The next night all the guys and I were hanging out at Smith's Tavern, one of the most popular bars for U of M students. And Olympic hockey players in training.
"I can't believe you did that to Mac," Ralph Cox was saying.
He was on the team and had played for the University of New Hampshire. Also being from New England, he naturally gravitated toward us rather than the Minnesota guys.
"I mean, you actually punched him, and you're a girl. Who does that?" He laughed, shook his head and took another swig from his Corona.
"I'm not surprised," Silky said. "You just don't know our good 'ol Callie like we do." He reached over and ruffled my hair before I could dodge it.
"Like brother, like sister, right?" Jack said and nudged me. "Eh? Eh?"
I ignored him. I kind of wished everyone would just forget it already. It wasn't as if I'd put McClanahan in the hospital. Unfortunately.
"What are you talking about?" Rizzo asked, swaying drunkenly in his seat. "You say 'Like father, like son' or something."
Jimmy gave me an apologetic look across the table. I ignored it. I knew he thought I felt bad about punching McClanahan. I didn't, it had felt good, really. Why did he always have to communicate though facial expressions, anyway? Why couldn't he just say what he meant for once? Luckily, he quickly looked away to order drinks so OC and Rizzo would stop arguing like five-year-olds. I asked for my second beer of the night, and I could feel Dave giving me a concerned look. I ignored that too. Lately he'd been acting as if I had some sort of drinking problem-that was obviously bullshit. I drank just as much as the average college student. He was paranoid because of what he knew of my father which wasn't all that much. I had never told him anything, not directly. It was okay because Dave also had plenty of stuff he didn't tell me. I knew his father died when he was young even though we'd never discussed it. Maybe that's why Dave and I were such good friends; both of us had things we couldn't talk about.
To prove him wrong I wasn't going to get drunk tonight. I was stopping at two beers. I downed it quickly and spent five minutes of staring at the bottom of an empty glass. I was bored with the conversation at our table and stood up to look for someone else to talk to.
"Hey Callie," Mark Johnson said as I walked up to the bar. He played for Wisconsin and was one of the best players on the team, if the not the best. I had only met him a couple times before this, but I was already completely comfortable around him.
"That's O'Callahan to you," I joked.
He smiled at me. The guy had the biggest smile I'd ever seen. "You want a drink?"
"Oh, no thanks, I just finished one."
"I'll have one actually," Bob Suter, the other player from Wisconsin, materialized on the other side of me.
Johnson looked annoyed but went ahead and ordered two drinks.
"So how's school going?" he asked after handing the second drink to Suter.
"Pretty well. I mean I just started last Monday."
"How do you like the U? Not as good as your amazing alma mater, huh?" Suter said, nudging me playfully.
"Of course not, but I still like it. I'll always love BU, but all good things must come to an end."
McClanahan walked up to the bar next to Mark. He ordered a round of drinks for his table before noticing us.
"Hey Magic, hey Sutes. What's up?" he asked, slapping Mark on the back and ignoring me, apparently. They talked for a minute until his drinks came. He grabbed them and as he walked by me, he titled one of the mugs just enough that it splashed right into my lap. I reflexively jumped up from my seat as the liquid soaked through my clothes.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I yelled loudly enough for the whole bar to hear.
"Oops," he said, smiling sweetly. His voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Sorry."
"You did that on purpose!"
"Why would I purposely spill a beer that I paid for all over you, O'Callahan?"
"Because you're a prick. Fuck you."
"I'm sure it was just an accident, Cal," Mark spoke up uneasily.
"Sure. He just spontaneously loses control of his arms," Bob chuckled, slightly drunk and finding the whole situation amusing.
"It sure looks that way when he's on the ice," I spat. The small crowd that had gathered around went: "Ooooh" and Bob laughed deliriously.
I couldn't read McClanahan's expression. He looked taken aback, furious and inconceivably, there was also a tiny hint of a genuine smile on his face. "I really am sorry," he repeated. With that, he sauntered back to his table.
"Are you all right?" Mark asked.
I turned around and kicked the bar stool. "I think I'll take you up on that drink offer."
