She Makes Me Wanna

Sidney’s Point of View

The hardest thing about living with Emily after the Chara incident was how defeated she seemed. She went to her doctor’s appointments, she went to her therapy sessions, but other than that I hardly saw her. She was withdrawn, never smiling, never laughing, just existing. I wanted nothing more than to go back and take the hit for her. I knew the pain of being unable to play, but not to the extent that she did. I prayed for a miracle, something that would snap Emily back to reality and save her from the downward spiral she was falling into.

Two weeks before the Pittsburgh Penguins entered the playoffs, my prayers were answered.

Emily’s Point of View

I sat in my room, staring out the window, bored with the book that was sitting in my lap. I had regained some feeling in my legs, but I wasn’t able to walk yet, let alone skate. I longed to get back to the ice, and now that the Penguins were about to head into the playoffs that longing increased. Just as I began to brood again, my phone went off.

New Message From: Stephanie

Hey. So I’ve been hearing a lot of stuff about you on the internet. I heard you’ve been brooding and that your therapy hasn’t been going too well. Well as a cancer patient who has outlived my diagnosis, I’m telling you to quit feeling sorry for yourself, get your ass in gear, and start working towards your recovery. You were so strong, and so inspirational, so I know that you can do anything you put your mind to. You gave me the strength to fight. Now it’s time for you to fight for what you want. Get your head in the game.

I stared at my phone in disbelief for what felt like an eternity, and then tears began to spill down my cheeks. Stephanie, the twelve year old girl who was afraid to go to school because she didn’t have hair, was so right. I had no right to feel sorry for myself. I had worked for almost 15 years to get to the NHL, and nothing, not even a partially fractured spine, was going to keep me off the ice.

Thank you I responded before wheeling myself into the living room, where Sidney was sitting, icing a nicely bruised hand from a fight he had with David Clarkson the night before.

“Sidney, I need your help,” I said.

“What’s up?” he asked, immediately peeling his eyes away from the TV.

“I’ve been working on getting my legs to move again in therapy, but I can’t do it without someone holding me up…can you?” I asked sheepishly. Sidney stared at me in disbelief for a few seconds, and then nodded slowly.

“What exactly do I have to do?” he asked.

“Just make sure I don’t fall,” I said.

Sidney’s Point of View

Emily’s eyes were filled with a frightening determination. I had only seen that look on her face once before, when she was called out by a fan in Florida. It chilled me to the bone, but in a good way. I watched in astonishment as she wheeled over to the couch, and threw herself onto the ground, pushing the chair away from her. She grabbed the back of the couch with both hands and pulled herself up, but she wobbled and almost fell over. I jumped up and caught her right before she fell and helped her stand up straight. She grimaced, obviously uncomfortable, and her face flushed in concentration. After what felt like ages, she slowly slid her right foot forward, moving no more than an inch. However, her face lit up.

“Did you see that?” she beamed, looking down at her foot.

“Yeah I did. You’re doing great. Now let’s work on the next step,” I said, holding her firmly by the waist.

It took her almost an hour and a half to make it from one end of the couch to the next, and by the end she was exhausted. She slumped into her wheelchair, but her eyes glimmered with hope and determination.

The next few days were more of the same, with Emily working as hard as she could to move from one end of the couch to the other. Her therapists were amazed by her sudden burst of determination, and they applauded her efforts. She began working on walking underwater treadmills, which was much easier than walking in my living room. By the first game of the Stanley Cup Playoffs, Emily was in such high spirits that she threw on her jersey and wheeled out to meet me in the foyer right before I was about to leave.

“I’m coming with you,” she said.

“Are you sure?” I asked, knowing that she hadn’t watched a game of hockey since her injury.

“I’m positive. I’m done moping. I’m going to cheer on my teammates. I haven’t been there for you guys these past few months, even when you were there for me. I’ve been a selfish, miserable, bitch and I refuse to let this injury take away anything more than it has already. I’m going to that game, I’m cheering you guys on, and you are going to win,” Emily said, her face set in stone. I marveled at her stone cold determination, and wondered what exactly had changed her mindset so quickly, but I simply nodded, helped her down the front steps, and got her into the car before heading off to the Consol Energy Center for Game 1 of the Stanley Cup Playoffs.