Mute

It was as deafening as it was eerily silent. You could hear the roar of the crowd, and yet you couldn’t. It was like the glass, the netting, all created a soundproof seal. You could look around, see them pounding the glass and see them screaming their fucking heads off…but you couldn’t hear it. It was like a TV on mute. Like watching a movie with no sound…except not black and white.

I lined up on the blue line, ready for the faceoff. Despite the muting, I couldn’t help but feel touched. All these people, screaming my name…the name of my team…all in the name of the sport I love. My favorite sport, the one thing I couldn’t imagine not having in my life. Some had my last name across their shoulders or my number across their backs. Some of them didn’t have any relation to me, and screamed at me when I did something wrong, or a puck went off my skate. Some of them were eternally supportive.

They followed us to the cup. They were there on this adventure every step of the way. Saturday night, game one against the Philadelphia Flyers. There was such hope in that moment. We were the favorite for the series. The news said Blackhawks in 5, Blackhawks in 6. It was touching…the city of Chicago was behind our team, the Cubs, the Bears…everyone was pouring their hope into us…

Kaner took the face off, hunching over so low…he was so small he got so close when he took a faceoff, he was hard to beat. The puck came back to me and I passed it to my defense partner. Already there was waves of sound, I knew by the rhythm it was ‘let’s go hawks’…it was something we’d heard all season, but with increased frequency with the struggles of the post season. Let’s go Hawks…Every man, woman and Child was screaming their hearts out, analyzing my passes, my shots…and those of my teammates. They expected me to dive in front of Niemi and block every shot. To keep it on the outside.

They cared about me…the need to perform; to make them proud was on. It was the thing I loved more. . I grunted as I chased the puck past the red line, skating as hard as I could with Jeff Carter on my tail. He hit me into the end boards, crashing into me, but I hit the puck first. Niemi’s stick was up and the whistle blew, I’d drawn an icing, and I got to my feet, watching the man in white skate back to his zone. I tried to keep my emotions secure, not let them get the better of me, but I could feel the struggle. I got to my skates and moved to the opposite blue line, waiting for the faceoff.

It was hard not to let your emotions get out of control…especially with guys bulldozing into you, and when your own thoughts got in the way. I ended up in the box after I slashed Briere on the stick, breaking it as I raced him back to my zone with him on the break away. It was a good penalty to take; I stopped him from taking the shot, however.
I could hear that pounding…fans…enemies, slamming against the glass, taunting me, supporting me. I knew what I’d done; I didn’t need a group of 20,000 coaches yelling at me.

And after the game ended, the critics, the lovers…were crowding in front of cars as we tried to leave. I saw so many versions of my name written on posters and pieces of paper…customized jerseys from my Swedish junior team and my current jersey. I couldn’t not stop…regardless of how badly I needed to get home. They chatted, asking if I was going to the clubs for once in my life. Asking if I was going to a hotel, or going somewhere where we could all hang out. Going to a restaurant? Good game Nik…Good game. So many things thrown at me, it was just on mute, I smiled, said one word answers and blinked away the flash bubbles at countless of pictures. At times, I wasn’t even sure if I was scrawling my name, or someone else’s…thought that “Hj” didn’t start off many last names on this side of the ocean.

I drove home, making a short stop on the way. It was short, but it was important. I knocked on the door, biting my lip as I waited for an answer. I smiled, seeing the young blond answer cautiously. “Hey Nik.” She said softly, opening my door and letting me in. She led me into the living room slowly, walking next to me, asking how the game went, how I was feeling…and complimenting my good play. I smiled at her…Brittany was her name. I could hear the post-game highlights playing on her TV. Nothing was on mute anymore.

And there was a sweet little giggle, and I looked at the couch. I smiled, seeing a pair of bright blue eyes, and a big pink bow.

“Thank you so much Brittany.” I said softly, hugging her and sliding her a couple of dollars. I smiled down to the little girl, lifting her car seat and getting her out the door and into my car, fine and secure. I drove home carefully, occasionally hearing her coo, or yawn. It always made me smile to hear her make a little noise like that…

I sat in my bedroom, once darkly colored, now covered in bright pink furniture. My bed was the same bed, but everything had changed. I smiled down at the little girl, holding a jar of warm baby food in my hands. She giggled and clapped her hands and I made funny sounds, leading the spoon of sweet mush to her lips, feeding her little bites. She’d only started just now eating baby food; I was up all the time feeding her formula. She still had some sometimes. I couldn’t stop my grin as I wiped a little smear of orange mush away from her lips.

“My little Katja.” I whispered, smiling as we finished the jar. “All gone.” I laughed, lifting her from her little bassinette that I used to feed her before bed. I held her close, rocking her tightly. The TV was on…something on mute. All I cared about were the little giggles and coos. I laid back in bed, snuggling my little girl, rocking her to sleep, singing little Swedish lullabies and talking to her in my native language.

I sang myself to sleep along with her. I woke up to her whimpering. She was a baby…and she needed a changing. I got up and sat her down on the bed, changing her little diaper. I looked up to my muted TV…seeing the highlights of a goal that I’d scored that night. I shook my head, not even able to hear the praise from the analysts.

“Dada…” I heard softly. Katja’s little head was looking at the TV, and then to me. I blinked as she looked over again. “Dada.” She said softly.

My heart could have exploded. I smiled, putting her diaper back on. Tears were in my eyes and I nodded excitedly. “Yes Katja…” I whispered. “Dada.” I smiled. It was the first word…HER first word.

And it was the only thing I wanted to hear.