XXXXXXXXXX
"I think eating so much is starting to affect you." That was Jack talking.
I tried to respond only I couldn't quite string the words together. He was carrying me to my car. It probably wasn't necessary but since I was impossibly clumsy when I was sober, I might seriously injure myself if trying to walk across the parking lot drunk.
"You have to stop doing this," I heard Dave's voice to my right.
"It's notta big deeeal," I slurred.
"Yes it is. I hate it when you're like this."
Jack tripped a little and I groaned. The last thing I remembered before blacking out was laying down in the backseat of my car.
When I woke up the next day I didn't know where I was—not the best way to start the morning. My head was heavy and aching, my mouth dry. I carefully looked around and saw a familiar Bruins poster on the wall. I was in Rizzo's bed, at his and OC's apartment. I sighed with relief and settled back down. Then I remembered everything that had happened.
"Damn it," I cursed aloud, scrubbing my hands through my tangled hair. It was naturally wavy which instead of looking nice, always looked like I hadn't brushed my hair in about three weeks. I shuddered to think at what it looked like now.
Everything had gone wrong. McClanahan had humiliated me, I'd gotten drunk, and now I was sick. My stomach heaved so I pulled myself out of bed and rushed to the bathroom as quickly as possible, almost tripping over my beer-stained jeans lying crumpled on the floor. I heard the front door open just as I was finishing emptying my stomach.
"Good morning, sunshine," Silky called as he waltzed into the bathroom. "You really shouldn't drink like this. Not with your family history."
"Oh, fuck off." I bristled as I always did when someone mentioned my parents. I put my elbows on the toilet seat and cradled my head in my hands.
He sighed and sat down on the floor. "Feel bad?"
I nodded.
He stretched out his arms. "Come here."
I scooted over, leaned against his chest and put my head on his shoulder. "Don't be mad."
He started rubbing circles on my back with the palm of his hand. "I was never mad at you, Callie. I just worry about you sometimes."
"I don't need to be worried about," I insisted, squeezing my eyes shut.
"Everyone needs to be worried about sometimes."
I decided not to push it. We sat like that for a while until he asked, "Do you have any classes today?"
"Oh no," I said and immediately stood up. Bad idea. My head went spinning and I had to grab the counter to stay upright.
"Whoa." Silky got up, took hold of my elbow and said rather unnecessarily: "Too fast."
"Just go make me you 'magic' hangover cure." I smelled my armpits. "God, I need to shower."
"No, you need to lie down first," he said, steering me to the bed. "I'll be back in a minute."
I managed to make it to class on time by chugging "The Silk Hangover Cure" (he claimed it was a family recipe and wouldn't tell anybody what was in it), throwing on my only clean clothes and tossing up my perpetually messy hair into a ponytail.
My first class was Anthropology and I had it with my coworker Lynn from the diner. So far she was the only friend I'd made in Minnesota. We always sat together but today because I was late we couldn't. Instead I sat near the front and waited for Silky's hangover cure to kick in. When the professor finally dismissed us, I stood up on shaky legs and walked slowly out to the hall. Lynn ran up from behind and scared the living shit out of me. I cursed loudly and dropped all the books I was holding, and of course one of them had to land directly on my foot.
"I'm so sorry, Cal."
I grunted in response and knelt down to pick them up.
"Are you okay?" she asked, bending down to help me. "Oh, don't look at me like that. Partying last night, huh? I said not to look at me like that, Cal."
When I first met Lynn it was kind of hard for me not to hate her a little bit because she was so pretty. Every boy at U of M had probably fallen in love with her on sight. With her dark, shiny, straight hair and perfect pale complexion she was pretty much the opposite of me. However, she was so nice and talked so much and didn't ask me many personal questions—she had charmed the socks off me. It had never been easy for me to make friends with girls, but our friendship hadn't been difficult at all.
"I ran into your brother earlier and he told me everything that happened. He said you couldn't even walk out of the bar. Yeah, really classy." Lynn went on as we continued down the hall. I eventually zoned out.
"He just kept staring at you—hey, are you listening to me?"
"What? Yeah. Yeah, I'm listening."
