September 2013


Black shoe-cladded feet step on the equivalent black, spongy floor.

An olive skin-coloured hand runs its fingers against the smooth, marble wall.

Hazelnut-coloured eyes filled with awe slide from side-to-side bearing the reflection of the lights from above.

Looming on the other end of the hallway is a doorway brimming with a warm, welcoming light.

A teenager strolls into view and stops yards from the doorway, staring out at it.

He blinks, his mind churning with all the subtle information being displayed at him. “Whoa,” he breathes out.

His vision gets lost in the golden-tinted doorway.

“I can’t believe it. I’m in the major junior leagues. I am officially playing professional hockey.” He pauses his excitement-rising statement as another reality settles mentally.

He then continues in his regular, soft, Canadian-accented tone: “Although it’s not the NHL, it’s one step closer to it.” He lets out a chuckle, running his fingers through his thick, light brown voluminous hair. “It’s not like as if I can go into it right now; I’m only fifteen.” He then drops his hand and lets out a sigh. “Ohhh. A new chapter in life…”

With that, he treks toward the doorway and enters it, being engulfed by the calming light.

On the other side is a modest locker room: The massive, golden Brandon Wheat Kings logo is plastered on the grey carpeted floor. Lining the light grey-coloured walls are wooden stalls bearing organized hockey equipment and the most noticeable piece of equipment: the jerseys. Although, they were merely the basic practice jerseys ranging from yellow to green to black with the Western Hockey League logo ironed on it, yet it is still a grand sight to witness according to the rookie.

“Hey, rookie!”

He peers ahead of him, spotting an older, tough-appearing teenager with slicked-back blond hair marching up to him.

He stands still with a held breath, anticipating the veteran teammate’s intentions.

“I’m Ryan Pulock, captain of the Wheat Kings.” He holds his hand out.

He instantly lets relief wash over him with the comfort of the teenager being the captain. “Oh! Hi!” He shakes his hand. “I’m Kale Clague!”

“Kale, interesting name, eh?” Ryan lets go of his hand. “Well, I hope you’ll have a good rookie year here.” He then whips out a piece of stick tape and hands it out to him. “Here’s my phone number. Add it into your contacts—I arrange the team get-togethers; we get together for stuff like pizza lunches.”

Kale’s eyes light up. “Pizza! Great!” He takes the stick tape and scans at the row of numbers scribbled on it with black ink. “Thanks!”

“No prob, kid.” He then points his finger toward behind Kale. “And your stall’s over there. Second one to the edge.”

Kale peers behind his shoulder, spotting the second stall left of the doorway. He turns back to the captain. “Okay, thanks!”

“See you on the ice.” With a hearty pat on his shoulder, Ryan turns around and lumbers back to his seat.

Kale excitedly whirls around and darts to his assigned stall. He halts in front of it and land his eyes on the drilled nameplate. He immediately recognizes the name: KALE CLAGUE.

“‘Kale Clague.’” He then lowers his eyes, landing them on the black practice jersey with the large red and white WHL logo staring back at him.

He gingerly picks up the light, smooth sleeves of the jersey, admiring it. “My name...my WHL jersey…” A big, toothy grin grows on his face.

A heavy, enclosing sensation of another presence then settles to his left as he senses someone sitting in the edge stall to his right.

With curiosity, Kale whirls his head to his left and peers down at the newcomer.

The top of the newcomer’s head covered with neatly-combed dirty blond hair is the only physical appearance visible to him from his point of view.

“Oh—” He cracks his mouth into a grin once again. “—hey, there.”

The teenager next to him promptly lifts up his head, revealing his facial mien. Going along with his perfectly combed hair are striking, clear light blue eyes with long eyelashes and blushed cheeks over his pastel, clear skin, giving him a delicate, flawless complexion.

Kale blinks blankly, surprised at the pretty face among a room full of unruly hockey players.

The teenager then simply turns away from him, returning to his original position.

“Uh, okay…” Kale slowly turns back to his equipment and begins plucking them from their places. He then lowers himself to sit on his stall with an armful of his lower body equipment and places them by his feet.

