The Hockey Puck

Being the oldest, Mrs. Sorensen put me in charge, which made me late because she lectured me on her porch while the others ran off toward the harbor. It was torture, time was wasting, but she had the puck.

“Stay away from the north beacon, the ice is thin near the rocks,” her pale blue eyes sought something in me that I didn’t think was there and still don’t.

“I promise,” I said, and she released me from her bony grip, handing me the puck. Big Flynn, Mercury Eddie, the twins, they were already laced up when I joined them at the harbor front, where the ice shelf crumbled and growled at the shore.   

We flew, we tripped on clefts and stumbled on rifts, we spun and tumbled  then bounced and zipped out toward the islands, with no particular plan except to go as far and as fast as we dare, the puck flying back and forth, infinite hockey. I was the oldest, but also the slowest, and when the puck came back to me, I slapped it hard ahead and it shot like a bullet across the frosty ice, hotly pursued by my friends. I hung back. The puck bumped to a halt near the beacon.

Perhaps it was the ocean swell, or perhaps it was Big Laird?  The faulty ice cracked, calving a free-floating plate with the four boys standing upon it. We laughed but the fissure widened, and though we laughed loudly and fearlessly, we were soon laughing apart, I on one side of frigid water, they on the other. 

“We’d better run for it!” shouted Mercury, and the four boys, my friends, skated furiously toward me, intent on bridging the widening gap.

“Stop,” I shouted, afraid they might plunge into the frazil black water, a foot or more below their bladed feet. They skidded to an abrupt halt, spraying up ice chips, and there, standing at the perimeter, they stared at the tectonic force, witnessing the birth of a new continent.  

“Now what do we do?” said Big Laird. It was an interesting puzzle. The gap was too wide to leap across. Mercury threw the puck across the chasm, “just in case.”  I caught the precious rubber disc and pocketed it.

The floating ice rink slowly rotated in the ocean current, the stranded boys cautiously walked its circumference, close to the edge, as close to me as possible, cooly debating what to do, but the distance between us increased, and their voices filled with fear.

“I’m going to go get some help” I shouted.

“Wait, don’t leave us, “ pleaded Mercury, receding, forever ten years old.

“Jump!” shouted the Sorensen twins, sun glinted on the ice. “Jump!” shouted Mercury and Laird, and I jumped across the impossible gap, landing sideways on the ice; I slid into the clump of boys, banging their shins, knocking them over like bowling pins.  We tumbled into a heap, arms, legs, hockey sticks.

Mercury was first to his feet, grinning like a fool, “Do you still have the puck?” he gasped, urgent expectation on his face.

I took the puck from my pocket and held it aloft like a prize, and we all cheered at our good fortune. 

Alas, I still have the puck, which is old and scuffed now.

“Jump!” shouted the Sorensen twins, sun glinting on the ice, “Jump!” shouted Mercury and Laird, but I dare not because I knew it was not safe.

I stood and watched as my marooned friends spun out into the bay on the revolving disc of ice. Big Laird, Mercury Eddie and the Sorensen twins disappeared in a shimmering haze out in the Atlantic leaving me alone with the puck in my pocket.