Tell Me What To Do

“Alright…well…it all started a few months ago. I got hurt…on the job,” I said, carefully skating around the details just in case she had a vague idea of who I was. I didn’t want a fan giving me advice if I could avoid it. I just needed someone to listen to me without stuffing me with a one sided opinion. She simply nodded for me to continue.

“Well, this injury hurt my brain pretty badly. I was out of work for a really long time. I just started going back a few weeks ago, actually. Now, half of the people I know are trying to make me retire, and the other half are begging me to go back and don’t actually care if I’m healthy enough to work again or not,” I said. It felt good to get all of the pressure off my chest, even if I was being vague. She sat there, looking at me for a long time as I sipped my coffee quietly.

“And that’s why you’ve been running around like a maniac, and then going into some random coffee shop?” she asked. I nodded.

“Yup. I just had another argument with my parents over it,” I sighed. Again, she simply looked at me for what was almost an uncomfortably long time. I could see the thoughts racing through her mind in her eyes and on her face.

“Did your doctor clear you to go back to work?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

“How many opinions did you get?” she asked.

“Multiple,” I said.

“All the same?”

“Yep,”

“If you retire, can you live off of the money you’ve already earned?”

“Yep,” I take another sip of my coffee.

“If you retire, are you going to be happy?” she asks quietly. It’s my turn to stare at her. I think about it for a really long time, and then shake my head.

“No. That’s why I haven’t done it yet,” I said.

“What happens if you go back and you get hurt again?” she asks.

“I’m not sure. The doctors say permanent brain damage. One said if the injury is bad enough I could die, but I don’t think that’s entirely true,” I say before sipping my coffee again. It feels easy talking to someone who has no idea who I am, and what my career means to so many people.

“Would you rather be dead physically and mentally, or dead emotionally?” she asks finally. I feel my eyes widen and I put down my coffee.

“What did you just ask me?” I ask.

“Would you rather be dead physically and mentally, or dead emotionally?” she asks. Her tone is serious, her face is full of a serious intelligence.

“I would rather die than not get to play hockey again,” I say finally. I don’t care if she knows who I am now. Suddenly, this stranger’s advice has made everything perfectly clear to me.

“Sidney, you’re finally back,” my mom says quietly a few hours later as I walk into the house. My dad is still sitting at the kitchen table, pouring over my medical files.

“Yeah, and I’ve made my decision,” I say. My parents both look at me. Their faces fall. They already know what I’m going to say.

“Sidney,” my mom starts, but I hold up my hand.

“Look…I know you’re worried about me…but I’ve done a lot of thinking, and I’ve realized it all comes down to what’s going to make me happier. I love you guys, and I don’t want you to think I’m ignoring your advice, or your worries, but I really need to play. Quite honestly, I would rather die than not play another game of hockey,” I finally admit. My dad sighs and places his head in his hands.

“I knew I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard,” he mutters. I walk over and place a hand on his shoulder.

“Dad, this isn’t your fault. I was born to play hockey, and you know it. You’ve always known. I just…I don’t want to retire before it’s my time. I’ll be careful, I promise,” I say. He simply nods, and my mom sighs in surrender. I know that they’re nervous, and disappointed, but I feel like I’ve made the right decision for once in my life.

The next day I go back to the coffee shop again. It’s as empty as ever, which always was weird to me. I wondered how it stayed open if there was nobody ever in it other than me. The same barista is standing at the counter, her head bobbing to the time of the music playing softly over the sound system. She looks up as I open the door.

“Hey there, back again huh?” she smiles, and I walk up to the counter.

“Yeah. I wanted to thank you for your good advice yesterday,” I say, smiling at her.

“It’s not a problem. I love helping people,” she says.

“Then why do you work in a coffee shop?” I chuckle. Her face falls.

“Because I’d rather work in a coffee shop in a random ass town in Nova Scotia than go home to my family,” she says finally. Something on her face is sad, and I immediately regret asking the question.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” I say quietly.

“No, it’s not your fault,” she says, the smile returning to her face.

“Okay…well, I’m Sidney,” I say, holding out my hand. She shakes it firmly, and I smile. I love when people have a firm handshake.

“I’m Jane,” she says. The smile on her face never seems to fade after that, and before I know it, I’ve spent twenty minutes talking to her.

“Oh jeeze, I never even ordered my coffee!” I laugh as I look at my watch. She chuckles and nods.

“That’s alright. Same as yesterday?” she asks. I nod, and she pours my coffee quickly. She hands me the coffee and a water bottle, and I hand her my money. For once, I’ve counted it all out.

“So Sidney, when do you go back to the ‘Burgh?” she asks, taking the seat across from me once again. I choke on my coffee.

“What?” I ask.

“When do you go back to the ‘Burgh?” she asks again. She’s extremely calm.

“Y-you know who I am?” I ask.

“I’ve known since the moment you walked into the shop yesterday, but I figured you didn’t want to be Sid the Kid for once,” she shrugs. I stare at her in amazement.

“And you just didn’t care?” I ask.

“Well, it’s awesome that you’re a world famous hockey player, but honestly…you’re a person before you’re a hockey player, and to me it looked like the person half of you needed someone who didn’t know them to listen,” she explained.

“So you gave me completely unbiased advice even though you knew I was a Penguin?” I ask.

“Yeah. I could care less if you’re famous, or if you beat my country in the Olympics, or if your team plays against my team all of the time. You may be Sid the Kid, but you’re Sidney Crosby too,” she says. I furrow my eyebrows.

“That just made no sense,” I admit with a laugh.

“I mean that you can be a superstar, but underneath all the glitz and glamour, you’re a human being just like me…except that you’re really, really good at hockey,” she laughs. I smile.

“I could get used to talking to you,” I admit.

“Well, give me your number and I could make it happen,” she smiles. I see a cocky confidence in her eyes and I can’t help but chuckle.

“Alright, but as long as you promise to not sell it on ebay or something,” I say. She makes an X over her heart with her fingers.

“Cross my heart,” she says, and I pull out my phone.