The two begin changing in silence, removing their pants and shoes and slipping on their jocks, hockey pants, shin guards, socks, and skates.

Kale flicks his eyes up as he is leaned over, tying his left skate, to witness the other unfamiliar teammates chatting amongst themselves. An uneasy feeling creeps upon him due to the fact that everyone is having a seemingly great time while he is buckled down by apprehension.

He knits his thin, yet defined eyebrows, yearning to fit in and thwart the uncomfortable feeling of standing out awkwardly due to his unusual taciturn. Welcome to the professionals—it’s time to act like one.

In a snap, Kale turns his head upward to spot the teenager to his right. “What’s your name?”

He silently holds the roll of clear sock tape in his hand up to his nameplate above him.

Kale slowly straightens up, eyeing the nameplate. “‘Nolan Patrick…’” He gazes back at the teenager named “Nolan Patrick,” his signature grin appearing on his face. “Nolan, nice to meet you!” He holds out his hand. “I’m Kale. Kale Clague.”

A subtle look of annoyance settles on Nolan’s face. “Someone’s been watching too many 007 movies,” he remarks in a smoky, silvery tone.

Embarrassment quickly flashes across Kale’s face. “Oh, haha, right…” He scratches the back of his neck while his eyes slide to a side in an attempt to calm down. “Um, so, uh—” He reverts his eyes back at him. “—where are you from?”

“This province’s capital.” Nolan gazes at him tranquility.

“The capital…” Confusion is written all over his face. “...the capital of…?”

“...Manitoba.”

“Oh, uh…” Kale rattles his mind for an answer as he knits his eyebrows, yet he is receiving nothing mentally. “Ugh—” He drops his face into his cupped hands. “—I should’ve been listening in school more often…”

“Winnipeg,” he hears Nolan telling him dully.

Kale instantly straightens up with bright eyes. “Oh yeah, right!” He lets out an uneasy chuckle. “That’s cool, you’re not so far from your hometown!” He places his hands on his chest. “I’m from Lloydminster, the Albertan side of it. I’m a proud Albertan!” He flashes his massive, toothy grin.

With that, Nolan spins back to his legs and resumes wrapping the tape around his socks.

Kale’s eyes trail down to Nolan’s hand smoothly spinning the tape around and around his leg. “Okay, okay…” He peers back up in deep thought of how to continue the conversation to avoid the discomfiture of the silence.

“So—” Kale peers back at him. “—what do you like to do for fun?”

Nolan rips the tape from the roll, flattens the torn edge against his sock, then straightens back up. He gazes at him flatly. “Play hockey. Duh.”

Kale chortles abashedly, flicking his hand across him. “Well, of course besides that.” He drops his hand. “I like to go out and travel! Mexico, Hawaii, any tropical place, you name it! I love the warm weather and the beaches and jumping off of cliffs and into lakes! It’s awesome!”

Nolan raises his fine eyebrows. “You jump off of cliffs?”

“Yeah, and into lakes!” He throws his hands into the air. “It’s so much fun!” He reverts his hands out at him. “Haven’t you done it before?”

“Uh no.” Nolan scrunches his eyebrows with an offended expression. “Only crazy people do that.”

A dismayed look falls on Kale’s face. “I’m not crazy.”

“It’s dangerous.” Nolan lowers his head with a solemn mien. “Aren't you afraid you’d bash your head on a rock or something?”

“No, I make sure there’re no rocks nearby.” He shoots him a reassuring grin.

Nolan shrugs with a slight roll of his eyes. “Well, if you bash your head or not, it wouldn't make much of a difference.” He then spins around, having his black compression shirt-covered back face him once again.

Kale sits still, his eyes frozen on Nolan’s back as he processes the subtle insult he just received. With a nod of his head, he slowly turns away from him as well and returns to his skates.

Someone didn’t wake up on the right side of bed.

Notes

E.1 "Newest Of The Prairie"
Part 1/5
Episode 1/10