"Right. What I'm trying to tell you is there was this hot guy sitting a few rows behind you, and he was totally checking you out."
Seemed unlikely considering what I looked like currently. "Great," I replied unenthusiastically.
"Cal, come on. I mean, he was really hot."
"Why, thank you," came a voice behind us. Lynn and I spun around.
My breath caught in my throat. The Silk Hangover Cure was useless because I was sure I was going to throw up again.
"Long time, no see, huh Callie?" The person I hoped I would never have to see again was standing no more than five feet away from me, over 1,000 miles from where we had originally met. My ex-boyfriend, Peter King.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" I asked after I got over the shock.
Lynn elbowed me. "You'll have to excuse her. She's a little hung over from last night."
"Cal, Cal, Cal, you haven't changed a bit." He gave me a once over and smirked. "Fortunately."
"Aren't you going to introduce us?" Lynn asked.
"No way—ouch. Why do you keep doing that?" Lynn had elbowed me again.
She raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows expectantly.
"Fine. Peter, this is Lynn Corry. Lynn, this is Peter King, my one-celled organism of an ex-boyfriend who still hasn't told me what the hell he's doing in Minnesota."
He shrugged carelessly. "You aren't the only one who can transfer."
"You transferred?" I was in disbelief.
"Surprised?"
I could not deal with this right now, not after the night I'd had, not with a pounding headache. Not ever, actually. "We have to get to our next class," I said shortly, turned on my heel and walked determinedly away, not caring if Lynn followed.
I hated, intensely hated, that my first (and only) serious relationship was with Peter. Even worse, it had only ended at the tail end of my junior year. I'd met him at some frat party back in Boston. I knew he was infamous for being a womanizer so it wasn't really a surprise when he started hitting on me and wouldn't leave me alone all night. As time went on and through the use of many red plastic cups, he became more and more appealing.
The next thing I knew we were in a relationship. It happened so fast. before I could put a stop to it. Peter was so domineering; I felt like I didn't have any control over my own life. He treated me horribly and I thought I deserved it. He would frequently cheat on me, and when I confronted him about it he would just point out that I had slept with a lot of guys too. That always shut me up, even though that was before we had gotten together.
After five months, Jack, Silky, Jimmy and Rizzo helped me snap out of it. I don't know why it was so hard to leave him, but once I did I never looked back. I just didn't understand why I hadn't realized how bad it had been at the time. It was embarrassing actually. Here I claimed to be a strong, independent woman and then I let some fucker like Peter run my life for almost half a year. Getting away from him was definitely a plus about moving away from Boston, but I guess that was all over now.
XXXXXXXXXX
Thank God I didn't see King again for the rest of the day. Perhaps it was possible that I could just avoid him until I graduated. There was no way I was telling anyone about it. Jack, Silky, Jimmy, and Rizzo hated his guts. They had gone after him a couple of times when they found out he was cheating on me with half of the female population at BU. I didn't feel like bailing anyone out of jail.
The team had practice that afternoon. I originally hadn't planned on going but now I needed to get my mind off Peter. Plus, I did want to get revenge on McClanahan for "accidentally" spilling beer on me. Seeing him at practice would give me some opportunities. After they finished I let myself into the locker room. It had always been fine for me to hang out in there since I was "one of the guys". I'd been a huge tomboy growing up, tended to make friends with guys more easily than girls, and was raised mostly around men. Even before my mom left she wasn't around much. Her job as a nurse kept her pretty busy. Jack and I weren't as important to her so mostly it was just me, Jack, my dad and his friends.
Before I walked in Mike stopped me by the door. "You promise you'll behave?"
"Rizzo, I'm not five."
"No but you're even worse than Jack, and now I have both of you to worry about. Promise me you'll be nice to everyone?"
"Okay, okay, let me though."
He finally stepped aside and I walked over to what appeared to be the Boston corner of the locker room.
"What's she doing in here?" Eric Strobel, one of the Minnesota boys, asked no one in particular. "I thought we had a no girls policy."
"Cal's not a girl," Silky replied.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Silky rolled his eyes. "Not to us you're not. You're just one of the guys."
"Yeah and she's going to stay that way," Jack said firmly.
