boy snapped in French and Patrick looked at him. The boy had heard it? It didn’t matter, Patrick turned his attention back to the action. He backed into his crease, and then he noticed Devereaux backing into him. He knew there was a shot coming from somewhere and Patrick was angry at this boy for screening him. He chopped his stick against Devereaux’s ankles, but the boy didn’t move.
“I got him Patty!” he heard Noter’s voice.
Patrick had barely time to react. He heard Hinote yell, “Ooops!” and to Patrick’s horror, Hinote fell onto Devereaux and pushed him on top of Patrick’s body. Patrick had just enough time to see the puck bounce onto Devereaux’s skate and into the net. There were more shouts of ecstasy from the crowd and the boy jumped off him, celebrating his non-goal.
Patrick jumped to his feet and glared at the referee who seemed arrogant, fucking content with himself for nailing another one onto him.
“What is wrong with you? Are you blind? Are you a supreme idiot who can’t even figure out how to suck off his mother you stinking sack of bird shit?” Patrick yelled in French, skating towards the referee, knowing that he didn’t speak a word of French. To drill the point in further, Patrick began to frantically move his arms in the “no goal” signal.
“Say it in English,” the referee snarled, “And then I might listen to you.”
“Christ!” Patrick snapped.
I brought this team from 0 and 5? I? I? I? What the hell did he think… who the hell did he… shit! That man was a shit, shit!
You need me.
You have to love me.
Forget that slut.
Goddammit you stupid slut I love you!
Was there a game going? Patrick couldn’t tell. He knew that three had gone past him. He saw the red jersey’s celebrating, but he couldn’t hear them, he glanced into the audience and he could see their displeasure. Eyes slitted, disapproving, he wasn’t getting the job done for them. I’m unbeaten in the last eleven and they show me displeasure.
“You didn’t even make the playoffs last year. You still need to prove yourself.”
Patrick glared at his posts. Patrick sighed. Don’t think about it, you don’t need to distract yourself.
“Come on Patty, I know you can do it eh?” Patrick looked at Vinny Damphousse as he skated by. He narrowed his eyes. What did he think he knew about what he could do? What did anyone know?
Patrick sighed and glanced quickly back at the seats, at the empty seats. Where was she? The boys were sick, the baby might be as well. She wasn’t there, and she wasn’t smiling, a quick one just to help him. The babies were sick. He was alone tonight.
“You deserve to be alone. Why don’t you wake up for a change.”
Patrick swung his stick behind him and nicked the posts. “Shut up!”
Reveille-toi……
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