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DaftRaincloud · 09-16-2019, 06:18 PM

The final horn rang out. The booming echo of the repurposed truck horn bouncing off the walls of the arena and back down into Jonas’ ear. The sound was a distant drone as he glided listlessly down the ice towards the sullen faces on his team bench. The jubilant Detroit players flew past Jonas like he wasn’t even there, and had he been? Jonas had failed to perform in the post-season for the third year in a row with the Anchorage Armada. As the cheering Falcons’ players embraced and shared in high fives and other team celebrations Jonas left the smooth surface of the ice and click clacked his way down the tunnel into the team locker room. Some of his team mates were already in the room but a passerby without the use of their vision would mistake the room for being empty with the complete lack of noise.

Jonas shook off his heavy gray gloves before collapsing down onto the long wooden bench and leaning forward to begin the arduous process of untying his skates and painfully yanking them off of his cold and sweat soaked feet. Jonas looked up for a moment as he heard Darnell Johnson enter the locker room. The captain gave Jonas a knowing look. The two men quickly looked away from each other. Jonas finished the removal and stashing into a duffel bag of his hockey gear and left the locker room for the waiting media crews.

The sea of microphones was a blur and moments after walking away Jonas couldn’t even remember a single word he had said to the reporters. Perhaps he would be seeing headlines tomorrow morning about an inflammatory comment he had made, but for the moment he couldn’t be bothered. The same thoughts swirled in his head that had for twenty-four months now and this time he wasn’t so certain he could talk himself out of believing them. Jonas was faced with the very real possibility that he had reached the peak of his potential and it wasn’t what he thought it would be. He told himself that even by getting into the SMJHL he had achieved more than what 99% of hockey players could hope to achieve, but it was an empty sentiment that he was selling himself.

As the team plane sat on the rain-soaked tarmac on the ground in Detroit Jonas stared out the window and watched the plane lights reflect off the ground. A rhythmic oscillation of red and green lights multiplied across his field of vision as he allowed his eyes to unfocus. There was a feeling of momentary weightlessness as the plane left the ground and the team began the ten hour journey back home to Anchorage. Another silent plane ride in April. Jonas didn’t like the familiarity with the situation that he was starting to have. As he looked out at the field of lights fighting in futility against the sea of blackness on the ground he contemplated his future. He questioned what he could accomplish with another year in Anchorage. He remembered the famous saying about the definition of insanity and all that. Was he ready to retire already? He was barely old enough to have an alcoholic beverage yet here he was talking about retirement of all things. Could he really see himself going into the nine to five grind after living his dream for only three short years? Would Jonas Larsen, the “Norwegian sniper” as his hometown paper had clearly prematurely labeled him really be able to sit down at a desk and go to work?

The plane landed. It was day now. Jonas got into his car and drove to his apartment. He slammed the door and drew the blinds, enveloping the interior in a sea of darkness. Jonas sank into his bed and began to sleep for a length that when he awoke he was uncertain of. When he finally did wake up it was because of the incessant buzzing of his cell phone perched on his bedside table. Jonas unlocked his phone, the bright light momentarily blinding him. After giving his eyes a few seconds to adjust amongst a sea of missed phone calls Jonas saw one notification that stood out, a text message from his agent with only two foreboding words – call me.

Failure was the only thing that had been circulating in Jonas’ head for the last thirty-two or more hours and that was all that was on his mind as he heard the phone ringing. His heart pounded in his ears. His agent was taking an uncharacteristically long time to answer his phone. Trying to manufacture the perfect way to tell Jonas that he was no longer going to be representing him, he was sure of it.
“Jonas?” his agent’s voice finally came in through the speaker. He sounded like he was in a rush, maybe in the middle of traffic.
“Yes sir.” Jonas replied robotically.
“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day, where have you been?”
“Sorry, I was,” Jonas hesitated for a moment, surely he couldn’t just admit that he had been sleeping in a state of depression for twelve or more hours and hadn’t seen the light of day. “I was out and forgot my phone. Just got home.”
“It’s San Francisco. You’re up.”
Jonas allowed the phone to fall away from his ear. His head swirled and he was finding it difficult to latch on to a singular thought.
“Jonas!” from it’s position resting on his floor between some pieces of clothing that had been unceremoniously tossed aside his phone speaker blared. He quickly reached down and snatched it up.
“Yes. Sorry, I’m here.”
“You’ve got a phone interview in twenty minutes. Get your head set and tell who you need to tell before this goes public and get ready for fireworks.”
Click. The line went silent.

Jonas took a moment to gather himself. Just a day or two ago he was dealing with the weight of loss and failure pressing down on him from all angles. He felt the crippling disappointment not only of himself but also his team mates, the fans, his family. It was all so palpable and real. But now? It was a bittersweet feeling. Anchorage had been his home for three years now. He knew every street corner, every shortcut and back road to get where he needed to go just a few moments quicker than the usually beaten path. He had friends all over the city in different avenues of life, people he relished the opportunity to see whenever their paths crossed. Now that would all be gone. He would be a stranger in a new city. Jonas would have to learn new streets, meet new people, find new shortcuts. I’m going up. I’m sorry. Those were the only two sentences Jonas could muster after typing, erasing, and typing again. He hit send to the team group chat and the responses rolled in. He couldn’t bear to read them. Not yet.

His phone rang, it was time. Over the phone line he could hear the host introducing him for the upcoming interview segment.
“And for our next guest, the newest member of the San Francisco Pride.. Jonas Larsen!”

***luke*** · 09-16-2019, 06:18 PM

ayy, good job! have fun up there

Muerto · 09-16-2019, 06:33 PM

Good luck man!

Grapehead · 09-16-2019, 06:35 PM

Can't wait to see Larsen in the Pride jersey

***bluesfan55*** · 09-16-2019, 08:16 PM

It’s gonna be a pleasure having my last season with Jolo cause we got a bunch of young guys. I know how it feels to get that call up, and it’s pretty fuckin great. You better get the rookie of the year

ty to @High Stick King @EvilAllBran and @Ragnar for the sigs

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