It was my turn to roll my eyes. He was so overprotective. "Anyway." I scooped up a discarded pair of balled up socks and started throwing it around with Strobel and Silky. We kept hitting each other in the face and laughing hysterically. I felt better right away. The game stopped when Jimmy snatched them out of my hands just as I was about to lob them at Silky's face.
"Hey," I protested.
"I need them."
"How come?"
"They're my socks, genius."
"Oh, sorry."
My stomach rumbled. Time for food. "I'm going to get something to eat," I announced.
"Wait for me," Silky said, pulling on his shoes.
I started walking towards the door when my foot collided with something, and I toppled forward onto my hands and knees. I had tripped over someone's bag. I landed hard on my palms and knees. The Boston boys all burst into uproarious laughter.
"Are you okay?" Mark Wells asked, sounding thoroughly concerned. He came over as if to help me up but Jack beat him to it.
"Of course she's okay," he said pulling me up by the arm. "Don't worry about it, Wells."
He was in his every-guy-is-trying-to-bed-my-little-sister mood. "Lay off, OC," I said, tugging my arm free. I gave Mark an apologetic look. He just shrugged.
"I'm going to pull up the car," OC said irritably and stalked out of the room.
"Nice one, Klutz," McClanahan said after he'd left.
I felt my blood boil, seeing him leaning his forearm against the wall, looking all cocky. "What was that?" I asked, my eyes turning to slits.
"Oh, I'm sorry. What I called you was Klutz—get it?"
Klutz? We he serious? I took a deep breath. "You know what I'm going to do?" I said in a controlled voice, remaining perfectly calm. "I'm going to shove—"
"Ha ha!" Silky fake-laughed very loudly. "We better get going." He grabbed the hood of my Terriers sweatshirt and pulled me towards the door. "See you guys!"
"Ah, choking here," I coughed as he continued to yank me out of the locker room and towards the front doors. He didn't let go until we were in the deserted lobby.
"There you go," he said. "Let it out."
So Dave warded off strangers while I paced back and forth, shouted all the things I hated about McClanahan in a series of loud, uncontrollable spasms and kicked things. Jimmy and Rizzo came out of the locker room once I had quieted down.
"You are scary when you're mad," Jimmy told me.
Rizzo was frowning at me disapprovingly over his shoulder.
"What?"
"You overreacted. He was just joking around."
"I don't know, Rizzo," Silky said. "He did sound kind of mean."
"God, I hate him so much." I kicked the neared object which thankfully wasn't a human.
So much for being cheered up.
XXXXXXXXXX
It seemed like a million years ago but it was only a few—four, to be exact—when I left home. I was seventeen and had finished my junior year of high school. Jack had just graduated. I knew it was coming, that Jack was going to leave as soon as he was legally allowed, but I wasn't sure if he was planning to take me or not. It's not that I thought he was going to abandon me completely, but I knew he wanted to leave home just as much as I did, and it would be easier to do it alone.
It started off like any other day. Our father was working. He always picked up odd jobs like fixing cars, or plumbing, or building houses. He had worked his whole life, never went to college, so he could do almost any blue collar job. I had to give it to him, my father worked and provided money, but we always had to make sure he didn't blow it on alcohol or cigarettes. Maybe he would have been a good man if he didn't have an addiction. He was sick, that's how our mother explained it to us when we were little. What could we have done? We didn't have extra money; there was food, clothing, gas, the rent. He couldn't have gotten help living with us. He could have left, too, but he never did. I still don't know why. It might have been better with him gone even without the money. I would wish he could get better so we could have the most normal sort of life we could manage. But Dad never stopped drinking, no matter what.
On that day Jack had wanted to go the local ice rink and practice. Most of the time I went with him, but I wanted to prove that I could take care of myself. Moreover, I wanted Jack to stop worrying about me. I wanted him to focus on college and hockey and I didn't want to hold him back. He was especially worried on that day because Dad had a job interview. It was a serious job that he could actually hold down. We knew if it didn't go well, he would come home and let it out. Whenever Dad hit me and Jack was around he would always jump in and try to direct the anger towards him. He would taunt Dad, insult him, try to make him forget about me. I hated it and I almost never let him get away with it. I would get hurt anyways, every time. It wasn't Jack's fault, it was mine. He tried so hard.
