It was right after the first Iceland game, right after The Wrist Incident. It was always spoken of as though it were capitalized. The Wrist Incident.


I was sitting on the bench when the Iceland player's stick came crashing down onto Adam's wrist. He announced that he was okay, and the players on the ice skated off, eager to continue the game because now that we'd scored...maybe, just maybe...we had a chance to win...


But I couldn't get my mind off Adam. He claimed he was fine, but I knew he was lying. It was something he would do.


And I knew. I watched him, I still do. Since the moment we'd been formally introduced, since shock had spiraled down my spine the instant his hand touched mine in a handshake. I hadn't been able to explain it at the time. I just knew it was connected the that something I couldn't quite place. It had been another one of my inklings. And from that moment, from that feeling, I'd watched him.


And I watched him then, in that moment. He hadn't moved from his position next to the goalie's net; it was almost as if he were paralyzed with pain, or with fear, or with...something.


He got his head back into the game after a few stunned moments. It didn't matter, though. His goal was the only one we scored all game, and we lost.


After Bombay's forced post-game practice, we were all pretty miserable and thought only of the beds into which we would fall the very moment we would return to our rooms. We all showered and changed into our street clothes as quickly as possible. Adam took a seat on the bench and slowly rearranged his gear. He was always the last to leave, after every game, every practice. He still is. I think he likes to be alone with his thoughts, to think about the game...the good and the bad.


As we headed to the door, we all patted him on the shoulder and asked how he was. He simply smiled and repeated, "I'm fine," over and over again. I was the last to leave. I passed him and patted his shoulder and asked him how was he was. He smiled and repeated, "I'm fine." I continued on my way, but halfway to the door, I stopped. Impulsively, I grabbed the ACE bandage I always keep in my hockey bag and turned back.


His gaze was down, focused on his wrist, as he rotated it...or tried to.


I closed the short distance between us and tapped his shoulder. He looked up. I didn't say anything, just held out the ACE bandage. He stared at it for a few moments before wordlessly reaching out and accepting it.


"It just looked like you needed it," I said softly.


Adam nodded shortly, and I turned once more to leave.


"Dwayne," he called out. I turned, dreading the words I was about to hear...somehow, I knew what he was going to say. "Don't tell anyone," he said, his voice pleading.


I swallowed hard, letting the conflicting feelings twist in my stomach. I wanted to yell at him, tell him he was being so stupid, that I was taking him to Bombay right now (although at that point, it probably wouldn't have done much good,) that we were going to the hospital, that he was insane if he thought he could play with his wrist the way it was. In the end, I told him what he wanted to hear, "If you're sure, Adam." I still don't know why.


He could probably sense the hesitation in my voice, because he hastily tried to explain, "You've gotta understand, Dwayne. The scouts, they're watching, I can't not play."


"You could let it heal." I walked back over to him, glad that I was given the opportunity to recant. "You could treat it and let it heal and..."


"What if that's not fast enough? What if it's not better until after the Games?"


"What if you play with an injury? What if you damage your wrist permanently?" I pressed a finger to Adam's forearm. Adam winced; it appeared even slight pressure was agonizing. "You're in pain, Adam, you need help."


"Just let it go," Adam snapped and yanked his wrist away from my touch.


I was hurt by his harsh tone. I was only trying...I didn't mean...


"I'm sorry, Dwayne, I didn't mean..." Adam trailed off. "But you...you...you understand, right?"


I sighed and chose my next words carefully. "I understand where you're coming from, I...but I saw the hit you took, Adam. I heard the crack, I swear I did, I was watching you. I understand why you want to play, I really, really do, but I don't understand why you're willing to risk everything just to impress some scouts. You'll play hockey after the Goodwill Games, if you don't play during them...you'll impress them later, Adam. You'll impress them because you're good."


"Where are they going to find me? You think they come to Edina? Do you know what a huge opportunity this is?"


"Do you know that you're this close to blowing it?" I raised my voice in anger; now he was just starting to piss me off. It was like...I could tell that he really knew he was really hurt, almost like he knew he needed to stop, but that he was trying to be who everyone wanted him to be. He wanted to continue being perfect.


"You're not my keeper, Dwayne - I just met you two months ago, you don't know me, you don't understand what hockey means to me!"


"I don't understand? I don't understand how important hockey is? Are you insane? I've been playing hockey for eight years - it's the only thing that keeps me sane - it's the only thing I'm actually good at! Of course I understand how important hockey is, Adam! I'm just not crazy enough to risk permanent damage to my wrist!"


"Well I am crazy enough, Dwayne, so let me go!"


"I'm sorry for caring, Adam. I'm sorry for being the only dang person who even noticed how much pain you're in, I'm sorry for thinking that you should do something about it."


"Don't worry about me!"


"But I do. I'm sorry, but I do. I'm just trying to be your friend!"


Adam bowed his head, and I waited for a response. When he didn't give me one, I sighed deeply and turned away.


I left the locker room, the heels of my hands pressed to my eyes, ebbing the flow of tears. I was Adam's friend...Adam's friend. I never knew how much that word hurt me until I had to apply it to him.


**


And that was the moment I knew.


It burns so brightly in my memory; I remember every word, every glance. I remember the crunch of the hockey stick against bone, I remember the tears that filled his eyes when he told me not to worry, I remember the tears that filled my eyes when I walked out on my friend.


I'm still on my knees in the hallway. I'm not sure when I'll be able to move again. I was thirteen years old, and at that moment, I knew what was missing, I knew how I was different. I knew I was gay, and I knew I was in love with Adam Banks.


I was missing perfection, and now that I had come face-to-face with it...I wanted it.


**