"Go," I had said. "I'll be fine."
Jack knew I could take a hit obviously. He'd seen it more times than either of us could count. I guess he just didn't feel like arguing; he left and let me stay behind. A few hours later Dad came home and the interview hadn't gone well. By the time Jack came back I had two black eyes, a broken nose, and a cracked rib. Dad had left to get plastered. That's how bad it was in those days; he didn't even need to be drunk to hit us anymore. He could do it stone cold sober.
Jack called a cab to go to the emergency room (something we'd only done twice before: once when Dad broke Jack's arm and once when Dad broke a scotch bottle over my back and I needed 26 stitches) and once they patched me up, we went to one of his friend's apartment. His arm hadn't let go of supporting my waist all night—except for briefly at the hospital—and until we made it up to the third floor of the building.
"Wait here," Jack said as propped me up in the hallway.
I nodded. It hurt to speak and to breathe.
Once he made sure I was stable Jack knocked on Ricky's front door. There was music playing from inside and it got louder when the door opened.
"Hey OC," Ricky greeted then he saw me with my rib brace and my nose brace and Irish sunglasses. "What the hell happened?"
"Can I talk to you?" Jack said. "In private."
Ricky nodded, still looking at me, and opened the door wider to let Jack in before closing it.
I stayed still, staring at the floor. I didn't really feel anything besides the pain meds they gave me in the ER wearing off. We'd given them another bogus story to account for my injuries—this time I had fallen down a flight of stairs. Jack and I avoided the hospital at all costs, but this time Dad had beaten me so badly it scared both of us. I actually thought things were getting better. Two months ago Dad and I had gone to Jack's graduation and he cheered just as loudly as I did when he got his diploma. He had been sober the whole day and only got drunk when we went out to dinner that night. Even then it wasn't that bad; both Jack and I were in great moods. We each shoved a shoulder under one of his armpits and dragged him home, singing along with his drunken rendition of Finnegan's Wake. The weeks after had been relatively peaceful, but I realized now it was because Jack and I were working and out of the house most of the day and night. Dad wasn't working at all at the time, and when I left in the morning he was usually passed out on the couch or sometimes on the floor. I would just make sure he was turned on his side and went on my merry way.
I could hear bits of the conversation on the other side of the door: "…can definitely help with the rent…" and "…couldn't turn you back to that maniac…" before the door opened again and Jack helped me walk inside. Ricky had graduated from our high school the year before, and I knew he was a nice guy, but in that moment I wanted to punch him for looking at us with such pity.
"Can I get you anything, Cal? Ice or something?"
"We're good, thanks man," Jack said stiffly. He helped me lie down on the couch. I knew I wouldn't be sleeping tonight, but I was so exhausted I couldn't do anything else but try. Jack knelt by my head.
"We're not going back are we?" I asked.
Jack had been carrying two bags of our clothes the whole night, packed haphazardly before we left for the hospital. He shook his head. "Everything's going to be okay, Callie. We're both working and we can still work when school starts. Ricky said he would give us a discount on our share of rent. He's a good guy, you know we can trust him."
"I trust you," I said emphatically.
He gave me a small smile, leaned over and kissed me on the forehead just like Mom used to do when we were small. He'd never done it before. "I love you, Cal, and I'm not going to let Dad do this to us anymore."
"I love you, too." My voice cracked, the events of the night finally catching up to me. We didn't say it often, hardly ever, mostly on birthdays and Christmas.
We both realized two things that day. The first thing: we couldn't live in fear for the rest of our lives. Jack would never have been able to go to college. We had to leave our father, for good. We couldn't ever talk to him again. The second thing was that all those years Jack tried to get me to leave when Dad was mad, when he tried to take the full blow and I wouldn't let him, I probably saved his life more than once. Our dad could have killed either of us if we'd been alone. He probably would have come home drunk that night and killed me then. That night was the last time I saw my father. He never tried to find us after. He probably barely noticed we were gone.
More chapters coming soon!
